Tag: Dream

Admirable Traits

Daily writing prompt
What is something others do that sparks your admiration?
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This is a tough one for me. There are a lot of things I could mention, but explaining them are somewhat beyond me. Maybe I’m just suffering from some minor brain fry today. Maybe I’m just letting the cold, damp weather get to me. I don’t know.

The one thing that comes to mind is focus. I am such a procrastinator that focus is an issue for me. Is work ethic a better term in this case? I don’t think so. I think my work ethic is okay, I just feel like I need a jump start now and then to get me out of procrastination mode.

Speaking of procrastination… it has more or less taken me three tries (and counting) to write the prior two paragraphs. Ugh.

What are some other things? I admire people who don’t have to eat all the time. Even post-gastric bypass, I feel like I am snacking on something all the time. I also feel like the length of time I can go in between snacks is getting shorter. Yesterday my stomach was yelling at me to eat all day long and it was annoying.

I admire people who are decisive. I am not decisive. I am Mr Indecisive. I constantly second guess myself. When other people do that I get upset because I have faith in their decisions, even if they are just gut reactions. I don’t feel that way about my own decisions though. I doubt and doubt and doubt.

I admire musicians who have the discipline to practice. I just can’t do it. I can’t sit down and practice scales or picking patterns or anything like that. I have to come up with a project and work on it. That’s one of the reasons I do so many song writing challenges. I feel like I won’t play at all if I don’t have a project to work on. I wish I could just sit down with my guitar and practice for the sake of practicing. I admire people who can do that.

Okay, there are a few examples. It took me almost an hour to write this because I am in full procrastination mode today. How’s that for irony?

Dream Gig

I had a dream about a gig last night. I think that means I need to start playing with the band again.

I’m pretty sure it was a pizza joint. It wasn’t my band. Whoever they were, no one was paying attention. I walked up on stage, picked up a tobacco burst Les Paul Standard and started playing Living Loving Maid by Led Zeppelin. The rest of the band magically knew what I was doing and started playing with me. Unfortunately for the audience (all, like, six people) I think I was doing all the singing too. Sorry about that, but no one seemed to vomit. They loved our little Zeppelin tune.

Two minutes later the song was over and the crowd was itching for more. I figured a Jimmy Page song worked already so maybe I could challenge them with some Jeff Beck. I expected I Ain’t Superstitious to bomb but they ate it up. Next it was time for some Yardbirds. I’m a Man totally slayed. I then thought I’d challenge them with something down tempo but You’re a Better Man Than I brought down the house. Finally I brought it full circle. One Jimmy Page tune followed by a slew of Jeff Becks, let’s hit some Page era Yardbirds. Train Kept a Rolling rocked the pizza joint customers’ faces clean off.

And there you have it. I had a dream about a gig… and it might have been the best gig I’ve ever done. The Rock and Roll was rocking and rolling like you’ve read about. Awesome.

Dream or Nightmare

I had a dream that we went on vacation to some unnamed beach hotel. The cast of the show The Flash was there. I was trying to impress them by telling them I was in a cover band and we played a Genesis song. They were polite, but they were also not impressed.

Was it a dream or was it a nightmare?

You decide.

Weirdest Dream Ever

I needed a nap this afternoon. I’ve been exhausted to near disfunction for weeks now, and a nap really helped. While taking this nap I had a dream. It’s not complete (screw you, alarm clock!) but it really needs to be documented because… well… it’s weird, but it could also be the Michael Bay action movie of the millennium.

We open on a massive house boat, docked at some exclusive looking location. The kind of boat a billionaire in a mid-life crisis would live in. In the middle of the night, a small army of armed men, clearly mafia soldiers, are stealthily boarding and breaking in. They hear the sounds of a man and a woman, in the midst of a passionate, and very weird romp in the bedroom. They kick in the door and find…

Former US President Bill Clinton and his wife, current Democratic Presidential candidate Hillary Clinton on a bed together. Bill looks at the intruders, then looks at a clock on the bedside table, “You guys are early. Give me about 15 minutes to finish up here.”

“Make it 30 minutes.” Says Hillary.

So, are you weirded out by my dream yet? I sure was.

About an hour later, the former and future Presidents come out. Hillary is wearing a business suit, Bill is wearing a bathrobe. “Have any of you found the liquor cabinet yet?” Bill asks. Hillary laughs and walks out side and off the boat, and out of our story completely. The mobsters look at Mr Clinton confused. “You dudes don’t think this is my boat, do you? No, we saw this from the road and decided to break in and squat for the weekend.”

“So what’s the job, Mr President?” asks the lead mobster.

“Normally I’d have my Secret Service detail handle something like this,” says Bill, “but it’s a little too politically sensitive right now. I need outside help. You see, eight years ago, my wife lost an election. This whole time I’ve been planning revenge on those who beat her. I need to pull this off before Hillary takes office next January, so we’re under the gun on time. It has to be now, and you folks are going to help make it happen.”

…and scene.

Now we cut to an exterior shot of the White House. Our gaggle of mafia goons are sneaking across the lawn and into a side entrance. They take the secret service detail by surprise and quickly overpower them (with zero fatalities or injuries on either side. No one is actually getting hurt in this little subconscious brain dropping). All of the top staff are herded into the oval office. Former President Clinton is the last one into the room. He’s wearing an oversized black, hooded cloak, and he’s got a tommy gun in each hand. He surveys the people in the room, occasionally saying a pleasant hello to those he knows personally. He sees that his two targets are not in the office. Finally he says, “Bring me the President and the First Lady.”

The White House Chief of Staff says, “What do you want with them? What is the meaning of this? Your wife is going to get pummeled on Meet the Press because of this!”

President Clinton looks the Chief in the eye, points one of the tommy guns at him and says, “Payback for the 2008 primary. No one beats Hill-Dog and goes unpunished. I’m getting revenge in a way that is perfectly suited to my public persona.”

He pauses for dramatic effect… probably for way too long, and then says, “I’m going to have sex with Michelle Obama, and I’m gonna make Barak watch.”

Outside of the oval office, a mobster is standing guard by the door. A silent figure sneaks up behind him and wraps his head in a sleeper hold. It’s so perfectly applied that any pro wrestler from the 80’s would have been impressed. The guard falls to the floor. President Barak Obama comes out of the shadows, picks up the guard’s shotgun, cocks it for dramatic effect, and says, “Fat chance of that, you intern banging bastard,” and then ducks into one of the hundreds of secret passageways hidden throughout the White House.

That’s when my alarm clock went off.

This proves that I need therapy, right? I can’t possibly be right in the head after a Democrat on Democrat violence dream, can I?

Originally published at robj2112.wordpress.com on January 30, 2016.

Weird High School Dream

I had the weirdest high school drama dream last night.  I dreamed that we were living in an apartment.  The hallway outside of our room looked remarkably similar to the hallway the band room was in back in the old Tewksbury High School.

One of the residents, who was also a member of my graduating class, was murdered.  The killer was another member of my high school class.  A group of other class of ’89 folks was involved in a cover up.  My best friend was helping to cover up the cover up.  I was helping to cover up his covering up of the cover up.  I’m not sure how, but Steve Hackett’s song, “A Tower Struck Down” seemed to be involved somehow.

I kept having cops come and talk to me about my best friend’s involvement, even though he wasn’t directly involved at all.  Somehow they thought he was.  I also kept finding evidence that the cops were snooping my computer, and every time “A Tower Struck Down” showed up in my iTunes I would panic.  Eventually my friend and I started to crack and devised a plan to tell someone in the press where the body was hidden.  The reporter turned out to be the brother of still another high school classmate, although I don’t know if that person had a brother in real life or not.

I know we had given something, a map maybe, to the reporter, but that’s when I woke up.  

Hopefully, no one from the TMHS class of ’89 was harmed in the making of this dream.  The whole thing was really weird.  It involved people I haven’t thought about in 20 years.  Do I need therapy?  Do I need to listen to more Steve Hackett?