"...it was totally inappropriate and utterly delicious...." --Steve Carell
In my dreams, I am often younger than I am, or much older. But I never worry about losing five pounds in my dreams.
I dreamed a poem in my sleep last night. I didn't know I was dreaming at the time, so it's gone.
Perhaps not as gone as I think, if I remember having dreamed it.
Dammit. I will be chasing after this dream poem all day, and it probably will turn out to not have been that good.
Although... even in the dream, it wasn't so much like a poem as it was a pithy observation that would really need some work to make a poem, even not a good poem but just a so-so poem. I mean, I remember thinking that in my dream.
Always a critic.
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Could be worse. I had a bizarre dream the other night in which my brother in law was telling me this long and involved story about an old guy who had his bicycle stolen in the night, so at 3am he calls up the local chief of police at home to report that his bike was stolen by Jolly Johnny's Night Flyers. Just as he was getting to the punch line I was woken up.
Now I'll never know how the story ended. But knowing my brother-in-law's jokes, that may not be a bad thing.
I'm sorry, all I can do is laugh.
Laughing at me, or at Paul?
I mean, it's a wonder I sleep at all these days. Three am to seven am should really qualify as a nap. Next time I'm sleepless, Inanna, I'm calling you, so there.
So, Paul, did he get his motercycle back?
Not motorcycle- bicycle. As in, coaster-brake, single speed, old-school bike from the 1940s or so.
I have no idea how Tom's story ended, but if it was anything like the ones he tells in real life, it would have ended with a terrible pun.
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