Lately dreams are sliding right out of my brain-pan as I awaken, like eggs from a non-stick skillet.
It’s slightly irksome, on a par with an overzealous server who whisks your plate away before you’ve mopped up the final toothsome tidbits. “Hey, I was still savoring that. …”
I’m pretty sure I’m being entertained as I sleep, but maybe it’s a lowbrow sort of dreaming, like some off-brand Netflix movie you’re trying to describe for a friend.
“It was pretty good. It had whatsisface in it, you know, that guy who’s in everything, and there was that gal from what the hell’s that TV show that never really took off? It wasn’t a rom-com but there weren’t any car chases or fight scenes either. It was based on a book by that dude from Spokane, or is it Reno? You know the one. No, not that one. The other one. Can’t remember the name of it but yeah, it was pretty good.”
Or maybe the dreams are simply being overwhelmed by reality, like the aftermath of an election. Herself is still in Flawduh, taking care of business mom-wise, and so instead of lounging around in the sack of a morning, reviewing the work my subconscious did overnight, I have to get up, feed and water the cats, empty the dishwasher and the litter box, make the coffee, and like that there.
Speaking of cats, ours will be giving me poor marks on Yelp. Herself is generally up and at ’em around 4:30, but in her absence I don’t spring into action until 6. None of us has a job, and we’re not going anywhere fast, so what’s the rush?
Try explaining that to a cat sometime. They have a finely honed sense of justice, which they perceive as “just us.” You can see them mentally counting down the days until you croak of an aneurysm while reading The New York Times and they finally get to eat your lips.
Tags: Billy Joel, Dreams
Mad Blog Media 
July 12, 2018 at 7:52 am |
I had a bit of surgery recently and since trying to recover tend to wake up at least once a night. You know when you are getting old when you start keeping track of how many hours of sleep you can get each night. But an interesting thing has happened during the night when I wake up. The kitty thinks she is going to get fed at 3 a.m. and begins pacing the floor. She’s a hoot!
July 12, 2018 at 8:43 am |
Ouch. Anybody approaches me with a knife, I pull a gun. Hope the recovery is proceeding well.
We don’t dare make a peep if we wake up at dark-thirty. We lock the cats out of the bedroom come bedtime, because Miss Mia Sopaipilla is a vigorous little minx who will spend the night leaping into and out of the bed. But if she and El Turko sense any movement within, the singing commences.
Mrow? Wowr? Yow, wow, zow, etc.
July 12, 2018 at 8:13 am |
our cats spend the night patrolling the catio for roaches which they catch and bring inside and then chase around the house. and they are not quiet about it either. we wake up bleary eyed in the morning to find several flattened roach carcasses littering the floor. the other morning we found a live beetle about the size of a golf ball roaming around the kitchen. i have no idea where that came from.
we went on a short 4th of july vacation and it was nice to be able to sleep a full 8 hours (or 10). we both had the most incredible dreams. i guess it’s like cleaning off the desk at work. a lot of stuff needs to get filed away properly in a way that only a good night’s sleep can accomplish.
July 12, 2018 at 8:46 am |
I wish ours would eat the crickets. There’s nothing but hard surfaces in El Rancho Pendejo and there was a cricket in the master bath the other night who was achieving sonic levels I hadn’t heard since an REO Speedwagon concert in 1972. My ears are still ringing from that one. The concert, not the cricket.
Dreams are kind of like bleaching your water bottles, I think. Or maybe defragging the hard drive. They flush out all the cranial crud.
July 12, 2018 at 8:21 am |
This is why I don’t have animal my own animals!
July 12, 2018 at 8:47 am |
Bossy little rascals they are. And as soon as they get what they want? Boom! Off to dreamland. I wish I could nod off like that but my mind keeps puttering along, cataloging a lifetime of sins.
July 12, 2018 at 10:23 am |
I went on a ride this morning to Brown Canyon ranch, and on the way back, after being beckoned by a frantic grandfather, spent a short time looking for a little boy who went on walkabout from his house near the bike path. After an extra 20 minutes of riding and looking for the little guy, I saw the sheriff down the road. I went to see what more I could do, and the call came in that they found him safe and sound. Now that is a dream with a happy ending.
Now there is another little boy, behaving badly, who will hopefully get lost in Europe and will never return to our shores.
July 12, 2018 at 5:50 pm |
Quick, while he’s gone, let’s move the country and change its name.
July 12, 2018 at 10:49 am |
Glad I’m not the only one who says “Hey, I was still savoring that. …”
That is probably the thing that irks me most about eating out in the land of the Big Gulp and Meat Lovers Pizza. Well, that and the food..and the insane markup on the wine…and…
4:30? 6:00? AM? Are you in prison somewhere? When do you hit the sack at night….7 PM?
July 12, 2018 at 5:54 pm |
My suffering knows no bounds, Larry. Herself works a weirdo shift that gives her every other Friday off, and this entails getting up at stupid-thirty to get ready.
Once she starts cranking up the beauty tools in the master bath and El Turko has jumped on me a time or two I surrender to the inevitable and get up. Now I do it even when she’s not here. Woe, etc.
Lights out is generally 9 p.m. This is not easy on a dude who spent the bulk of his career going to work at 4 p.m. and getting off at 1 a.m.
July 13, 2018 at 12:27 am |
I feel for ya PO’G. Lights out at 9 PM? Ya can’t do that where I am unless you closed all the drapes as the sun’s still shining at that time. I seem to wake up automatically around 7 AM and get the caffe machine going shorty thereafter. 10 PM is usually sack-time unless we’re having a big dinner here at the Piedmont Cycling Resort as those tend to start at 8 PM and go for more than a couple of hours. None of the “I was still savoring that!” over here my friend.
July 12, 2018 at 12:45 pm |
The only time I get up at 4:30 is if I have to use the bathroom! I leave kibble out for my little guy and he grazes during the night. He doesn’t like wet food, so there is no urgency for me to get up and feed him. I sleep in until a leisurely 6:30 or so, then when I get up Smokey gets all excited so I chase him around the house for a while. Then he has his morning nap.
In my next life I want to be a Persian cat. Total luxury!
July 12, 2018 at 6:03 pm |
I hate 4:30. It is not my friend. There is not enough coffee in the world. Not even if I pour it directly into my eyes.
Our furballs eat kibble, too, but they demand personal service in the morning. “Gravy food,” for starters (kibble in warm water). And Miss Mia likes a dollop of cream with her breakfast.
I can sense their presence outside the bedroom door. They lurk out there like the vice squad waiting to slap the bracelets on some vile ne’er-do-well of low moral character.
July 12, 2018 at 5:32 pm |
We’re entertaining Il Douche in Britain this week. Riding a helicopter from cage to cage, he’s only been here a few hours and is already upsetting people. The Queen has to have him round for tea tomorrow (Friday the 13th); can we send him back, please.
Just in case your papers don’t carry our news, some 60% of Brits really, really don’t like President Little Hands versus only 55% who dislike Vladimir Putin.
And here’s that “unicorn riding a unicorn..” – https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-us-canada-44788849
July 12, 2018 at 5:56 pm |
O, Lord, Stan, please accept our apologies for the refuse washing up on your shores. And yes, the “unicorn riding a unicorn” made a few heads explode on this side of the Big Ditch too.
July 13, 2018 at 4:11 am |
Orange Hitler likes to crow about how many Brits like him. Seems his popularity is about the same there as the USA where he also believes everyone (except the news media and a few Democrats) loves him. You know what my wife says….
July 13, 2018 at 6:41 am |
If only more of the electorate and the press had listened to your wife. But that would require them to be other than what she says they are.
July 13, 2018 at 12:19 pm |
Yep, that’s the problem with democracy – it only works when the voters are not what my wife describes them as…it’s been a problem since the democracy idea was first tried.
July 13, 2018 at 6:12 am |
I bet the Queen is not looking forward to tea with the dotard. “The horror, the horror.”
July 13, 2018 at 6:39 am |
No OBE for Il Douche, but I hear she’s gonna award him the OBO (Oh, Bugger Off).
July 13, 2018 at 12:20 pm |
I’m going to buy some Tennent’s Lager.
July 13, 2018 at 3:48 pm |
Ho, ho. HQ is in Dublin. The Gaelic sense of humor comes out to play, drunk as usual.