Boredom overwhelming me. Not a bad thing, just uncomfortable. Need a book to read, haven’t got one. Keeping alcohol to a bare minimum, which is also good but uncomfortable. Weather dry, still hot but cooler overnight, also dull. Smoke thinning, too. Traffic by the U worse, more students confused,which is the annual annoyance. Hours increasing, visiting medical students, new fellows and first year anesthesia residents, same old nurses and techs, all getting right up my nose.
Found a place to get our knives sharpened, as I struggle to teach myself how to do this. Practicing on the small, cheapo, paring knives. At least the good knives are back in working order again.
There is something about the bitter end of August and the sour tang of early September. I crave sweaters.
Had another dream where I was still living with my parents, they’d crawled into my bed to sleep beside me. I called Dylan saying we needed to find a place of our own.
Woke to remember we have our own House.
But the mood lingers, as dream moods so often do.
Everything itches.
5 comments:
Those years of recurring dreams that I was still living with my parents seem to have come to an end, as has most of my itching. I'm usually very quiet but what you wrote was so close to home that I decided to speak up. It is such a relief to wake up from those dreams and look around and see living proof that we made a good home for ourselves, separate from our parents.
Kind wishes,
am
I have a recurring dream I call "The Producer Dream", which dates back over 30 years to when I was a television news producer. In the dream, it's time for the newscast and I suddenly realize I have NOTHING prepared. It's anxiety and I've come to believe everyone has them. This was brought home to me once again yesterday when I was reading an article about the actor Ethan Hawke. This is how the article ended:
"A few years ago, Mr. Hawke had a dream he hasn’t been able to shake. He’s in a dressing room at a theater, and Liam Neeson opens the door and congratulates him. “You’re crushing it, mate,” he says. “It’s going great. Get out there, give them hell.” Mr. Hawke thanks him, Mr. Neeson leaves, then Helen Mirren walks in. She’s being flirty with him, and says, “First act was amazing.” She leaves, too. Then the prop guy comes by and Mr. Hawke says, “What play is this?” And the prop guy laughs and says, “Don’t worry, Ethan, you’re doing fine.” And Mr. Hawke says, “No, seriously, what play is it?” He looks around. There are like five different costumes. His heart is racing. He remembers that Mr. Neeson was close to getting the teacher role in “Dead Poets Society.” He doesn’t know if that’s why Mr. Neeson is in the dream, or if it’s because he, like Ms. Mirren, has had a surprisingly interesting second half of a career. Still, it makes no sense and he still doesn’t know what play he’s in. Mr. Neeson calls for him, says the second act is about to start. He looks at Mr. Neeson, he looks out at the house.
That’s when he wakes up. He lies in bed, blinking into the darkness, not quite sure exactly what to do next. But then, after a few minutes, he gets up and goes to work."
Sweater weather--spring or fall--is my favorite time of year, too. Cannot arrive fast enough, nor stay long enough for me.
Am,
Speak up anytime you like. Those dreams are rare, I thought they were gone, but they keep cropping up randomly after long absence.
Cat,
not unlike actor/student dreams of being in the wrong play/class, not knowing what to do.
Crow,
I never tire of wearing good sweaters.
later on i'm going to post a book recommendation on my blog, but it keeps getting pushed back and i think you need it now.
wayward children series by seanan mcguire. also maybe start following her tumblr if you haven't already. i bet you a nickle it makes you feel better, at least incrementally.
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