On Wants and Paper

Today began with a nauseous feeling rousing me from sleep at 5:30 a.m. I grabbed my puzzle book and jammed my dilapidated headphones into my ears in an attempt to drown out the malaise with numbers and words and alternative British music.

By seven I was dreaming again and my imagination was conjuring up wonderful images. I dreamed of my future home. It was an unassuming property with lots of trees in the yard in the middle of a new city. There was an ebony baby grand in the living room and the walls were painted in my favourite colours. There were other people in my home but I only recognized some of their faces. Yet I knew that I loved them all very much and that they felt the same about me.

Later in the dream the patrons of my home went on their way and left me to myself. I thought to myself about how much I loved my home because it seemed like a place where you could be quiet or loud or whatever you wanted to be. I went to my desk which was logically organized and dimly lit (and perfectly grand, in my estimation) and began to analyze some liquid chromatography reports, which seemed to be a part of my job.

Later in the evening Mr. Loneliness came calling. Mr. Loneliness is one of those dream characters I have known since I was young. He is always dressed in an exquisite black tuxedo and impeccable top hat. His attire augments his already tall, thin frame. Naturally, he carries a pocketwatch. Ironically, I never feel lonely when I am with him. Sometimes when I am by myself in dreams he will follow me like a shadow but I do not mind because he is the only one that understands the things I am feeling. We break bread together and digest the starch and the day.

Later, Glasses--another old dream friend--knocks on my door and I let him in. I have never known his real name so I just call him Glasses because he always sports thick black frames. I am not as close to Glasses as I am to Mr. Loneliness but I like him very much. He is much more of a thinker than is Mr. Loneliness and is always eager to give me advice. The three of us spend the remainder of the evening beneath lights in the yard.

I am not sure how this is possible, but seeing those old dream friends brought a certain comfort to me after a long, lonely-ish week. There have been several times within the past week where I have been in want of particular things. Yet, at the end of the day, and again at the end of the week, I am made fully aware that I do indeed have all the things I need.

Although I could use some new socks (mine have become awfully shabby) and some journal paper.

I forgot my journal as well as an assortment of other important things at my home home because the last time I left I felt like a scatterbrained wreck. Blogging is fine but sometimes a writer craves the intimacy of real pen and paper.

So: if you are coming my way, please send socks. And paper.

Hope you enjoyed peering into my imagination. The mind truly is a weird and wonderful place, isn't it?

E