In the middle of Inception, in the second or third dream layer, my phone vibrates. It's the sitter. I walk out into the hall to answer. It's K.. She says A. wants to talk to L. She's getting ready for sleep and wants to say hi to Mommy. So I say Mommy will call back. I walk back into the meeting room (the movie is being shown downstairs in the ( Read more... )

Hello, 2 a.m. Hello, scotch. Hello, Livejournal. What keeps you up at night, class? Let's think upon the old waiter from Ernest Hemingway's "A Clean, Well-Lighted Place." Why can't he sleep? It is the nothingness, of course. The meaninglessness of life, the existential dread. Isn't that what SparkNotes says ( Read more... )

After I told a colleague of mine at WNEC about the dream I had the night before Aisla was born -- I saw her swimming in Lake Huron, off Sunset Island, and she had red hair -- she went and found the poem "First Lesson" by Philip Booth (warning: pop-ups). It's wonderful.

It's 2:30 a.m. It's snowing outside in Greenfield. I've slid out of bed. Can't sleep. My mind is racing. In my dream, before I was waking up, I was writing an editorial. I can't recall exactly what it was. For some reason, I think the lyrics from Dixie figured into it. I was composing this editorial in my head, forging the pieces together and ( Read more... )

This morning, I was dreaming of a bebop trumpeter, hitting a flurry of notes, and then woke to realize it was a flock of geese flying overhead ( Read more... )