so it was all a dream?
I had a dream in which I was making preparations for the funeral of one of the Golden Girls. It was Estelle Getty, but we were talking about her like she was Betty White. I was making these preparations even though the woman in question was still alive. I set up pictures on a series of wooden shelves, and the scenes inside the pictures were moving.
Estelle Getty's character on the Golden Girls always reminded me of my grandmother--both were Sicilian immigrants, short and white haired, and given for fits of the dramatic. My grandmother is old--102--but she's still kicking, and everytime I speak to her, she always asks me when I'm coming home. I say, "I don't know, grandma," because honestly, I'm not sure I'm ever going back home. The dream was unsettling and it pretty much set the tone for the rest of my day.
Work was long and filled up with meetings. I stayed until 9:30pm fussing around behind my computer. I should have came home and did more work, but I went out instead and caught some local bands in a sweaty little record store.
It was 30 degrees cooler outside and the damp wind turned my sweaty T-shirt into a swamp cooler. The walk home wasn't pleasant, as it usually is, because I wasn't drunk like I usually am, walking the spider web covered tree-lined road home at 1am.
First I saw a man wrapped in a white blanket walking toward me on the sidewalk. He fidgeted and looked down at his feet as he shuffled along. It looked like he might have escaped from the hospital just a few blocks ahead. I asked "how's it going?" as I passed him just to make myself more comfortable, and he answered "fine," in a raised voice.
Later, I was singing "A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall," by Bob Dylanwhile talking to myself. It's one of my favorite songs, but I don't know all the words, and I thought I was alone, but I looked up to notice a man on a bike traveling toward me, staring. I said "hello," but he just kept moving. It was then that two tweakers pulled up behind me in an old Jeep Grand Cherokee. A large canoe was tied to the top like a narrow, ill-fitted roof, and inside was a host of junk that filled up the cargo area and back seat. The car pulled up beside me and the passenger opened the door and grumbled asking for directions. I got a bit closer but kept my distance. The driver toyed with a pipe used for crank and I told them how to get where they were going, but they pulled off while the door was still open, so I'm not sure if they heard the last bit. I wasn't positive I gave them the right directions, but I doubt they would've found the place even if I did.
Estelle Getty's character on the Golden Girls always reminded me of my grandmother--both were Sicilian immigrants, short and white haired, and given for fits of the dramatic. My grandmother is old--102--but she's still kicking, and everytime I speak to her, she always asks me when I'm coming home. I say, "I don't know, grandma," because honestly, I'm not sure I'm ever going back home. The dream was unsettling and it pretty much set the tone for the rest of my day.
Work was long and filled up with meetings. I stayed until 9:30pm fussing around behind my computer. I should have came home and did more work, but I went out instead and caught some local bands in a sweaty little record store.
It was 30 degrees cooler outside and the damp wind turned my sweaty T-shirt into a swamp cooler. The walk home wasn't pleasant, as it usually is, because I wasn't drunk like I usually am, walking the spider web covered tree-lined road home at 1am.
First I saw a man wrapped in a white blanket walking toward me on the sidewalk. He fidgeted and looked down at his feet as he shuffled along. It looked like he might have escaped from the hospital just a few blocks ahead. I asked "how's it going?" as I passed him just to make myself more comfortable, and he answered "fine," in a raised voice.
Later, I was singing "A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall," by Bob Dylanwhile talking to myself. It's one of my favorite songs, but I don't know all the words, and I thought I was alone, but I looked up to notice a man on a bike traveling toward me, staring. I said "hello," but he just kept moving. It was then that two tweakers pulled up behind me in an old Jeep Grand Cherokee. A large canoe was tied to the top like a narrow, ill-fitted roof, and inside was a host of junk that filled up the cargo area and back seat. The car pulled up beside me and the passenger opened the door and grumbled asking for directions. I got a bit closer but kept my distance. The driver toyed with a pipe used for crank and I told them how to get where they were going, but they pulled off while the door was still open, so I'm not sure if they heard the last bit. I wasn't positive I gave them the right directions, but I doubt they would've found the place even if I did.
5 comments:
I can't believe how normal you think it is for someone to walk down the street with a blanket round them. Or is it really quite normal there? Here if i saw that i'd definately be thinking strange things.
lmfaoooooooooooooooo @ J the template fucker!!!!! you made my night.
Grandmas are good for the guilt. God, I miss that.
Michelle- Ah, but he grew up near The City. You see things there that would scar most people for life. A guy walking in a blanket is nothing.
I remember when I lived in other states, people were always shocked by how blase I was about most things. I told them that it was from living near NYC. Nothing shocks you after a while.
J you sly dawg...you got R answering your mail these days too!! Dude, is there anything you can do for yourself? Heh!
well, there's one thing i do for myself right before i go to sleep, but i probably shouldn't mention it here...
hehe.
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