Monday, November 5, 2018

Up early again, after a night of heady dreams. Went downstairs to find the youngest on the couch, under a blanket, watching highlights of an MLB all star game on YouTube. The cat wanted treats, but wasn't satisfied in the amount I gave him. I wanted coffee, but wasn't satisfied that the timer hadn't clicked on, and here I had to wait, while the world slowly turned it self to face the sun again.

There was a time change, so Sunday had us a bit disconnected from the normal way of things. We were all headed this way or that, off an hour or so, with the daylight confusing the perspective. And there's fifteen clocks in this house. You think you caught them all early, and then you turn a corner, see another one, and you're not sure. But the cat wanted his treats exactly one hour earlier than usual last night. Refuses the change.

I see the time change is on the ballot here in California. I worked my way through the arguments on the sample ballot, and it reads like we are living in some crazy future, arguing nonsense, wearing sequined jumpsuits and silly hats, with nothing left important enough to complain about. I'm tempted to weigh in on the whole thing, too, but aayachhh... I must be getting older. The world is full of crazy crowshit. I've got other things busting me. The office phone rang at 2:30 in the morning last night. Give an hour or take an hour, it's whatever time you say it is, but that was the wrong damn time to call.

And I was dreaming that old dream that I was back in college again, failing a class. It was a writing class, and I hadn't been all semester. I'd written one of the two required essays, quick and half-assed, and didn't do the other, so here I had shown up on exam day with a fifty/fifty chance of passing. I suddenly realized I didn't have any paper, so I decided that was it, and got up to walk out, taking the F with me. Then the prof (who, as it happens in dreamland, was Mr. Kumano, my 8th grade science teacher) saw me ditching out and said, "Hey there Mr. Hawkins you sit back down and take the test. I've got some paper right here..." and he handed me a few sheets of blank 11x17 copy paper, redirected me to my seat, and saying loudly, so the whole class could hear, "You can do it. Your one essay was surprisingly well-written..."

And I woke up to the phone ringing. Mrs. Ditchman got up and just closed the office door, which was at least a proper response. I rolled over and fell back asleep, where I was then in a strange neighborhood and the cat was missing. We couldn't find him, and I was angry and sad about it, as usual when this kind of thing happens, and then I was in my living room. I saw it was raining outside, and through the curtains I saw a long-eared coyote in the yard, chasing the cat. I ran out, the coyote came for me, and I went to kick him good and hard.

And I had kicked my heal into the side of the bed, with force enough to wake Mrs. Ditchman, a second time. I saw her sitting up, looking around. I told her it was me, sorry, and the damn coyotes...

After that, it took me a while to get my eyes to roll back, and when they finally did I had one of those semi-coherent dreams that played out like a movie, with a beginning, middle, and end. This one had all the sumptuous production design of a Terry Gilliam film, colorful and bizarre, and I was right in the middle of it, although I struggle to recall the details... World War 2... World travels... Something about an antique fork and knife, and I had to find a buyer, who, in the end, rewarded me with the finest meal in the world, which I spilled. It was a tale of struggle, persistence, and inspiration. An artist's journey. The critics raved.

It's what I did with the extra hour. They can have it back in the spring.