The Writing Class Dream
Couldn’t tell what my age was in this, as I never ‘saw’ me. Most of the dream was presented in compacted segments, which gave background info. I was in a packed writing class. I’d gone from being cold and aloof with my classmates to being cheerier and friendlier. We were toward the course’s end. I was panicking because a big assignment was due. The theme was, what’s it like to be a writer? I hadn’t started mine. In fact, I lacked a plan. Meanwhile, other students had developed theirs, and presentations were underway. Another writer, who hadn’t impressed me in the class to date, gave his presentation. Wow, the imagination and cleverness in the multimedia concept he employed blew me away. A few other students presented, and they were okay, serviceable but not special. The teacher — a teacher I took creative writing classes with in Germany thirty plus years ago — gave her energetic presentation. I didn’t quit grasp her point as she used a rake, shovel, and broom, dashing around. I thought about doing a silent presentation, walking around, observing others, staring at the sky, scribbling notes, pecking on a keyboard, but that seemed so basic and trite. I kept coming up and rejecting ideas. Meanwhile, other students crowded closer to me. One female sitting to my right said to me, “I’m really looking forward to your presentation. You’re so talented.”
I laughed. “Thanks, but don’t expected too much. I still don’t know what I’m going to do.”
She answered, “Oh, I’m not worried. You’ll come up with something. You always do.”
While her belief injected some hope, I still miserably searched for an idea as another student gave their presentation, walking around looking at things and writing in a notepad. I felt sick.
Dream end.
Tuesday’s Theme Music
Tuesday has come upon us, sunshine, clouds, and wind in my region. Looks like an artist took spray cans of gray, blue and white and began spraying, but ran out before anything was finished. The temperature is a comfortable 50 F although the wind has a bite that’s worse than its bark in the way that some wintry winds can manage. The weather prognosticators claim that the high is going to be 50. We’ll see.
But, happy solstice! Yes, it’s December 21st. Some years it’s on the 21st, others, it’s on the 22nd. Don’t know what it is this year, but this is supposed to be our shortest period of daylight. Previous years of observations show that, no, it probably won’t be. But we celebrate solstice as a holiday in our household, picking it up from the pagans. It’s all about meeting with friends, eating earthy foods, drinking wine, making wishes for the future, and stoking a fire against the cold darkness.
For the record, today’s sunrise was 7:36 AM and sunset is scheduled for 4:42 PM.
Today’s song comes from reading various accounts of people who dismissed COVID-19, dissed wearing masks, scoffed at the vaccines, and smirked at social distancing. Then, some — can’t say how many — contracted the virus, and went through some horrible shit, becoming hospitalized and intubated. Then — can’t say how many — some died, leaving relatives to write the follow up posts. Moms, fathers, sons, and daughters.
Out of that stew of reading and thinking about learning and not learning, arose Alanis Morissette with “You Learn” from Jagged Little Pill (1996). What’s ironic about this release (sorry about that) is that the other side of this single (what a quaint idea that is now, the flip side of a single record) was a song called “You Oughta Know”, an angry, sexually explicit rage-on about a terminated relationship that swept across the country. It’s ironic because it was the B side. The A side is supposed to be the major hit.
The lyrics that inspired the song for today:
h/t Genius.com
Here’s the music. Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as need be, and get the vaccine and boosters when you can. Don’t force another to finish writing your story. Now, I need to rescue a lonely cuppa coffee from the kitchen. It’s my good deed for the day. Cheers
A Time Dream
First, one dream ended. All I remember of it was that Glenn Greenwald was mentioned. Then I discussed someone’s book. No details from that remain with me. In the end, I was trying to explain what I meant but couldn’t think of a specific word. I tried writing it on a white board and wrote in lower case letters in red, ‘threat’. Standing back, I said, “That’s not what I meant to write.”
But a new dreamisode began. I was studying with others. We were a small class, five, learning in an old farmhouse. The other students and I were talking and joking when we were supposed to be studying. I picked up the book to try again. The subject was macroeconomics and my interest in learning it was low.
The teacher, a young, short white man with a black beard, entered and asked if we were ready for our exam. Other students who were younger than us approached our farmhouse. My class watched them out the window. We discovered they’d taken the same course and had already finished the exam. Not only that, but they were ahead of us on lessons.
My classmates and I were dismayed. We were expected to read several chapters, amounting to hundreds of pages, in a few days and then pass an exam on it? I laughed. “I need more time,” I said to the instructor.
“How much time?” he asked.
I laughed again. “A few years.”
Dream end.
The Moving-Planets Dream
Although it’s the moving-planets dream, it segued into a pants dream. That’s how I first thought of it.
We were given papers. “Follow the instructions on the papers,” we were all told. I’m not certain how many others were there. I’d guess about forty. I had an impression that I was middle-lower grade. We were doing something with planets and their orbits. Changing positions. De-conflicting paths and influences. The papers explained how to do these things. After a hesitant start, I picked up the idea and easily did my part, watching through large windows as I changed the paths and directions of gassy giants and small stones. An upper-level man came by and complimented me on my work. Told me, “You obviously have it. Go help some of the others. Some of them don’t get it.”
So I walked about, holding my paper, helping others learn how to move the planets. This was an introduction to a larger project. Once we knew how to move the planets, shift orbits, and change rotations, we were working on a larger project of aligning the planets for the most beneficial influence. By now, I’d read several people’s paper instructions. I’d learned that all were different in the details but with the same general practices and skill sets. Although my rank hadn’t changed, I was highly regarded and now considered adept at moving planets.
It was with some surprise then, followed by trepidation, when I concluded that some of the instructions were wrong. I went off and found the head guy and told him why I thought it was wrong. He decided that what I said made sense. He wanted to gather the whole group so I could explain it to them.
I agreed. Preparations were made. I decided I didn’t like my pants, so I made new ones, cutting them from cloth that I found, and then sewing them. The results were stunning. Form-fitting. Crisp creases. Neat darts and pleats. Perfect length. Cuffed. I was impressed by how my appearance improved by the change of pants.
The head guy and others came by to tell me they were ready. I had my pants on. My pants were different from everyone else’s. They stopped me and gathered around, asking, “Where did you get those pants? They’re perfect.”
“I made them,” I answered.
They were astonished. Wanted to know more. Felt the material. Had me turn so my pants could be admired from all angles. The rest of the people came in as this happened. They applauded my pants. The attention embarrassed me. With my new pants on, I was ready to explain to everyone where our plans to align the planets was amiss. I stood up to address them against a backdrop of stars and planets through tall, broad curved windows.
Dream end.
Michael Seidel, writer 