22 February 2010
In dreams I walk with you. . . .
That blast from the past is by Roy Orbison. Speaking of blasts from the past. . .
I hate it when other people feel compelled to tell me about their dreams. Say to me, “I had the strangest dream last night. . . ,” and watch my eyes glaze over. Nevertheless, I did have the strangest dream last night. The beauty of this venue is that you do not have to read about my dream.
I hardly ever remember my dreams, but this morning I woke up tremendously relieved thinking about my dream. In my dream I had received one of those letters from the Department of Social Services informing me that the person who had been my third wife was pregnant and asking me to fill out an income and expense statement and a financial affidavit so that an appropriate child support figure could be calculated.
This made me sad because obviously, I was going to have to go back to work. Also, I was of course going to have this child for visits occasionally, and I did not look forward to some little bastard abusing me in my old age.
What was that all about? That particular wife did not have children of her own, and we did not have children. Ours was a smooth and amicable parting of the ways. One day in 1996 she decided that I needed to get rid of some of the junk that I had stored in our basement. She wanted to tidy up. Since I myself spent a good deal of time in the basement—that is where the television and stereo were located—she allowed as how I might as well go, too. I have not laid eyes on her since.
I did send her an email in 2004 wishing her a happy fiftieth birthday and received a gracious reply, but that's it. She was an attractive little brunette, cuter than a bug's ear, but I do not even have a photo of her. I understand that she has been happily married now for quite some time to some fat guy who owns stuff.
I did not regard the news from the Department of Social Services as some sort of fraud on me. In my dream I did recall that in an earlier dream sometime last week the two of us had enjoyed a little toss in the sack for old times' sake. I also recalled that this had gone well. I do not know if I did dream that last week and did not remember it or if I was just dreaming that I dreamed that last week. It is complicated.
Anyway, Mexicans are into this dream thing, a very mystical people. They are into voices speaking to them--usually a virgin--premonitions, telepathy, dreams, the whole deal. These are serious things to them. I am going to run this dream by a Mexican and find out what she makes of it.