Dreams

 I forget where I read it, but there's somebody out there who once said something along the lines that there's nothing more insufferable than listening to someone describe their dream.

George Carlin?  Harlan Ellison?  Maybe somebody more contemporary like Bill Maher?  

I don't remember.  And I guess I don't care because I'm going to use the little bit of time I dedicate to the blogamathing to describing a dream I had the other morning.

And I say "the other morning" because it came in a brief snooze after Shyam got up at her (our) regular time of 5:30 or so.  I'd stayed up a little longer the previous night, and we didn't have anything pressing at the business that needed my attention, so she invited me to stay in bed.  This'll happen every now and then, and most of the time, I recognize that I'm awake and just get up.  Sometimes I'll try sleeping in, and I end up just fucking around on my phone.  But yesterday?  My happy ass just fell right to sleep again.

But it wasn't for long.  Another 30 minutes, 40 tops.

In that little bit of time, I fell into a weird dream.

It starts at my childhood friend Lindsey's house.  We had many a sleepover at his house growing up, usually everybody piling into his family's living room.

And we were there.  Tregg.  Matthew.  Jeremy.  But there were also several members of the group we did Cons with in the late 90's and early 2000s.  My buddy Steven.  the Bills.  Shyam and Diane were there.  And we were all waiting for my friend Stephanie from high school, to celebrate her birthday.

And in the dream, the phone keeps ringing, and I pick it up, and it's my Dad.  "Hey, bud," he says.  "Just wanted to see what you were doing," he says.

"Just hanging out at Lindsey's," I say.  There's a little more small conversation, and then he says "he's gotta go" and like that he's gone.  I remember asking him not to go, and I woke up with the words "I miss you" on my lips.

Just a dream, I suppose.  But it's messed with my mind for about 30 hours now.

I do miss him.  But I don't know where this one came from, out of the blue like it did.  Dad's been gone 8 years, this past spring.  Two Summer Olympiads, One Pandemic and 8 years of the most ridiculous political environment you can imagine.  I think about it a couple times a week that I'd like to talk to him, just to hear what he thought about stuff.....

Anyway.  There's your boring dream post.  Sorry George, or Harlan, or whomever.....