Tag: weeds

Success & Processing: A Dream

Young, I dreamed I was in the military, except it seemed more like I both was and wasn’t. As the dream unfolds, you’ll see what I mean.

I was at my house, in uniform. It was this house where I live in real life, but located somewhere else. I was going through the house, thinking about what I needed to do when I received a phone call. An agent said a publisher was interested in my book and wanted to talk to me — could I come up next Tuesday?

Hell, yes, was basically my response.

Giddy with excitement, I shared the news with my wife. Then I was informed that the general was arriving for a briefing. Scrambling, I put together a PowerPoint slide presentation, finishing up just when the doorbell rang. The cats ran off as the general and his staff entered.

The general was tall, friendly, white, quiet, and very hands on. As I began the slide show, explaining things, he asked for the controls. Then he tried to take over but didn’t know how to work the controls. I showed him. He then ‘left’ the slideshow app and started going through the material.

At one point, the general stopped. Watching him reading the slide and working the controls, I guessed that he wanted to print something. I showed him how, which he quickly understood.

Noticing the television, the general asked if it worked and requested it be turned on. I turned the TV on but with the sound down. The general took a remote and tried changing the channels. This was an odd-looking remote that was like an old-fashioned television dial on rectangle. He turned the dial but nothing happened. I explained that we didn’t use that remote — it didn’t work with this system, and gave him the correct remote. He then turned the channel.

I took the laptop with the presentation on it to the printer area to retrieve the general’s printouts. Another general was there. This one was younger, less rank, chunkier, white, with a balding head, brown hair, and a thick brown mustache. He was also very gregarious.

I saw that this general was trying to make copies of something. Chuckling, he was saying, “I was ready to retire. I can’t believe I got this assignment. It just fell into my lap. This is wonderful.”

He walked off. Glancing at what he was copying — coupons — I discerned that he’d not done them right. Adjusting the machine and settings, I copied them for him, speaking to my wife as she came up. “Look, hon, he’s copying coupons,” because my wife used to be a coupon hound. She left and left that area as the short general returned.

I showed the short general the copies I made, telling him, “I think this is what you were trying to do.”

He thanked me, agreeing that I’d fixed it for him. Then he took a fat marker and circled something on the page. I didn’t see what and didn’t feel it was my business to look.

Suddenly, he said, “Will you go down and sell my house for me? I need to sell it but I don’t have the time. It’s next Tuesday. I’ll give you $10,000 to do it.”

Seeing me hesitate, he cajoled me into helping him out. On my end, I reacting to him but not saying anything. First, an extra ten grand? Hell, yes. Second, next Tuesday? I have something planned then. I’d need to do both. I also thought, look at all this great stuff happening.

Everyone left. I went around, thinking about all that had transpired. While seeing the guests off, I’d noticed that the yard was weedy and trees needed trimmed. I decided to take care of those things. I went into the house first to tell my wife about the short general’s deal.

Back outside, I discovered that the weeds had almost doubled in size and numbers while I was in the house. Well, I needed to take care of that quick, so I went in and got the equipment. Coming out, I began working on a tree. My wife came out and said something that I didn’t catch.

Dream end.

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A Series of Weird, Short Dreams

I dreamed that dandelions were growing out of my cat’s head. I decided to pull them, because I thought, the roots must be growing into his brain.

I pulled the weeds. As they came out, his head broke apart like the top of a chicken potpie. Brains spilled out. Panicking, I tried pushing them all back in.

Before that —

I was marrying a robot. The robot resembled a cross between an Oscar and Marvel’s Iron Man. He’d been sent to kill me. I’d captured and converted him, easy to do because he was a foot tall and never moved, standing like the Oscar all the time. I don’t know how he was expected to kill me, but I was marrying him.

Before that —

It was cake again. A large white sheet cake was on a table. It looked gorgeous, and delicious. Writing was on the top. Leaning forward to read it, I misjudged space and distance and began falling into the cake. Wildly flailing, I managed not to hit the cake, but tilted the table. The cake began sliding away. I tried grabbing it, seizing a handful of a corner and tearing it away.

In a slow-motion sequence, I raised the cake that I’d torn away up to my face. Yellow inside, it smelled like lemon. I put some into my mouth to taste it. It didn’t taste lemon. I couldn’t decide what the taste was.

The cake was still sliding off the table. Lunging forward, I caught the cake, stabilized the table, and ‘saved’ the cake, except it was a mess.

Others came in. I wanted to run but I had cake all over me. Obviously, I’d done whatever had happened to the cake. As the rest came up (all strangers, dressed casually, but with what looked like flutes of champagne in their hands), I said, “There was an accident.”

Ignoring that, smiling and talking, they looked at the cake as though nothing was wrong. One woman said something to me. I held up the handful of cake and asked, “Is this lemon?”

Before that —

I was in the military, dressed in a crisp light blue shirt with dark blue pants, supervising a group of young NCOs. I was assigning them positions, roles, and titles. “You’re NCOIC of Back Office Reporting, BOC.” I laughed. “And you are Console Operations, COPs.” That brought more wild laughter from me. To the third, I said, “And you’re NCOIC of Training, which is, well, that’s just training.” I found that hilarious.

Before that —

My cat was sick. I was looking for his medicine. After I went through the house, I finally found it (it’s the last place that you look, innit?). Then I couldn’t find the cat. Putting the medicine down, I went through the house looking for him. Finding him at last, I couldn’t find the medicine. I said, “I just had it.”

That’s all there was.

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Revolution

One needed to be the look-out. The look-out’s role was critical, but it was a dangerous situation.

“I’ll do it,” Varashi said.

The leader didn’t like that. Varashi had been the first dandelion to learn to stand up and lie down. Located in the yard’s middle, he’d been there a long time, spying on the humans through windows and learning their ways. In a sense, Varashi had been the leader’s inspiration.

Noting the leader’s reluctance to accept him, Varashi said, “Come on, I’m old. I’m due to be done. It’s not a great loss if I’m seen and weeded.”

Varashi’s logic was true, so the leader agreed.

The whole yard knew something was up. Even the clover, which was the dumbest plants in the yard, other than the grass, knew it. It had been a mild but wet winter. All the backyard inhabitants had thrived. The leader approved of the rise of his dandelions but knew that their success was also their threat. The human, the man, didn’t like weeds, and seemed particularly hostile toward dandelions.

The sun was high and the air was warm. It was time. “What’s the situation?” the leader asked. The word was sent through the roots to Varashi. He stood up his purple stalks. Although still twelve inches tall, they were naked on the ends. “All clear,” he reported.

The report was returned to the leader. He mentally nodded. They needed to leave as soon as possible. This was it. Per tradition and history, the man was going to come out soon and start removing them. The leader didn’t understand such hate and disdain for his dandelions. He didn’t feel understanding was necessary for him to take action to protect his people.

“All right,” he said. “Everyone ready?” The units reported that they were. Taking a deep breath, the leader stood. His many stalks were full and yellow on the ends. He looked about. Only Varashi stood. The man was not around. With the strength of commitment, he ordered, “Everyone stand up.”

His dandelions responded. Yellow heads rose. Oh, it was such a beautiful sight to behold, it hurt his leaves to see. “Now,” he said. “Lift your roots. Lift. Lift.”

He did so with the rest, pulling his roots free with a concentration of strength and willpower. “Now forward, toward the fence, march, march, march.” 

They managed twenty steps before stress rippled through the roots and everyone complained. Twenty steps — three inches. In that time, the sun had slipped behind the house, and their were in shadow.

Three inches. It was the most he’d ever gone. Ordering the others to stand down, he remained upright, staring at the fence.

Someday, they would reach the fence and get beyond it. And then?

Seeds, winds and birds brought news, and the trees offered their views, but those were just physical descriptions. None knew if his field of weeds could survive beyond the fence. But, they all agreed, it was a better choice than remaining in the yard, waiting to be pulled out of the ground and killed.

 

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