Life in the fast lane
Feeling sluggish today. I had trouble sleeping last night, and had a lot of weird, vivid dreams. I know where some of them are coming from, as I've been reading a trashy romance, where part of it takes place on a ship, and there's a wreck, although in the book the water is minutes-from-death cold, and in my dream it's tropical. Anyway, here's one dream:
I’m on a ship in deep ocean. The captain is someone I secretly love. He’s tall and broad, but otherwise I can’t see him well, because I’m always looking sideways at him. The crew is planning mutiny. A young boy climbs like a monkey into a hatch above where they’re plotting. He hears them, uses a rope to secure the hatch, something. He comes to the captain to tell him, but by then the ship is sinking. The boy’s small dinghy is smashed, we are all tumbling into water. The boy cries out in despair, certain we’ll drown. The captain yells at him to grab pieces of the ship, hold on, kick. A big black man who is either the first mate or a passenger is in the water with us. Four people from the ship, clinging to debris. It is night, full dark, no stars. The captain tells us all to kick and float, steers us toward land, he says he knows where it is. The night bobbles and spins around me - I can’t see anything but dark water and the wood I cling to, shadows of the captain and the boy, the first mate. We rest on occasional sandbars and wait for dawn.
Then rosy light, spinning, we are headed toward a dark bulk of an island, trees, a brightly painted ship at a dock. It looks like Northwest tribal turtles painted on the sides, in white and red and green. We head towards it, the captain knows these people, they are smugglers, dangerous. The main smuggler has what amounts to a harem of pretty serving girls. We all disguise ourselves, although the men make sad, lumpy looking women. We decide to make them look old, and try to blend in. The boy I keep with me. The smuggler makes the serving girls, in Disney colored dresses and smocks, dance for him as they clean, and sing Can-Can type songs. The captain does not do so well at this, and says sadly “I’m too old a gel, and I know it,” and starts to leave the room. But the smuggler calls him back, suspecting treachery. The captain in a fit of anger and glee taunts the main smuggler guy, Tony, or Andy, or something, and then hides somewhere on the grounds. I’m furious. Now we won't have time to pack. I’m trying to fling necessaries into plastic bags - underwear for the boy, for me, feminine hygiene products, pants, socks, water bottles, all quickly pulled from dressers and cupboards, while the search is on for the captain. I know I’m supposed to meet him and the first mate, but I can’t find the boy. I’m trying to make it look like I’ve just been shopping, should anyone ask. I know we’re going to steal their ship. I have glimpses of what will happen in the rest of the story - sailing upriver to someplace that reminds me of China, running from the smugglers, getting involved in some crime or conspiracy, the captain finds out I love him. But about then I’m waking up, sweating, nervous, waiting for the smugglers to catch us all.
So that was my brain on trashy romance. Funny how I was obsessing about making sure we had underwear. I was certain that none of the boys would think to grab any, and I was adamant that young boys need clean underwear. Um, does that make me old?
Random segue, my friend Lara is taking me to see Mozart's Don Giovanni in a couple weeks - I'm so excited! She got me tickets for my b-day way back in August, and now we have to go shopping for appropriate opera attire. I wish I could afford to get something in a stunning purple or green with a train, and long gloves, and, um, a lifestyle to go with it. Well, temporarily. I only want that lifestyle for special occasions. My normal lifestyle is fine for everyday, I suppose. Although I'd like to get paid to pretend, instead of transcribe. Anyhoo, a faboo dress is on the agenda for this weekend. And then next weekend we see Mr. G. and his Band of Hellbound Misfits, or what have you. I love that opera so much. I have a recording of it with a man named Peter Mattei singing the D.G. part. Oh, his voice is like melting chocolate. Chocolate melting over your soul. No wonder women fall at his (Don Giovanni's) feet, even if he is a big fat jerkwad. (Again, the character. I don't know abything about Mr. Mattei other than that he has a fantastic voice.) That voice could brainwash you without half trying. Seriously, the canzonetta, "Deh vieni alla finestra" would bring just about anyone climbing down a trellis or sneaking out the back door at midnight to run off and do whatever that voice asks. Dangerous stuff.
Reggie update - he wouldn't eat yesterday, but he's eating a little today. My mood rises and falls on whether or not he'll eat baby food from a spoon held in front of him, or shows interest in anything left in the sink. He's still sleeping mostly, and I think he's really cold since he lost a couple pounds, but he's still alert, and has no trouble leaping to my shoulder if he thinks he needs attention. So, um, I'm not really sure what to think. We're managing with the fluids with two of us to do the job, although he sounds like he's ready to murder us the whole time. But afterwards, he's pretty happy to get his baby food as a treat. Keep eating, cat. Just keep eating.
I’m on a ship in deep ocean. The captain is someone I secretly love. He’s tall and broad, but otherwise I can’t see him well, because I’m always looking sideways at him. The crew is planning mutiny. A young boy climbs like a monkey into a hatch above where they’re plotting. He hears them, uses a rope to secure the hatch, something. He comes to the captain to tell him, but by then the ship is sinking. The boy’s small dinghy is smashed, we are all tumbling into water. The boy cries out in despair, certain we’ll drown. The captain yells at him to grab pieces of the ship, hold on, kick. A big black man who is either the first mate or a passenger is in the water with us. Four people from the ship, clinging to debris. It is night, full dark, no stars. The captain tells us all to kick and float, steers us toward land, he says he knows where it is. The night bobbles and spins around me - I can’t see anything but dark water and the wood I cling to, shadows of the captain and the boy, the first mate. We rest on occasional sandbars and wait for dawn.
Then rosy light, spinning, we are headed toward a dark bulk of an island, trees, a brightly painted ship at a dock. It looks like Northwest tribal turtles painted on the sides, in white and red and green. We head towards it, the captain knows these people, they are smugglers, dangerous. The main smuggler has what amounts to a harem of pretty serving girls. We all disguise ourselves, although the men make sad, lumpy looking women. We decide to make them look old, and try to blend in. The boy I keep with me. The smuggler makes the serving girls, in Disney colored dresses and smocks, dance for him as they clean, and sing Can-Can type songs. The captain does not do so well at this, and says sadly “I’m too old a gel, and I know it,” and starts to leave the room. But the smuggler calls him back, suspecting treachery. The captain in a fit of anger and glee taunts the main smuggler guy, Tony, or Andy, or something, and then hides somewhere on the grounds. I’m furious. Now we won't have time to pack. I’m trying to fling necessaries into plastic bags - underwear for the boy, for me, feminine hygiene products, pants, socks, water bottles, all quickly pulled from dressers and cupboards, while the search is on for the captain. I know I’m supposed to meet him and the first mate, but I can’t find the boy. I’m trying to make it look like I’ve just been shopping, should anyone ask. I know we’re going to steal their ship. I have glimpses of what will happen in the rest of the story - sailing upriver to someplace that reminds me of China, running from the smugglers, getting involved in some crime or conspiracy, the captain finds out I love him. But about then I’m waking up, sweating, nervous, waiting for the smugglers to catch us all.
So that was my brain on trashy romance. Funny how I was obsessing about making sure we had underwear. I was certain that none of the boys would think to grab any, and I was adamant that young boys need clean underwear. Um, does that make me old?
Random segue, my friend Lara is taking me to see Mozart's Don Giovanni in a couple weeks - I'm so excited! She got me tickets for my b-day way back in August, and now we have to go shopping for appropriate opera attire. I wish I could afford to get something in a stunning purple or green with a train, and long gloves, and, um, a lifestyle to go with it. Well, temporarily. I only want that lifestyle for special occasions. My normal lifestyle is fine for everyday, I suppose. Although I'd like to get paid to pretend, instead of transcribe. Anyhoo, a faboo dress is on the agenda for this weekend. And then next weekend we see Mr. G. and his Band of Hellbound Misfits, or what have you. I love that opera so much. I have a recording of it with a man named Peter Mattei singing the D.G. part. Oh, his voice is like melting chocolate. Chocolate melting over your soul. No wonder women fall at his (Don Giovanni's) feet, even if he is a big fat jerkwad. (Again, the character. I don't know abything about Mr. Mattei other than that he has a fantastic voice.) That voice could brainwash you without half trying. Seriously, the canzonetta, "Deh vieni alla finestra" would bring just about anyone climbing down a trellis or sneaking out the back door at midnight to run off and do whatever that voice asks. Dangerous stuff.
Reggie update - he wouldn't eat yesterday, but he's eating a little today. My mood rises and falls on whether or not he'll eat baby food from a spoon held in front of him, or shows interest in anything left in the sink. He's still sleeping mostly, and I think he's really cold since he lost a couple pounds, but he's still alert, and has no trouble leaping to my shoulder if he thinks he needs attention. So, um, I'm not really sure what to think. We're managing with the fluids with two of us to do the job, although he sounds like he's ready to murder us the whole time. But afterwards, he's pretty happy to get his baby food as a treat. Keep eating, cat. Just keep eating.