Saturday’s Wandering Thought

On the one hand, the sky’s smoky haze incubated worrying questions about the fire’s location size, growth, and containment. But the smoke blocked the sun and kept the temperature in the low 90s F, granting relief from the previous broiler level days.

Fire, smoke, heat, he just hoped the animals, lands, and people all stayed safe. He crossed his fingers to amplify his hopes.

The Kiss Dream

No, it wasn’t the group, nor the song. I was in my apartment in a high rise, a lovely place, plain with white walls. A short white blonde woman in a purple dress was there, a dream friend, but not anyone I know. She and others had been visiting my wife and were now saying their good-byes. We were in the bedroom. My wife was in the other room. The woman said, “Kiss me, quick.” So I did. Then I heard my wife coming and broke it off.

It was a great kiss, though. Stayed on my mind, fulfilling some desire that I had for the other woman. A short while later, there’s a knock on our door. One of the women has returned. She talks to my wife, leading her into another room. As she does, the woman in purple and three other friends rush in and slip into the bedroom.

I go in. They’re laughing and whispering. I ask, “What are you doing?” They answer, “We came back to kiss you.” Each gives me a quick peck. They also play grab ass with me. I’m responding, “Are you crazy?” They hear my wife coming and hide under the bed, which is unmade.

My wife comes in with another female friend, the one who knocked on the door. I realize that she’s in on it. My wife says that she came over to borrow a video to watch. She wants something funny. I begin going through small stacks of VHS tapes, telling her what’s in there that we can loan her, but it’s all educational films.

She and my wife leave the room. The woman in purple appears beside me and says, “I just want to grab another kiss from you.” I answer, “I want to grab more than that.” We begin kissing and fondling one another.

Dream end.

A Dream of Secrets

Began with my wife and I establishing a home in a new location. Part of a community, seemed to be part of an apartment complex or condo. Outside, but up in the condo (that’s what I’ll go with) (and yes, it was both things – I was inside and outside at once), I set up reaffirming our place’s boundaries. This involved setting up green wooden railings on decks. Just trying to ensure that we were living up to our agreement. There were also storage units. Did we want those? someone asked my wife, who asked me. Yes, we did, I answered. She relayed that back.

Then we were inside. She was going off on some activity. I was working. A journalist. For some reason, it was important to keep my identity and work secret, along with my marriage. My wife and I were living together as husband and wife, but it was important others didn’t know that. Don’t know why. Other women approached, observing me. Wanted to know who I am. What I was doing. I kept responses to a minimum. They peeked into my home, attempting to see more. Fortunately, they didn’t see my wife’s clothing and items. She was worried about that, but we were safe. She kept coming and going.

Meanwhile, I’m writing. Outside the place, I see others reading my previous material. I’m afraid they’ll realize it’s me. Can’t have that. One person, a male, worries me most. Younger, he seems overly interested in me. I attempt to avoid him.

People are discussing my work. They don’t know it’s my work. Then they want to know what I’m doing. What am I working on? Can’t avoid them seeing that I’m writing, so I tell them that I am writing and revising. I downplay what it is. They’re insistent and prying. I finally tell them, I’m writing and revising. This is who I am.

Dream ends.

Trying

Nursing a coffee

nursing a care

marshalling thoughts running

like cats

here and there

trying to make a semblance of sense

trying to move into the present tense

on the outside I look to be comfortable and free

on the inside I hope no one else is like me

wrestling emotions cause they’re stealing my soul

wrestling hopes and dreams, writing down goals

another day living, another day spent

another day wondering where time and energy went

Lost in the Words

I pray for hope

I haven’t kept you too

long as I know that you’ll

always be the drink for

me and you, it always

seems like we’re getting lost in the

words can make a difference, especially how

they come and go through the spirals of

our changing lives and times because

what was once familiar has become

strange that I think of this now in

conjunction with where we’ve been and

where things have

gone are the expectations and

dreams are what keeps me

going for the goal that

I pray for hope.

 

A Topsy-Turvy Dream

Last night’s dream dragged me through a gamut of feelings — uplifting, frustrating, enervating, and energizing. It was just like writing a novel.

Here’s a little set-up. This dream was apparently a sequel, or part of a series. In a previous dream, I’d driven an exotic high-performance sports car. I had a great time with it, but while cutting through traffic, I lightly clipped another car. I need it in the dream, but I was having too much fun to care. I thought, who cares? It’s a dream. Enjoy it.

My dream last night began with me with my wife in our home. I received a document in the mail. Opening it, I found a letter from my previous employer, IBM. It was signed by like sixteen people, including a senior VP. The letter had a photograph of me in the car in the previous dream. A video played when I pressed on it, showing the moment when I clipped the other car and drove away. It had a clear image of my dismissive grin. The letter said, “Is this you? Please call.” A phone number was provided.

Shit, I thought. Shit, shit, shit. My wife was going to be pissed. I figured that I’d damaged something that belonged to IBM, they found out, and know they wanted me to pay. It’d probably be a substantial amount, and that’s what I thought would piss my wife off.

So I didn’t want her to know. Concealing the letter from her, I called the number. A cold female voice on the other end confirmed who I was, that it was me in the photo (or video), and told me the senior VP wanted to talk to me. An appointment was set.

I went in like I was being sentenced to death. IBM HQ was huge and busy. I stumbled around, lost, until I managed to get to where I needed to be. After I identified myself, the woman behind the desk left and came back with a man. Here it comes, I thought.

He confirmed who I was and that it was me in the vehicle, and then said, “We want to give you a job. The elan you demonstrated in this vehicle was just what we’re looking for. My boss will be out to talk to you about your pay, benefits, and the project, and then we’ll see if we can make a deal.”

Hot damn, I was so surprised and excited. I couldn’t believe it. What good luck. I was looking forward to telling my wife.

But a few minutes later, the woman came out and said, “Sorry, there’s been a change of plans. We’ve decided we don’t want to hire you. Have a nice day.”

Talk about flipping me over. I tried to talk her into another chance but she dismissed me and walked off.

Hurt, angry, and bitter, I left. Instead of walking, I took a train to my car. The train was packed, and I seemed to be in everyone’s way, which was like an anchor on my soul. Arriving at my stop, I left the train and trudged up the steps from the platform into the parking building. Thick burgundy carpeting covered the steps. I was the only one going up them. As I reached the top steps, I discovered a heavy burgundy overcoat. It was obviously expensive. Picking it up, I thought, I need to turn this in or find its owner.

I stepped into the upper level. Burgundy carpeting covered the wide, broad room. A group of men hustled toward me. They were talking about a basketball game. One of them, a short, bald man, seemed to be senior, as they obviously deferred to him. All were carrying briefcases, but he was dressed in a three-piece burgundy suit.

Stopping him, I said, “Excuse me, is this your coat?”

Surprised, he said, “Yes, it is. Where’d you get it? I’ve been looking for it.”

“I found it on the stairs,” I said.

“My goodness, well, thank you for finding it for me. I really appreciate it.”

He reminded me of the proctologist in the Seinfeld Ass Man episode, officially called “Fusilli Jerry”. “You’re welcome,” I said.

He then went to put the coat on, but his hands were full with bags. I said, “Here, let me help you.”

As I helped put him put his coat on, he laughed and said, “Well, thank you. You’re a fine young man.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. He and I turned to go in our separate directions. As we did, one of the other men called to him. Hearing the name, I realized that it was the senior VP that I was supposed to meet, who never met me.

Turning around, I watched him walk away, and felt better, because I thought we were going to meet again.

The dream ended.

Thursday’s Theme Music

This is a twofer Thursday post, featuring a dream and a song, because this song started in my dreamstream.

It was a turbulent stream, with multiple vignettes and one-act plays. I think the music made this one memorable.

“Conquistador” began playing in the dream. Hearing it, I said, “Hey, I know this song. “Conquistador”. Procol Harum.” After remembering hearing the song’s live version in high school in the early seventies, and talking to my friend, Bob, about it (in the hall in front of the art classroom, by my locker, where he was talking overly loudly and enthusiastic, trying to catch some girl’s attention), I thought about other Procol Harum music I know and wondered where the music was coming from. I couldn’t identify its source.

All that was backdream. I was in my most recurring dreamscape, which is dark green, slightly rolling hills. I seem to know or I remember such hills most often out of dreams. Accompanied by several friends, we were admiring two exotic hyper cars, a Lamborghini and Ferrari, that belonged to others, and discussing their styling, price, and performance capabilities.

My friends were envious, but I said, “Yes, but my car is faster than either of them, and costs more.”

They were skeptical. So was I. I thought my ride would be there by now. As it wasn’t, I didn’t think my ride was going to arrive, and was becoming anxious.

“Conquistador” ended, and my ride arrived, a stunning silver Aston Martin. “Wow,” I said, along with my friends. “Wow.” I never believed it would arrive.

Then, it was just there.

 

This Is Your Life Dream

Of an indiscriminate age, I was at work somewhere. The place was vague, basically dark office facilities somewhere, like I worked in during the forty years that I was employed or in the military. My occupation and that location weren’t defined. Tired, I was waiting for word that I could leave. I was almost asleep. No one else was there, but every now and again, as I waited, the theme music to the old Tom Selleck “Magnum, P.I.” television show would play. I don’t know its source, and its timing for being played seemed random.

A phone call came in. It was my old friend and boss from my start-up years in coronary angioplasty. I could go home now, but I needed to be back or call in at ten. There was big news, and it was really exciting. Laura wouldn’t say more, but she seemed pumped.

Ten was only a few hours away. I hastened to leave but decided the place needed to be tidied before I left, to present the right image. As I began that, another guy, from my military days in Germany, came in. I started cleaning, and told him to help me. The two of us began picking up and doing dishes.

A friend from my time stationed at Kadena Air Base in Okinawa came and went. Then some friends from my assignment in Germany entered. I was almost done cleaning, and was hurrying to leave. Their arrival slowed me. I had some stuff to take with me. I wanted to put it in a bag, but the others would ask me questions and divert my attention. I kept going back to get a bag.

An ex-commander came in and ordered us to run a mile. When he did that, I saw that there was a quarter mile track. Everyone else began running. Food was being served. I think it was soup. Some of the bowls being used had been washed but were still dirty. I realized that the other guy had done a poor job of washing the dishes. That pissed me off, but I took it on myself to collect the bowls and wash them again, and then I rushed out and ran the mile, as directed.

The “Magnum, P.I.” theme music played. Time was running out. I  felt exhausted. I just wanted to put my head down and sleep. I began believing that there wouldn’t be time to leave and call in, and that I would be better off staying where I was. I didn’t want to accept that. Others were talking about the news. The others were mostly military friends and co-workers, but there were some people there from my civilian work. The military personnel heavily outnumbered them, though.

I finally found a bag. It was a folded brown paper grocery bag. Another friend of mine saw me with the bag and said, “That’s what I need.” I took him back to the bags, showed them where they were, and gave him one. I put my stuff into a bag. I thought that I couldn’t leave but needed to wait, but I was stumbling around in exhaustion, with my eyes barely open, so tired that I struggled to think straight. I was asked to set up a connection using the phones for a conference call, but my lack of rest kept me from doing it right. What should have been done in seconds stretched out as I had to start over several times.

Laura, my old boss, arrived to give us the news. She saw me and hugged me. Everyone was told to gather to hear the news. The “Magnum, P.I.” theme music played.

Putting my head down, I went to sleep.

End of dream.

####

Writing this helped me recall and realize the elements in it, and put it into perspective. That’s why I write, to help clarify what’s in my mind and help me understand what I think. Running around, and being delayed, doing my duty, catching up, and waiting…it all made sense. Even the theme music from the television show made sense. They’re re-booting that show, the current entertainment parlance for remake. They like to say something is being rebooted, or re-invented. I believe that I’m being rebooted, again, as I was with so many military assignments, and then again with start-ups after retiring from my military, and again with my move into the formal corporate structure at IBM. I associate Laura with wonderful things happening, such as advancement, and financial pay-off. Working with her, I learned a great deal. She was a great mentor.

Either that, or this was a stew of hope, anxieties, impatience, memories, and wonder.

That works, too.

The TV Dream

Last night’s vivid dream placed me as a minor actor on a science-fiction television series. The show runner came in and made big announcements that we needed to create a special, kick-ass show. He was running around with hyperbolic enthusiasm that spread like kudzu.

I decided I would be part of that. Seeing him crossing a broad, carpeted room, I intercepted him and regaled him about my desire to be a part of creating this special show. He said with broad puzzlement, “Who are you?” I explained I was a minor character actor on the show but that I had ideas for it and wanted to write. Then I told him some of my ideas.

It was enough that he didn’t shrug me off or chase me out. Nor did he endorse me. But I accepted that I was now part of the writing and production team. They were having an off-site. Finding out where it was, I crashed the site.

The place was chaos. Groups were entrenched around tables. Food was being served on a buffet table. The head writer and creator was walking around talking to people, but he wasn’t talking about the show. None of them were, as far as I could tell. I circled around the tables, looking for an opening to join. A few people knew me and chatted with me. A couple even introduced me to others.

Sometimes the groups would get up and move around. Each time this happened, I thought, here we go, now maybe we’ll start. But, no. They just resettled and continued chatting. Then, weirdly to me, it looked like they were breaking for lunch. They hadn’t done anything, in my opinion. By then I felt like an outcast and was dejected by their lack of direction and energy. I decided to leave.

Some who knew me saw me leaving and started talking to me, trying to convince me not to go, but I’d made up my mind. This was clearly not my scene. I’d go elsewhere.

Leaving required me to walk up a steep hill to a pedestrian bridge. The pedestrian bridge spanned eight lanes of traffic. Businesses like restaurants, stores, and gas station  bordered both sides of the road. I could see a long way from here.

Some of the people from the show caught up.  Several tried to engage me. I didn’t put them off, but I wasn’t interested in their entreaties. From the top of the hill by the pedestrian bridge, I looked for where I needed to go. It seemed like miles way. I would need to walk. The sun was hot, and the traffic rushing below increased the heat. Finding my destination, I resigned myself to a long way, and began making my way.

 

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