Same Meme, Different Night
I can confirm with some degree of assurance that I do - or, have - indeed, been entertaining some rather tense dreams in the middle of the night, followed by the usual "Seat At The Table" meme that has stuck with me for most of the summer. The first set of dreams seems to involve being drafted into some kind of civil strife. I'm not wearing a uniform and there's a fair degree of hiding or avoiding detection. In last night's dream, I am hiding in the rafters of a ceiling when a drop of my blood falls into a pool of liquid below. And yet, it reminds me of nothing so much as that scene in "Remains of the Day" when the aging butler allows a bead of sweat to escape the end of his nose and into his master's soup (or, something like that.) That is where the dream ended.
I'm beginning to think my early morning dreams are just anticipations of eating and bathing (not necessarily in that order) in that , lately, they have been all about kitchens and bathrooms. Could it have anything to do with the renovation project? If so, I can hardly fathom what they will be like once the work actually commences!
This morning's began with another RC-like workshop and another old chum I don't see very often, my college dorm mate, Gary Morris. I honestly hope that some day (like in maybe, twenty years) Crosby and I will look back on the present difficulties with some degree of equanimity and consider ourselves "old chums".
The bulk of thhe dream involved my going from bathroom to bathroom in this stereotypical country inn and realizing that the main one has been commandeered by Gary and his artsy-fartsy Wesleyan friends, as a dark room for developing film. In my quest to find another one I discover an unlocked door which leads to another bathroom but as soon as I disrobe and am about to enter the shower area (which is communal) I overhear women's voices. They are coming from inside the shower stalls which are only separated from me by an opaque sheet of vinyl. My suspicions are confirmed when I pass a row of lockers or cubbby holes that are strung with a line of pink brassieres (as if there might be any doubt that they belonged to women.) Yet, even though I have not seen them, they have detected me and there are voices of reassurance ringing from the general direction of the showers, that everything is okay, "You haven't seen anything."
The dream ends.
I'm beginning to think my early morning dreams are just anticipations of eating and bathing (not necessarily in that order) in that , lately, they have been all about kitchens and bathrooms. Could it have anything to do with the renovation project? If so, I can hardly fathom what they will be like once the work actually commences!
This morning's began with another RC-like workshop and another old chum I don't see very often, my college dorm mate, Gary Morris. I honestly hope that some day (like in maybe, twenty years) Crosby and I will look back on the present difficulties with some degree of equanimity and consider ourselves "old chums".
The bulk of thhe dream involved my going from bathroom to bathroom in this stereotypical country inn and realizing that the main one has been commandeered by Gary and his artsy-fartsy Wesleyan friends, as a dark room for developing film. In my quest to find another one I discover an unlocked door which leads to another bathroom but as soon as I disrobe and am about to enter the shower area (which is communal) I overhear women's voices. They are coming from inside the shower stalls which are only separated from me by an opaque sheet of vinyl. My suspicions are confirmed when I pass a row of lockers or cubbby holes that are strung with a line of pink brassieres (as if there might be any doubt that they belonged to women.) Yet, even though I have not seen them, they have detected me and there are voices of reassurance ringing from the general direction of the showers, that everything is okay, "You haven't seen anything."
The dream ends.