LIfe is but a dream

I woke up around 3 am this morning and couldn't go back to sleep. So I read...

"Wearing Dad's Head" is a collection of short stories and is pretty good. Reminds me a little, flavor-wise, of some of the dreamier russians, Bulgakov or Nabokov, for instance. And when I say "dreamier" I do mean evocative of dreams.

The author (Barry Yourgrau) writes in this surreal-yet-real poetic prose most like a child's memories or... a dream.

Example: the author is gang pressed by Pirates and forced into a late night raid of his parent's middle-class home - but the day is saved by frumpy middle aged neighbors who spring out of hiding and blow the pirates heads' off with blunderbusses. Neat, hunh?

So, anyway, I read for a while then fell asleep.

Here's something interesting. Try reading something haunting or dreamlike (hey! you might even try this book!) as you fall asleep. Its better than drugs! (Okay, not really, but I thought a little tip of the hat to the mainstream now and then... and, hey, if you happen to be with law enforcement, put in a good word for me, wouldja?)

Then, at 5:40 am, I was woken from a dream about an old Honky Tonk, with some crusty rancher reminiscing about days of yor - how he knew some hussy named Betty (hooker or a barroom singer, I didn't quite catch which) back in the day. What this all means, I have no idea, but I am open to feedback.

I got up, took a shower, and made some coffee. Have I mentioned I really like coffee? Really, really, really.

A little later, I went outside to warm up the car.

Okay, I live in Arizona and the car doesn't need much warming but it can't hurt and, besides, its part of my morning routine to get my ass in motion. A body in motion tends to stay in motion and a body at rest, well... whatever I can do to generate momentum, you dig?

I'd left my shoes in the car so I went out in stocking feet. I could feel everything in that scritchy sorta way through my socks as I walked - smooth concrete by the door, then the rougher concrete on the driveway (snagging my socks slightly), and then, standing in the street, I could feel the hard little bits of rock snared in the street's asphalt.

The moon was up and everything was very still. I put the coffee on top of my truck and stood there for quite a while.

Later, driving to work, I heard Adam Corolla on the radio raving about "24 hours." What the f*ck? Is everyone one a 24 Hours Moonie?! Color me incredulous! This after hearing a sermon - shouted from on high atop the mountain - less than 24 hours earlier. For crissakes, what's the deal with this show? And yet, this too, lent a skewed yet meaningful quality to the day's beginning.

Later yet, after a fairly hellish morning at work ("Don't ever get old," my Uncle Wally used to say. To which I would add, "don't ever do customer service!") I slipped out for a light lunch, read some more of my book and dozed off yet again.

I woke up an undetermined time later, the sun brightly shining, a light breeze blowing through the car and I felt... ever so floatey and slightly out of sink with reality - but in a good way.