November 22, 2002

Perchance to Dream

On Writing: "I try to leave out the parts that people skip." ~Elmore Leonard

Lucky Fragments readers. The computer ate my homework. I was mid-way writing one of those skippable parts, all about the unnatural history of sleep in this house, and my software froze, mercifully wiping the tale off the face of the Earth. I was writing in this realm because "we" didn't sleep well, once again last night. Consequently, I also flirted all night with the rapid-eye-movement thing, without much success.

Ann torments about her work, her patients, her children, her silverware. I merely go to sleep instantly, and remain asleep soundly and well, given a night free of torment over there on the other half of the bed. When 50% of us are tossing and turning, like last night, I am awake, too, creating metaphors and similies in my superfical half-dreams. Things are happening that are in some intangible way "like" other things; one bizarre X-file-ish thing is happening over in that part of my dreamscape "as if" something else was really happening somewhere else. I turn these characters or situations over and over in my quasi-thoughts trying to make the triumphant association. I never quite grasp them before they dissolve in a moment of restlessness when Ann sighs heavily or shifts from staring at the ceiling to staring out the window at the darkness.

Last night, there was this big machine, see? like the one the gutter guys bring to your house. Feeding into this thing was pure, unformed, raw something-or-other, like the flat aluminum that will be shaped into gutters for your roof; but not that. Coming out the other side was the final product thingy, with form, shape, meaning. The imagery was brilliant! Yes! But this morning, it has slipped like sand through an open hand. Nada.

I have been no more successful arriving at the final high-flying metaphors that my subconscious unwillingly struggles with than I ever was as a young Superman making that exhiliarating final dream-leap into the air. My red spandex shorts always ended up around my knees. I had this one hundreds of times. The ending was never any different. I might as well have pulled the shorts down myself, at that last climactic moment.

Futility can take all sorts of different forms, especially in the wee hours of a sleepless night. Maybe futility is 'like' trying to keep together all those parts of your life that you should have left out of it in the first place. Maybe it's like.... Heck. I don't know. I need a nap.


Posted by fred1st at November 22, 2002 09:55 AM
Comments

It's like, an Ellen Feiss moment, beep beep beep

Posted by: Brian at November 22, 2002 12:05 PM

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