Tag: plans

The Watery Dream

I’ll not include all the dream’s tedious details, instead focusing on the few scenes, person, and essence that cling to my memory. 

Roger/Ronnie was there. Twins, they were my wife’s cousins. Born in Ohio, they adopted Georgia as their home, shooting as their mantra, and Fox News as their information source. They loved playing at being good ol’ boys.

Since I couldn’t tell them apart, one of them was in the dream. In the dream, there was trench full of muddy, milky water flowing through the middle of the house. We all accepted it as normal that it was there. The house itself was busy with people and activities but nothing that seemed significant. I could be wrong.

I went down to lower level in the house. It stank down there. I traced the smell to another body of water coming in through a trench in a wall. After more investigation, I figured that the upstairs water was emptying in such a way that it was sloshing back up this trench and into the house, where it pooled and stagnated.

Once I understood the cause, I went back upstairs. I knew something needed to be done about it and that I couldn’t do it alone. I needed help.

Here, I pause. I explained and showed people, mostly men, the stagnant water. I think I explained it to my late father-in-law. Mostly, though, I explained it to strangers, and Roger or Ronnie.

With Roger/Ronnie, they came in, took a deep breath and said, “Something stinks.” I told them about the water, and then showed it to them. They said, “You’re right.” I said, “We need to so something about that.” They said, “You’re right,” with a big grin, “but I can’t. I don’t have the time.” Feeling exasperated by that point, I decided that I was the only one that understood and cared, and that I would need to do something about it.

The dream ended.

I feel like my dream is addressing my restlessness and frustration. It’s bothering me multiple levels, and I understand exactly what it is.

 

2

The C-130 Dream

It began with innocent travel planning with my wife and her family. One or her sisters and her daughter were there, but honestly, these folks changed throughout the dream.

First, we’d talked about where to go, details which I don’t remember. Then, we were trying to pile into a sky-blue station wagon. As there were so many people, this required some strategizing about how to pack the luggage and where everyone could sit. I was in charge.

Then, in an eye-blink, we were off, and then arrived at our next destination. This happened to be my military unit in Germany. We were there to arrange fight via a C-130 to cross the ocean.

First, though, we needed to coordinate with someone for support. Now, getting a little weird, I found a listing for a Major Ward. Major Ward was a U.S. Navy F-4 pilot, according to the listing in small, black, bold print. The problem there is that the Navy doesn’t own a major officer rank. That didn’t occur to me in the dream, and I contacted him via telephone for help.

After explaining that I needed clearance and refueling assistance, he curtly told me, “No. It’s a holiday.”

I said, “Okay, but I’m going to tell the higher powers that be that you declined to help because it’s a holiday.”

After a pause, Major Ward said, “Fine. I’m not happy, but I’ll do it.”

I then entered a series of delays trying to herd everyone together, get the crew going, filing flight plans, and getting launched. Discussions were undertaken about which of the three C-130s to take, 1819, 1822, or 1828. These are the real aircraft’s abbreviated tail numbers. With my patience strained, I was suddenly airborne in the C-130.

Looking out the windshield from the cockpit, I was flying over ocean. The sky ahead was darkening blue with dark clouds limned by the setting sun. Off to the right was a Navy aircraft carrier and another ship.

The flight was bumpy, and we were low. Wondering about the crew and pilots, I remembered different pilots from my assignment and knew none of them were flying the aircraft. Feeling surprised, I thought, am I the pilot?

I think I was. As I’m not a pilot, I worried about what was going to happen. As the aircraft was dipping and bouncing around, I also worried about being too close to the aircraft carrier and other ship, and basically commanded, “Pull up. Climb.” The aircraft did, but sluggishly. We passed those ships and flew on.

We arrived at a beautiful tropical destination on a bright and sunny day. From the water, it looked like the Caribbean. Excited, I followed the landing instructions. We ended up landing in the water about a hundred yards from the beach. Speaking with someone on the radio, I learned that this was because Major Ward had ordered it. He was behind these flawed landing instructions. I suspected he was being spiteful.

Going ashore and into the terminal, I met Major Ward, a square-jawed tall and broad white man with thick black hair. He said with a flippant air, that the landing site was an error, probably because it was a holiday. His pettiness amused me.

Returning to the aircraft, which was floating on the sea, bobbing with the waves, I decided I could take off by turning it into the wind and surfing across the water until I achieved the required air-speed. I executed my plan. The aircraft climbed and banked into the sky, carrying me on toward my destination.

The dream ended.

2

Embedded Plans

A friend asked my wife, “Is Michael always so affable?”

I laughed, of course. The friend was encountering social Michael. He’s affable, but he has a very short half-life.

To her credit, my wife said, “Mostly. He has his moods. He’s okay as long as I don’t disrupt his writing time. Then he turns into a bear, and it’s not Yogi or Boo-Boo.”

My writing day doesn’t begin until about eleven A.M. I walk before my writing session as part of my process. When I’m writing, I target scenes to measure progress, and not word count. I’m frequently able to think about where I left off, and then resume writing it in my mind as I walk. When I get in and sit down, I usually know what I want to write.

This doesn’t always work because the muses have their own plans. I try to be flexible, but it’s a struggle. I like having plans. Plans provide me with structure and illusions of control.

When the muses throw me off with their reveals, I often need to stop to see where they’re taking me. Since my writing time is precious, I’ll frequently go back and edit what I’ve written when that happens. That keeps me engaged in writing while giving my subconscious mind the opportunity to meet with the muses and hash it out. (There’s not actually any hashing out. The muses know where they want to take the story. It’s up to me to do as told. I like to say we’re hashing it out because it gives me the illusion of it being a collaborative effort.)

My writing session only lasts about two and a half hours. Plans are embedded around it, especially walking. Walking is my number one form of exercise, and it helps me process information.

My walking plans change by season. That’s not just spring, summer, autumn, and winter, but the embedded seasons of hot, fucking hot, cold, fucking cold, wet, and smoky.

We’re into the fucking hot season now, defined by jokes like, “Look, the temperature has dipped. It’s ninety-seven.” The forecasted highs range between ninety-nine and one hundred two for the next ten days.

For all the seasons, I break my walking down into bite sized goals. My overall walking goals remain about twenty thousand steps and ten flights. During the FH season, I try to make fifty-five hundred steps before I start writing at eleven. After I write, I then target ninety-one hundred steps. That gives me four miles by three P.M.

After that, plans are flexible and adjusted according to what else the day requires. I frequently end up walking about two and a half miles in the evening, leaving the house about eight forty-five and returning an hour later. Because we live in a hilly area, my flights go up to about sixty one these days. (I can do that during this season because we have more hours of daylight. This doesn’t work as well when it’s cold and dark, so I adjust.)

For all that, they are just plans. They rarely survive reality. In the end, I ride the wave of the day, seizing moments and narrowing my focus as needed.

Okay, today’s therapy is finished. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

1

Seen at Graduation

A young woman held up this sign, written in black marker on torn cardboard, at her college graduation ceremony this weekend.

0

A Football Dream

I’d been part of the defense, set up to be an edge-passer on a high-school football team. Being a little guy, that surprised me, but I took to the role with the zeal I apply to things when I must get them done. Come game time, though, and I found myself lined up as a tight-end. Talk about confused! I had no idea about the offensive plays or blocking, but again, here I was, in a mess, so I would do what I had to do. Which meant, figuring it out as I went along.

They also weren’t including me in the huddle. Hello? Totally bewildered, I tried catching the coach’s eye to point out the obvious error of me being where I was. He told me to stay out there and do what I can. So —

I lined up, but it was an awkward position, because I was half-turned to see what the quarterback was doing. The ball was snapped.  Here comes the rush. I blocked a guy and cut into a middle open flat, caught a pass and was crushed in a tackle. Still, five yards were gained. On the next play, I saw a hand-off to the running back, so I picked up rushers and helped make a path for him, resulting in a first down.

The next play was bizarre. Lined up, I could hear the defense talking and see the quarterback. He planned to throw to me, I realized. I mentally set myself for the task. Then, the quarterback didn’t set. He kept standing up, moving around, and checking the defense. Time was passing, passing…I almost fell out of my stance. I kept wondering why the quarterback didn’t set us and get the ball hiked. I worried about delay of game.

Meanwhile, the defense had drifted off to the sides. There was a huge hole in the middle. If I released and the quarterback threw a quick slant, I could exploit this defense.

The ball was finally hiked. I snapped out into the flat and looked for the pass, but the quarterback was running toward me. I turned to make a block, but no defenders were in the area. The quarterback raced thirty yards into the end zone for a touchdown.

I realized that the quarterback was planning this all along, and that I’d been part of his secret scheme. It impressed me. Looking at the scoreboard, I saw that we’d now scored three times, and the score was 21-3.

Dream end.

I awoke thinking, take the opportunity when it comes, and make the most of it, but create opportunities. The quarterback on done both.

3

The Australian Dream

It was another wild night of dreams, with this one making a deeper and more lasting impression.

I found myself in another land. After meeting a man and speaking with him, I realized I was in Australia. My wife was also present. No reason for being in Australia was given, but I was pleased. I’ve always wanted to go to Australia, and have just missed several times. I still plan to go.

Anyway, in the dream, I was given some papers that turned out to actually be a little book. I didn’t know what to do with it or why I had it. Reading it didn’t help because it seemed incomplete, and my wife couldn’t figure it out, either. Finding another fellow, I asked him about it, and he showed me how it was a continuation of other documents. He said they were living documents, and took me to a huge wall of like documents. After he explained it, I was excited and explained it to my wife. She wasn’t interested.

I was then informed I had to get to another part of Australia. I hopped into a car and began driving, trying to figure out where I was going as I went. The roads were holed and shoddy. Most of them were like slick mud. As I complained about them to myself and merged onto a highway that was also like slick mud, I was overtaken by cars. They passed at shockingly high speeds. “I forgot they don’t have speed limits here,” I said to myself in the dream car, accelerating to match the pace while I looked for signs and directions.

I found myself out of the car and running. Everyone was running. Instead of driving, we were running everywhere. I was still on the highway and looking for where I was going. Somehow, running, I found it and arrived.

People were there, but it was no one that I recognized. They gave me more books. Where all the other books were white, these books were red. I immediately understood that these were new books, and that I had to take them back to the other location, which I did right away.  That pleased the people on the other end. Understanding the books and system at a fast rate, I took on the role of explaining to others how these books continued the stories.

Everyone was told to line up to go somewhere else, part of some planned activities. I got in line and found that I was at the line’s beginning, with my wife beside me. As I started to go, I encountered the first man that had given me the books in the beginning. He and I exchanged some comments, and I told him that I knew how the books worked. That made him happy, and he let me go. As I walked through the gate with my wife into a green field bordered by a white picket fence, I realized that he’d been my teacher.

0

Expected

The things I expected to do and see,

were not the things I saw and did,

so what’ll become of the things I expect to see and do now?

0

Happy One Hundred Fifty-three!

We’ve reached day one hundred fifty-three. Hump day’s pregnant belly is becoming visible over the horizon, that day on which half of this glorious year commonly called twenty seventeen will be completed.

Completed. Done. In the rear-view mirror. Under the bridge. In the books. Finished.

Which will mean, writers, you will have half a year remaining to accomplish those tasks, goals, objectives, and plans you established for yourself somewhere back in the neighborhood of day one.

Think about what you’ve done.

Consider what you want to do for this year, and then put this year in the context of the other years of your life.

How does it look?

2

The Hormone Effect

The promises.

Harvard and Yale are considered in her junior year of high school. Speaking five languages, a prodigy with several musical instruments, in advance placement classes, we’re pleased, proud and envious of who she is and her potential. But the boy has changed everything. We don’t see and feel what he brings to her but she’s modified her plans. A small local college is the goal, with a degree in international business.

Our pain of our lost dreams want us to urge her, think again, please, think ago. You wonder how this will work out. What will she be in ten years? Will they still be together? You try not to color her life with your experiences but you understand. You remember the warnings they gave you. You ignored them as she is ignoring them, because it was you, and things were different.

Life worked pretty well, you reassure yourself, but you remember the potential you tasted before the hormones struck.

Oh, the promises.

0

Between the Cracks

It may be the time,

the energy,

or the intentions,

or the hope.

It might just be the words or the dreams.

But you notice it slipping away,

through the cracks in the space of your life.

It’s the little things, at first.

Then you notice that much of it that you took for granted as yours has gone.

You never noticed the cracks.

You saw that it was two thousand.

Then it was twenty ten, twenty eleven.

Now it’s twenty seventeen.

It was January. Now it’s April.

Today, you order yourself, searching for the words and motivations in the cracks.

Today!

Before more is lost to the cracks,

today, you will write with abandonment.

Today, you will write like crazy.

At least one more time.

1

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