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Collecting Crises on Old Compton Street and Beyond
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Sunday, December 14, 2003
Dream A Little Dream
Last night I dreamt I was flying. Nothing unusual in that, my dears: it's a dream I've had ever since I discovered which way is up. The dream dictionary informs me that this represents my quest for freedom and my urge to soar above the mundane banalities of my humdrum existence. Apparently, it also means I'm on top of whatever situation most concerns me at the moment. And there was I thinking it just meant I was really Superman. I'm a crap flyer, anyway. I can only stay up swimming in the air for a few seconds at a time, before being forced to alight, albeit briefly, back onto terra firma. No amount of fairy dust (of whatever kind), or thinking wonderful thoughts, will ever get me into the Peter Pan league, which leads me to suspect that perhaps this friend of Wendy isn't in as overall control as he'd like to believe. This isn't my only recurring dream, however. For about the third or fourth time this month, I've dreamt of certain other bloggers, some of whom appear on my sidebar, some of whom don't, some on whose sites I comment, and some not. Funnily enough, none of these dreams has involved any of the web-loggers I've met in Real Life, or anyone I'd recognise by virtue of their mug-shots being featured regularly on their sites. So last night [name withheld for legal reasons] got the hump with me and [name withheld because it's just too embarrassing] because we'd been out all night with [name withheld because you'd never believe it], and the thing was that [name withheld because of professional ethics] had been waiting to be introduced to [name withheld on grounds of good manners] who knew that I sort-of fancied their best mate [name withheld because it’s none of your business] all along. Now, what's the dream dictionary to make of all that? |
