I Do A Silly Thing 3 April 1999

I don't know if I dare start an entry like this anymore, but honestly, I did just have the most disturbing dream. Woke up around 8:30 AM today, quite naturally, so I got up, made tea, washed a few dishes, and then settled down to finish reading Zod Wallop, a strange sort-of fantasy about the amazing lengths a parent will go to in order to come to terms with the death of a child. The plot, of course, is much more complex, but this was the point of it all. So though the details were often funny or bizarre, ultimately the book is sad and a bit disturbing.

But I felt all upright and virtuous, really, being functional so early on a Saturday. I only was going to close my eyes for a second or so. Ha ha.

I won't - can't - go into all the specifics of the dream. It was about deceit, murder, refugees, innocent victims, obsession, standard stuff. But mostly, it was about Mary and myself, along with some unnamed third girl, who was only there to function as The Other Woman. At one point, she was an incarnation of Minerva. Yes. Only not necessarily the real Minerva. In fact, she may very well have been a single mother from Texas who, along with hundreds of others, had been kept in cold storage by the owners of this fantasy park, for use as needed as park "characters". Logic, not a big concern. Just awfulness.

Through all the twists and morphings, the common story was this endless circle of betrayals; me dumping Mary, Mary dumping me, around and around, confessions and reunitings and then falling apart again. And every time, there were these other peripheral people, who made the mistake of believing either of us when we said that they were important. Because compared to each other, they were all discardable, and believe me, we discarded them. Sometimes they were killed, if the scenario was an especially melodramatic one. Sometimes just abandoned without a word.

This went on for five hours or so. At times I knew I was dreaming, and tried to wake up, but it was as if some part of me knew I was required to sit through it all - as if it was coming in from some external source, and I needed to pay attention. I don't know why, now, because what did I learn that I didn't already know? That every time the story would require a reunion, I could feel that first hug physically, heart-deep, like a broken china plate magically fusing itself back together as each piece was held to the next? That none of that mattered, because I would just smash the plate again, that I was a shit about it to boot? I know all this.

I can't figure out if the moral was that I needed to re-experience and then let it go, which would be very Californian but also possibly true; or that, too bad, this was your true life, it's gone now, no forwarding address. Or, of course, no moral at all, because it was a book, a ham sandwich, midday sun, and last night's beer. Whichever, I found that I could not stop myself from doing a mildly stupid thing. I found Mary's office phone number, which I knew was listed, and left her voicemail. Including a phone number, which I doubt very much will be used. I hope I pay attention to that silence.

Ah me, this is 40th Birthday Madness, I know it is. Stay tuned for more. Or, not.

Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.

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All names are fake, most places are real, the author is definitely unreliable but it's all in good fun. Yep. © 1998-1999 Lighthouse for the Deaf. All rights reserved and stuff. The motto at the top of the page is a graffito I saw on Brunswick Street in Melbourne.