Thursday, June 5, 2014


I do not often remember my dreams. When I do, however, they tend to be strange ones, and I have to wonder what it is that they say of me.

For example, last night, I dreamt that I was in a small residential neighborhood outside of the town in which I grew up. I think it was even a street I had lived on, but I was not a child. I was, however, riding a bicycle...until a feral pig came trotting through surrounding lawns. I climbed a tree to get away from it, which I think a reasonable precaution to have taken, and it passed by, grunting. Shortly thereafter, a small dog--Dachshund, I think--came from around the back of a parked car and bit the pig directly on the ass. Left half of the ass, I think.

It was at about that time I woke, nudged into consciousness by the needs of Ms. 8. (By "nudged," of course, I mean dragged by screaming.") I did not settle back into the dream when I settled back into sleep, so that much of the experience was over. I am struck, nonetheless, by the fact that I remember as much of it as I do; again, I do not often remember my dreams.

What the fact that I dreamt myself in a place I have not lived for fifteen years says of me, I do not know, nor what says my having been on a bicycle as I have not in earnest for some time, nor yet what say the feral pig or the Dachshund that bit it in the ass. But I would be interested in reading what others would write of such things. It might make for some entertaining discussion.

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