Like misty wisps of fog–the dreams that vanish

3 Apr

We all dream.

Some of us remember our dreams, some of us remember them some of the time, and a few people claim they always remember them.  Some people claim that dreams are always prophetic.  Some people claim that dreams are always reflections of our inner psychological turmoil.  Other people claim that dreams are nothing more than a solitary dance of our imaginations.  Some people claim to be able to direct their dreams, the same way a writer directs their story.


I don’t know much about other people’s dreams, although on occasion, friends and family will ask me to help interpret their dreams.  I don’t know if that makes me a dream expert, or just the local weirdo.  I have more trouble interpreting my own dreams and where they fit into the scheme of things, whether they are prophetic, psychological, inner truth, or imagination…or nothing at all.

Like the singing chickens.  I’m sure there must be some deep meaning in a dream that was so real that I woke up, singing aloud with the chickens that don’t exist.  No, they weren’t singing like humans, they were singing like chickens would if they could carry a tune.  Chickens just aren’t very smart, and I can’t imagine one, let alone a dozen or so, being motivated to carry a tune or even interact with a person for any reason other than food.  They are much more likely to turn on one of their own and literally peck them to death before completing their act of cannibalism on the corpse.  I try to not think about that when I stop at KFC.

I’m more likely to use dreams as a problem solving tool.  I literally like to “sleep on”  a problem, whether its mechanical or some other kind of problem, and during the night, I try out solutions as sort of animated scenarios, seeking the best solution.  It’s rare that I don’t wake up with the solution, and often recall of many of the failed methods…especially when they were epic fails.  Sometimes, as in dealing with interpersonal problems, there isn’t any real fix, but rather merely the “best solution” to choose.

But often, I wake and the dream fades like a wisp of fog when the sunlight strikes.  It’s gone.  There is no retrieving it.  But…it often leaves its mood behind.  There is also this intense sensation that I have forgotten something critically important, like the code to open the safe that contains the key to mankind’s survival or something.

Not that I think I am THAT important, but rather that’s the level of importance behind what I have forgotten.  It’s the feeling that it is something really, REALLY big!

This morning was one of those mornings.  I’d had another restless night, more the norm for me anymore than the exception, and was up and down all night long.  I finally fell into a deep sleep just after dawn, sleeping about 3-4 hours like a rock.  Waking up was a misery, as the reality of a screaming headache tore into my consciousness, sending dreamy recollections to the wind.  I’d put Red Dog outside just after dawn, as she was dancing to get out, but Sissy was agitating to go out mid morning when I was forced to consciousness.  GM got elected to dog duty.  Moving was not an optional response as I tried to avoid the headache’s insisting stabs and recover the dream.

It was elusive.  I didn’t find it.  But…it left its mood.

I’m quiet and contemplative today.  The headache is making its presence known, and whoever is outside beating on a stake or post or whatever…I’d like to do something completely immoral and violent to them.  GM would like eggs, I figure they serve them at Waffle House.  I made coffee.  I might be human in a bit.  If I can remember where the ibuprofen is.  Maybe.

Once upon a time, I used to recover from feeling like this by the judicious use of the “hair of the dog.”  It would have taken a very loud, very wild, very alcohol soaked night to inspire waking up feeling like this.  An hour after I woke up, I’d be right as rain and ready to do it again.  That was then.

This is now.  The most exciting thing that I drank last night was a Hawaiian Punch Fruit Juicy Red.  I’m not sure what flavor red is, but I can’t blame feeling this way today on it.  It’s happened too often the past year or so for it to be an incident with artificial sweeteners and artificial colors inspiring it.  I could learn to hate mornings on days like today.  But headaches aside…I’m much more concerned with that elusive dream.

Where did it go?  What did it mean?  Why can’t I recall it?  Why the quiet mood and feeling that I should seclude myself?  I do have a single image though, which IS more than usual.

It’s a typical country road scene here in the South.  A narrow paved road, without center line, curving to the right.  It’s shady, with thick trees on both sides, and a narrow grassy depression running alongside of the roadway on both sides.  There are no road signs, no markers, no mail boxes, nothing…just the shady lane and the curve in the road.  I think I’m riding bicycle on it.  If I’m not riding a bike on it, I’d like to do so!  It’s peaceful and quiet, no barking dogs, no hammering on metal, no lawn mowers.

Maybe, if my head behaves, I’ll cajole GM into taking a bike ride into the bayou and we’ll see about a place to fish for a bit this afternoon.  That might be a great way to punctuate a lazy Sunday afternoon.  There are plenty of curves in the road, and most of it is paved too.  Lots of trees.  We might see a snake or a gator or a turtle along the way.

And by the way, I do have hopes that I’m really going to end up human today.  Some toast, some ibuprofen, a cup of coffee…and I’m feeling a lot more optimistic and less murderous about noise!


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