"Sleepless long nights…"-Feist

Whew! What a weekend. I'm tired. Notice how when you're busy everything floats past just like a dream? Even if you're like me, and you can't help but think about weird crap, you're too busy to stop and dwell on it. It's like when my grandmother swims past in a thong. I have enough time to go "Wha?" But then the dream moves along to something else. That's how my weekend was: Vague and flowing.

I'd tell you about it, but like relaying my dreams to you, it wasn't that exciting from the outside perspective.

I worked.

I cleaned my house.

I bought groceries.

Sometimes more details add excitement:

I sat in front of my computer and typed my fingers into nubs.

I vacuumed, moped and dusted.

I bought dog food, salad makings, and cranberry juice.

Errr…sorry, go back to the second one. There's supposed to be two "p"s. I mopped. Ok, we can continue now.

Are you ready to riot from all the excitement? No? Sometimes it's the lack of detail that adds mystery.

I

I

I

See? Look, it's the California mating call! Either that or a man with a bad stutter calling information for the number of the local optometrist. It's all in the perspective.

No, it doesn't sound very exciting (and really, even from my perspective, no it wasn't); it was hectic. I don't know why, but I felt behind all weekend. Work wasn't that difficult, but somehow it still lasted until 5am. That also meant I didn't go to church. It's tough going to bed at 5 and getting up at 9. The pastor doesn't like it when I lay my head on the communion rail and snore. It's hard though, with the choir is behind me, it's like being lilted to dreamland by angels. Although the Deacon splashing me with wine only makes me come-to like downtown street drunk. It doesn't help that I stumble down the steps, meandering back to my pew.

Speaking of sleeping and dreams, I think I had one last night. Have you ever done that? Spent your day with images in your head you can only account to dreams you're not sure you had? I think I dreamed of brides. (Or bride, singular.) I've had visions of brides and weddings in my head all day. Sure, a true optimist might say, "It was a premonition."

Great. A premonition. Saying what? I will meet a bride. I think I can take that leap. It might be more helpful if I could remember a face. Then I could go congratulate said bride. But when it comes to face, all I get is blur. Not much help. I don't know who to find/avoid as the case may be.

I think the dream came from a friend. No, not like it was sent in a subconscious email.

"You've got Dreams!"

That would be cool. Sharing dreams? At least it sounds good in theory. There could be some flaws.

You: "Why is Fushine Bear mauling MyUnwife?"

Me: "Don't ask questions, just proceed to the Xena Gabriella fantasy on the left."

You: "Xena?"

Me: "Yeah! Oh no! Close your eyes! It's grandma thong!"

You: "AHHH!"

Me: "Oh…sorry 'bout that. That's gonna leave a scar. Why are you running away. Don't go that way! It's the—nevermind."

You'll claw at my mind until we wake up. Not a good idea.

Where was I, Oh yeah, my friend.

But no, this wasn't that close of a friend anyway. They're more of a compatriot than a friend. We really only know each other well enough to say "Hi."

"Hi"

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm a compatriot."

"You're a freakin' weirdo. If you don't get out of my living room, I'm going to call the cops."

"Can I use your bathroom first?"

"Hello, police?"

"Fine…"

I try to leave, my legs move, but I go no where. Hmmm. Looks like I'm naked too. Great. Another nightmare analogy I can't escape.

That's how well we know each other. They're getting married. When I heard I thought, "How cool! I should congratulate them." Then I reconsidered. What weight does a "Congrats" from a divorcing man hold? Isn't that like a plague carrier giving you a hug for health? I feel like I'm under some quarantine from married/marrying people. I'm a great friend to have from behind glass.

Ok, I need to break a second. There's a football game on and they've just announced "He nearly took that one to the house for six points."

"To the house?" what's that? I mean, what part of an endzone looks like a house? I checked my livingroom. "He" wasn't here. Good thing, I don't know if I have six points left to give him. What kind of crappy Sports color gibberish is that? I suppose I should be grateful. He could have carried the metaphor to the burning wreckage at the end:

"He nearly took that one to the house for six cookies! Now he's looking for some milk!"

And that's why I thank God daily that he never opened any doors into announcing.

"In sports today , Announcer Rob Blogwriter was arrested for throwing his color commentator through the window, onto the field, saying 'Take that to your so called house you freaking moron? The next person who says somebody's on fire, or 'en fuego' is gonna get shot. Who's next.'

The swat team dressed him up like a little girl and took him to school. And that's no metaphor! Blamo!" [footage rolls of me in a dress and pigtails being led through my grade school by tethered handcuffs.]

See what I mean? Everything just blends into something else. This is my life. I don't know if that's a product of the divorce or not. I've tried remembering what it was like before when I was alone, but that was another night and another dream. I think about my marriage, and I don't know what was real or imagined anymore. The good times, where they good or were they whim and fancy? Did any of this really happen? I'm Rip Van Winkle and I'm feeling a little disoriented. Maybe this is one of those dreams where I think I'm awake but I'm still asleep. When I wake up where will I be? Married? Single? In college? High school? Grandma no! Not the thong...