Monday, October 17, 2005

Dream A Little Dream of Me

Last night I dreamed that, in my dream, I was able to go back in time. However, I went back to a point in my dream past that had never occurred in my actual, conscious, three-dimensional past. The details of my dream past are fuzzy and getting fuzzier, but I seem to remember being about seven years old (with a full grown me accompanying me, field trip chaperone style) and walking around a smallish town I don't think I've ever actually visited. There was something about watching a baseball game, a little league game, and when I looked up from the field my grandfather was standing on a corner across the street. I immediately felt as though I had been paying attention to the wrong thing, like watching TV out of the corner of your eye when your mother's telling you about her bad day. Just as I'd noticed him, though, he grabbed his chest and fell to the ground. There was a crowd of people between him and me so I couldn't get over to where he was standing. Dream running and dream chasing ensued, the kind where you can't actually get where you need to go no matter how hard you try, like running in a pool.

My grandfather's already dead, so there's no need to worry I'm having upsetting premonitions about the demise of my kin. He did, in real life, have a heart attack, but not when I was seven and not on a street corner. To my knowledge, he had never once been to a little league game. My grandfather, from what I can remember, did a lot of TV watching from his armchair and fought with my grandmother during the commercials. He also once painted an entire floor of his house a bizarre shade of brown because he was colorblind and had no idea it wasn't the mauve my grandmother had requested. When my grandmother threw a fit, he also refused to admit it wasn't pink.

It's so unsettling to dream about deceased relatives. I haven't seen my grandfather since I was in fourth grade and he was transported from a golf course parking lot somewhere in Yonkers to that great, endless nineteenth hole via cardiac arrest. So either my dream is otherworldly and Grandpa is reaching out from some other plane of existence and poking me on the forehead as I sleep, or it's intrapsychically weird and my subconscious is coughing up a relative I haven't had any contact with in thirteen years for reasons I can't control.

I'm going to see Franz Ferdinand tonight at Madison Square garden, and I'm trying to extrapolate any lesson I can glean from my weird dream. Am I not supposed to pay attention to the show, lest I miss something critical in the audience? Am I going to resuscitate an old man? What was it you were trying to tell me, Grandpa?

What's that? ...Throw...throw my bra at Alex Kapranos, follow him to his bus...get pregnant, have our little Scottish babies play baseball? Is that what you've been trying to tell me?

The wisdom of my ancestors will have me fellating rock stars in alleys yet.

1 Comments:

Anonymous mombi said...

i'm pretty sure that's not what grandpa had in mind.

12:17 PM  

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