Another Seeding Attempt (and Utter Fail.)
I was in pretty good spirits after the Patriots squeaky thin win against the New York Jets. That is always a good contest. I don't know why, but, maybe it is the football equivalent of the Red Sox - Yankees rivalry. It seems no matter how bad the Jets are doing at mid-season, they seem to pull it together in time to scare the daylights out of the Pats.
I didn't watch it at Brew House. I was scheduled to meet Sam at a gay men's support group and didn't want to go there with beer on my breath. And, I had a perfectly good "extra" hamburger waiting in my fridge, bought with a coupon from Smashburger. Probably the cheapest Sunday afternoon I have spent in quite some time.
However, after I re-read the invitation a second time, I realized the support group required permission from my ARP in order to go. An ARP (Area Reference Person) is the RC equivalent of a bishop, with all the complications one would associate with religious hierarchy. I decided it wasn't worth the drama of a last minute "emergency" phone call in order to beg to go to a support group that under any other circumstance would not require anyone's permission but the organizer to attend.
So, the evening began to take shape along similar lines as the week before: some nice, low-key connections, but nothing earth-shattering; nothing really life changing like a Bing, or Huggy Bear or Front Page. Or, Simon, for that matter.
Second-string football games bled into some violent film noir choices on the Movie Channel, including "Wait Until Dark", "Nightmare Alley" (with Tyrone Power) and a curious romantic triangle pic with Joan Crawford, Dana Andrews and Henry Fonda getting third billing called, "Daisy Kenyon".
My eyes were pretty heavy about a half-hour into that last one and I was soon in bed cuddling up to another pillow. I figured, "Why not?" I was still feeling pretty cocky about the results of last week's attempt at influencing the content of a dream. After all, if all I have to do is conjure up "Crosby On Demand", then, who the hell needs the real Crosby? What if all of Life were like that? [Note to Self: I think that's called, dementia.]
Still, I happily assumed the pillow hugging position. I mean, what's the worst that could happen? That I'd wind up cuddling with a 99 year old man? A ninety-nine year-old woman? It suddenly occurred to me that it wasn't the specific person that was important. It was the journey itself. Between two people. Any two people. "Once more into the breach!", I silently shouted inside my head.
Well, I learned soon enough that there is a lot more to dreaming than good intentions. That, in fact, what starts out as a cuddling position in wakeful life can be experienced as something far different by the time REM sleep begins. As far as I can tell, the dream that followed began as my dreams normally do, as an excursion to someplace away from home. Maybe, it was the discussion with Larry earlier in the day that did it. I also remember discussing the Men's Retreat with Joinus during Coffee Hour. And, there have been any number of RC workshops promoted on my email. So, going away is never far from my subconscious.
These dreams usually develop along the lines of my getting lost or losing something that belongs to me during the stay. Transportation can become an issue and I seem to remember something about someone asking for directions to "The City Line" and recalling the buses whose routes extended all across Queens when I was growing up, ending at "The City Line" with Nassau County.
But, the dream didn't end there. Instead, it explored another common meme, or theme, that of The Chaotic Public Toilet. Maybe, it was something I ate; maybe, it was the pressure of that pillow on my bowels, but, I had a sudden urge, within the conceits of the dream, to find a toilet - which I did. And, as often happens in these memes, the door wouldn't close; it wouldn't flush; in fact, the entire bathroom looked as if it was filling up with filth. Then, a workman came in. It was David Robinson, an ACTUP crush I have not laid eyes on in 25 years, but with whom I share a Facebook friendship. For some reason, it was David's assignment to renovate the bathroom and his first job was to get me out of the toilet so that he could demolish it.
But, I wasn't done yet.
So, it became a thing. David demanding I evacuate, and me evacuating as quickly as I could - but, in an entirely different way. End of dream.
I didn't watch it at Brew House. I was scheduled to meet Sam at a gay men's support group and didn't want to go there with beer on my breath. And, I had a perfectly good "extra" hamburger waiting in my fridge, bought with a coupon from Smashburger. Probably the cheapest Sunday afternoon I have spent in quite some time.
However, after I re-read the invitation a second time, I realized the support group required permission from my ARP in order to go. An ARP (Area Reference Person) is the RC equivalent of a bishop, with all the complications one would associate with religious hierarchy. I decided it wasn't worth the drama of a last minute "emergency" phone call in order to beg to go to a support group that under any other circumstance would not require anyone's permission but the organizer to attend.
So, the evening began to take shape along similar lines as the week before: some nice, low-key connections, but nothing earth-shattering; nothing really life changing like a Bing, or Huggy Bear or Front Page. Or, Simon, for that matter.
Second-string football games bled into some violent film noir choices on the Movie Channel, including "Wait Until Dark", "Nightmare Alley" (with Tyrone Power) and a curious romantic triangle pic with Joan Crawford, Dana Andrews and Henry Fonda getting third billing called, "Daisy Kenyon".
My eyes were pretty heavy about a half-hour into that last one and I was soon in bed cuddling up to another pillow. I figured, "Why not?" I was still feeling pretty cocky about the results of last week's attempt at influencing the content of a dream. After all, if all I have to do is conjure up "Crosby On Demand", then, who the hell needs the real Crosby? What if all of Life were like that? [Note to Self: I think that's called, dementia.]
Still, I happily assumed the pillow hugging position. I mean, what's the worst that could happen? That I'd wind up cuddling with a 99 year old man? A ninety-nine year-old woman? It suddenly occurred to me that it wasn't the specific person that was important. It was the journey itself. Between two people. Any two people. "Once more into the breach!", I silently shouted inside my head.
Well, I learned soon enough that there is a lot more to dreaming than good intentions. That, in fact, what starts out as a cuddling position in wakeful life can be experienced as something far different by the time REM sleep begins. As far as I can tell, the dream that followed began as my dreams normally do, as an excursion to someplace away from home. Maybe, it was the discussion with Larry earlier in the day that did it. I also remember discussing the Men's Retreat with Joinus during Coffee Hour. And, there have been any number of RC workshops promoted on my email. So, going away is never far from my subconscious.
These dreams usually develop along the lines of my getting lost or losing something that belongs to me during the stay. Transportation can become an issue and I seem to remember something about someone asking for directions to "The City Line" and recalling the buses whose routes extended all across Queens when I was growing up, ending at "The City Line" with Nassau County.
But, the dream didn't end there. Instead, it explored another common meme, or theme, that of The Chaotic Public Toilet. Maybe, it was something I ate; maybe, it was the pressure of that pillow on my bowels, but, I had a sudden urge, within the conceits of the dream, to find a toilet - which I did. And, as often happens in these memes, the door wouldn't close; it wouldn't flush; in fact, the entire bathroom looked as if it was filling up with filth. Then, a workman came in. It was David Robinson, an ACTUP crush I have not laid eyes on in 25 years, but with whom I share a Facebook friendship. For some reason, it was David's assignment to renovate the bathroom and his first job was to get me out of the toilet so that he could demolish it.
But, I wasn't done yet.
So, it became a thing. David demanding I evacuate, and me evacuating as quickly as I could - but, in an entirely different way. End of dream.