Monday, September 7, 2015

Apparently, It Was Prophetic

Val's dreams this week have been off the wall, off the hook, off the chain.

I don't know what's going on in my unconscious hours, but I seem to be getting around. Here's the thing. I can usually figure out what triggered certain parts of the dream. For instance, watching an episode of Tiny House Nation made me dream about living in a tiny house. When I used to work as a basketball coach, I had dreams that my team broke into my townhouse, raced up the stairs to my bedroom, and demanded to know who was starting the next game.

Last night, I dreamed about writing a blog post about my dream.

That's kind of like publishing a coffee table book about coffee tables, I think. It's not like I'm stressed about writing blog posts. In fact, the rest of my dream involved an old high school buddy who came back to visit. We took a tour of our old haunts. Then we were teaching together in a school that was apparently housed in my childhood house trailer. My classroom was my mom and dad's bedroom. My buddy said, "Something's going down! Look outside!" And all the people and cars had diappeared from the parking lot. I stuck my head out the bedroom door, stepped into the hall. "NO! There's an intruder!" I saw people scurry. Didn't get my head blown off. Just saw a page with BLOG at the top, and my story being typed out word by word. I forget the opening sentence. I really should make notes of these things. I might be missing Flaming Globes of Sigmund.

Good thing I don't throw the javelin as a hobby. Hick might get the worst end of that deal.

8 comments:

  1. I don't dream nearly as much as I did when I was younger. I've yet to dream about blogging.

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    1. I've always had vivid dreams, but the blogging is a first! Maybe I need to get out more...

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  2. Val--If you retire, your dreams might not be as rich.

    Perhaps you should rethink your retirement... It's not too late, you know, to say, "I've changed my mind. Sign me up for another year (or two)."

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    1. My dreams, nor my bank account.

      WAIT A MINUTE! I see what you're up to, Madam! I shall not delay my upcoming permanent vacation. Read THAT, and weep.

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  3. I never remember my dreams. Maybe I don't have dreams. I forget.

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    1. A cranky old man without dreams is like a gas station without chicken. Full of gas, there if you need it, but lacking pizzazz.

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  4. I still have the producer dream. I used to be a tv news producer and I usually have a variation of the same dream: it's time to go on the air and I haven't written a script. Or picked out the pictures. Or got the videotapes ready. It's called an "anxiety dream". But I've been retired from t.v. since 1985 so why do I still have that damned dream?

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    1. But...did you hate spunk, love Veal Prince Orloff, and forget a sock at Sue Ann Nivens' place?

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