A dream last night. I went to pick up Caitlin from some place, kind of like a cross between a Kidspark and a casino, but a place that provided daycare. I had sent my dad with Caitlin, to watch out for her, and had made arrangements to pick Caitlin up at 4:00, or 4:30. When I get there, I find Caitlin running all over, and can’t find my dad. I start to look around, and he’s not there. I have this horrible feeling like he’s been kidnapped, or something. Then I spend a couple days playing detective, looking all around this place, talking to people, trying to figure out where he might have gone, what might have happened. Finally, it turns out that he’s hiding out in the backyard, living in a van, and everyone knew about it, except me.
Lord Stanley’s Cup
Conversation at Stanley’s last night, with Christian:
Me: Do we touch the Stanley Cup?
Him: Noooooooooooo.
Me: Until?
Him: Until I win it.
Me: Gooooooood.
A note: I didn’t touch it either. The Stanley Cup, for those unaware, is the highest honor that a hockey team can win. Superstition/Tradition is such that you don’t touch the cup unless you win it. Not ‘your team’, you. As some part of an organiziation (not a fan) that wins the Cup. It was really amazing to see up close. Kelly asked about it and why *I* didn’t touch it, and I couldn’t adequately explain.. it somehow diminishes what the cup stands for if I touch and grab it. I don’t begrudge anyone their choice to touch or hold it or whatever.. but as for me, I just choose not to.
The weird thing is that then last night, I had a dream about the Cup. I was hanging around in Stanley’s late, nearly closing time, with my ‘usual’ hockey friends – Jim, Cap and Teach. The cup was there, and we were just talking with Phil Pritchard (Keeper of the Cup). I asked him if I could take another picture (the throngs had left, and the Cup was over on a table). He said sure, and I went over, and picked up the Cup and held it above my head, like the players do when they win. I lower it down and kiss it and raise it back up. Then I carefully put it down on the table. My friend Teach goes over and starts to pick it up, but we quickly realize that he’s a bit… inebriated as he staggers under the weight and almost falls. Phil decides that we should stop, and we do.
I wish there was a <dream/> tag.
3rd Person.
Here is the scenario: Everyone you know has gotten together to pick a famous person to narrate your life in the 3rd person. The person chosen should fit you and your personality. (IE: If you think they pick James Earl Jones, you better be one bad-ass nubian god.)
Who do they pick?
Uncle Dreams
More dreams. I have an uncle who is dying from cancer, and I recently had a dream about him – I was watching a play, some type of broadway or off broadway production, and I was sitting next to my mom. (He is my mom’s brother in law). I was in the 2nd or 3rd row of the balcony and I turned to look, and in the back row of the balcony were my mom’s 3 brothers and this one brother in law. The brothers all looked the same as I have seen them recently, but my sick uncle looked sick, shorter, thinner, bald and was dozing(due to the medication and treatments, I knew). I awoke almost in tears, just thinking about him like that – he was always larger than life, big and hearty and with a smile and a laugh that could fill a room.
Dreaming from Camp
I had the weirdest dream last night while camping. I was walking through a part of a city that was not good – run down, but very busy with illicit activities. there was a lot of drug dealing and using going on, and i distinctly remember feeling very fearful, that I needed to keep moving, not piss anyone off, because these people were angry, suspicious, probably tweaking, and could easily kill me at the slightest provocation. I take the side door into what appears to be a restaraunt or hotel lobby, with the intention of heading out the front door. As I step out of the front door into the antechamber that leads to the street, I see someone about to step into the chamber, and it’s someone I know, an ex addict. He’s looking the other way down the street and I can see sores on his skin, and I feel a part of me inside cringe, knowing he’s using again. I brush past before he sees me and vanish out into the street.