Thursday, January 17, 2008


I dozed off from about 3 until 4:55, and since my alarm was set for 5:15 anyway, I got up. I suppose I can sleep on the train. Other than my meetings, my day isn't that eventful. The main reason to go is to stay on their radar, to remind them that I am there to support them as well as NY. Political face time, really.

So I started to post this and my keyboard wouldn't work. I'd hit the keys and nothing would appear on the screen. I exited out of blogger only to find out it was everything - my email, web addresses, etc. What gremlins invaded my computer since I posted earlier? The same ones dancing and giggling around my bed, determined to not let me sleep? I re-booted, as I waited wondering how soon I could get in front of the Geek Squad if need be. (Take advantage of that extended warranty.) But, all is well now. Mystery is unsolved.

In my last span of sleep, I dreamed that I was up and getting ready for the trip, but for some reason all of my clocks were off and I couldn't figure out what time it was. The alarm clock and VCR clocks was flashing, like there had been a power outage, and the cable boxes were going through an extended reboot, without yet displaying time. (I have a few other, pretty, ornamental clocks that run on batteries, but all are packed now, and so they were in the dream.) I reached for my treo to check the time but was distracted by email that came in, and also realized that the car service that is taking me to the train had left a voicemail, but I couldn't figure out how to access it, but I somehow knew that I had missed my car. I tried looking out of my window to the street, but I couldn't get the curtains opened, and only could see blurry dark shapes along the curb, including one ominous-looking one pulling away.

Then I woke up.

When I went back over my blog confirming my list of movies (I write them in my diary, too, but was at work compiling it), I stopped when I came across postings about my dreams. None of them seemed remotely familiar, and yet as I was writing each I felt that I was capturing the mood, look, feel, visual of each very well. Now they read as if written by a stranger, and I see nothing. I guess it goes to show that real memories, recorded, can be revisited with just a few words because the memories themselves are real, while dreams were just fleeting thoughts that have little long-term staying power.

Or something like that.

Times like this I really wish I hadn't given up caffeine.


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