Dreaming The Night Away

Sleep hung on me heavy as a wet overcoat. I threw coffee in quantity at it hoping to shake the lethargy, but to no noticeable avail. I slogged through my morning chores like a zombie on downers, not present, not aware, not anything but groggy; a fighter barely up at the count of eight. Maybe I had taken too many pills or hits on the J, or maybe I shouldn't have finished that entire bottle last night, but that all seems unlikely. I don't have any of those things and my friends don't share. No, it was clearly something else weighing me down, something thick as gravy and serious as a secret. It was a dream, a dream that played out all night and haunts me still this morning like one of those specters you can only see from the corner of your eyes. Damn thing won't face you head on.

The girl had been as tall and leggy as dame in a Spillane crime novel. She was a blond, of course, with hazel, no green, no gray, no...eyes that changed color to match either her wardrobe or her mood; it was hard to tell. She had given me the come-on, the come-hither, the do-you-want-to-know-more with moves so subtle I was hesitant to make one of my own. What the hell, I thought, I'm probably dreaming anyway. I screwed up my courage and moved in eagerly like a vulture on a fresh road kill. She wasn't much of a talker at first but she listened real hard and seemed at least vaguely interested in the stream-of-bullshitness I was putting out. When I finally noticed she was glancing wistfully at the room's dancers, I took her hand and moved her to the floor. She folded into my arms like cheese into a souffle and fit there tight as a too small leotard. We danced, as the saying goes, the night away and love was begun...this part is as unclear as any dream...anew.

But who could she have been, this angel of my unconscious? I struggled in my morning murk to mentally scrape away the fog, but fog can't be scraped. It has to lift on its own. I waited for it to do so, but eventually abandoned the chase for this gray matter ghost. With cup in hand I settled in front of my computer to write of other things, movies perhaps, or dogs. You know, my usual fare, but obviously, given what I have written so far, the subject has not been forgotten. Who can this haunting, arresting, spectacular dream woman have been?

And then suddenly, there she was. "Good morning" she said, climbing from our bed. "Why are the dogs barking?"

OMG! I've been dreaming of my own wife!

That's kind of cool when you think about it.