The Borderlands of Dreamtime

“Yes: I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.” ~ Oscar Wilde

“People think dreams aren’t real just because they aren’t made of matter, of particles. Dreams are real. But they are made of viewpoints, of images, of memories and puns and lost hopes.” ~ Neil Gaiman

Monday morning. Cat, graciously overcoming her desire for my lap, is now sleeping in her bed. I’m sitting here nursing a cup of nearly perfect coffee. The morning is quiet. And filled with dreams. That’s been the thing lately: sleep and dreams. After years, longer than I can remember, I am beginning to remember some dreams. They have become frequent enough that they are spilling over into waking consciousness. I kinda like that. The last time this blending of waking and Dreamtime was active was when I was taking care of mom 24/7 to help her as she died from esophageal cancer. It was the only way I could achieve the task, and I nearly lost my job anyway, thanks to the jerk . . . ooops; be nice, Ken. But simply remembering parts of dreams is a pleasure in itself. I even had a very sweet kiss with a lass I would be right pleased to kiss in waking life. Not likely to happen, pandemic and all, because I am out on the front lines doing retail, serving 100+ consumers a day. That’s my excuse anyway. And it’s a good and wise one indeed. Of the bruja – well, this is gonna make it harder for her to tinker with me, and not nearly as fulfilling, because in remembering dreams I am now ready to fight. I hope I don’t need to. A couple of “Boo!”s would be preferable. Anyway, whatever. I’m running late because my better senses let me sleep two hours beyond the alarm. Best get this show on the road. Work day, don’tcha know. Ta, ta. Tally ho! Whatever.

All is well. Goof gloriously.

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