Woke up Saturday morning in quite a bit of pain and after an indifferent night’s sleep. The usual pain-halting sleep coupled with having to pee every hour or so isn’t exactly the remedy for a good night’s kip. However, another factor was added to my fractured sleep via a strange dream.
Dreams are dreams; some from which I wake up screaming, though not so often these days. Yet, this dream did kick me back into consciousness not in a nightmarish way; no, more in an uncomfortable, even slightly embarrassed way – though, I’m not sure why I should be embarrassed with my dreams
Briefly, in my dream I was on a stage in front of a massive crowd. In my hands I had some notes, from which I knew I was about to address the sea of humanity who were spread before me, almost to the horizon, waving arms, banners, flags and assorted wavy kinds of things.
Coming closer to the front of the stage, I noticed I was wearing a three-piece-suit with massive lapels and flared trousers. Getting to the mike I took a closer look at the audience which, on closer inspection, was made up with long-haired people dressed in 1970s clothing – I guessed the ones with the beards were the men, and the others women
As I reached for the mike the noise reached a crescendo that only abated as I began softly singing à la Harry Nilsson:
“No I cant forget this evening
Or your face as you were leaving
But I guess that’s just the way this story goes,
You always smile
But in your eyes your sorrow shows...”
At which point I woke up in a cold sweat scratching at a beard I didn’t have and wondering why the hell Harry Nilsson, a singer I had little time for when he was alive and at the height of career in the 70s, was invading my privacy nearly forty-years later.