Dream journal, here I come again. I pulled out an old blank dream journal to use at my bedside, even though I haven't been a dedicated dream recorder for several years.
Actually, this particular blank book did have two days worth of dream entries in it-- from 2001. More about that later.
That is not to say I haven't recorded dreams since then, but I've been only sporadic about it, and largely negligent for the last three or four years.
My dreams lately have been unusually strange and melancholy and puzzling and funny, starring diverse events and personages: old employers giving me advice, deceased cats coming to life and leaping into the air, ailing authors surrounded by strings of lights, watching the planets line up in the night sky, and applying for a marketing job for the late Apple CEO.
Curiouser and curiouser.
How can I continue to ignore these night adventures when they're so obviously clamoring for attention? Maybe I can even conjure up a lucid dream or two; wouldn't that be something.
I wonder if my having watched three episodes of Twin Peaks tonight will send my mind in new old directions? Nineteen eighty-nine, baby! Ouch!
Happy new year. There's no place like home, even though Utah was spectacular.
b
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