Dreams

I seldom remember dreams, although recently I have been plagued with clear memories of dreams I would prefer not to recall. Not unpleasant, just desperately mundane. Spreadsheets and sales reports, business plans and cash flow statements ... deathly boring, ordinary and indicative of my unhealthy obsession with work.

C tells me that I have been sitting up in bed and talking to her

M: What did you do with the spreadsheet?

C: WTF are you talking about. Nothing.

M: I sent it to you

C: You did not

This continues for some time until, mid-sentence, I fall back to my pillow, apparently deeply asleep.

I am interested that C engages in these conversations, it's not like they hold much entertainment value. Mind you, I would encourage that conversation if roles were reversed ... and see if I could guide it into more interesting territory. But then I can be a bit of a bastard that way.

So last night I dreamed (the snippet I remember on waking) that I had sent some hard friends to have a word with someone who is irritating me at the moment.

It's Brad and Janet, hardly the hardest of my acquaintances. They are standing at the offenders door, arms around each others shoulders. They are arguing about who will knock when the door opens and the offender, jaw jutting, pupils pinpricked in blazing bloodshot eyes says "what?"

There are three of them now, perhaps they felt they needed help. I think it's Clyde. They are all identically dressd for a school production of West Side Story. Leather jackets and white T's. they have shaven heads though and are a little buffer than in life. They look friendly, but menacing. (How do they pull that off?)

Brad looks at Clyde and says "let's throw the fucker off the balcony, nobody will miss him"

Clyde says "Righto" in an English accent and disappears inside, his arm around the shoulders of the offender, shoulders slumped he seems resigned.

I know that's the last I will see of him. I feel nothing.

Brad is sharing a sandwich with Janet.

Now "let's throw the fucker off the balcony, nobody will miss him" is a line I heard uttered when I was lying beaten on the floor of a hotel room, in another life. I remember thinking ... you are right, get it over with ... it's easier than fighting back.