Change Change Change

 As in a lot of my dreams, I am lost. I am not in a hurry, but I am lost. What should be familiar is suddenly foreign. Time is wasted when lost. Hallways become miles and parking lots vast expanses. I see others and they seem to know where they are going but when I follow, I am still lost. 

And here I am, a half century into a life, lost. And here I am, he who should be awash in wisdom, lost in ignorance and doubt and fear...but not alone. No, I am a husband and a father to three young children. And my parents, perhaps lost souls as well, are not around to help, to guide me from the thickets into the light.

I also dreamt of women. Of the prettiest girls in High School. Thirty plus years removed from High School and the inferiority invades my dreams.

I dreamt of my parents. They were lost. Young and more robust...but lost. Unable to help. In need of help.

I used to believe that dreams are just electrochemical garbage; neural remains of the day that swirl about before their discard. Though many partners have awoken me as I screamed and hollered from the night terrors, I maintained my belief. 

I alone assign importance to things. Subjectivity rules. I deem what matters...to me. Maybe these dreams and these night terrors arise because I have not...mattered to me. Maybe deep down, the
bone-deep inferiority felt from a young age from an inescapable poverty, means that I don't matter to me. Maybe I don't value myself. Intellectually I can tell myself that everyone has worth, and value, and dignity. It is another thing to feel worthy and valuable and dignified. Another thing completely, distinctly. 

How do I matter to me? How do I change? How do I flip the script? How do I turn the tables on life and feel better? 

"I will walk along these hillsides in the summer 'neath the sunshine. I am feathered by the moonlight falling down on me..."

Change Change Change

Say Thank You For Me

I had a dream that I was being given an Oscar-type award last night. The whole nine yards: in a tux, red carpet, pre interviews, stars galore. I was up for some writing award like screenplay. I was not expecting to win in the dream, just happy to be there sort of thing. But I did win. I was shocked. My knees were shaking as I went past screen stars to get on stage. I was handed the award by none other than Matt Damon. I looked out at a huge audience and that is when it all hit me: the fighting, the alcoholism, the poverty, the dirty and torn clothes, the fleas, the inferiority, the paranoia, the basement with water and mildew and roots coming in from the walls, the sickness, the cirrhosis, the lack of respect, the prejudice, the surgery, the taunts, the late onset of puberty, the overall feeling small. And I couldn’t get a word out. I was trying but I got so choked up I knew that if a word was to slip I would sob uncontrollably…in front of them. I tried again but I knew again. They were waiting and it became uncomfortable in seconds. I motioned to Matt Damon to come over to me. I gathered everything I could and whispered to him through tears and choking “say thank you for me.”
So Matt Damon proceeds to the microphone and says “thank you for me.”
I burst out laughing and it all leaves my shoulders. The weight of the world…gone.
Best non-nocturnal emission dream I’ve ever had.