...
I hit play on this wild conversation between GeorgeAnn Hughes and Scott McQuate and got in bed. I kept nodding in and out of it, and even played it over and kept nodding in and out. So I have to listen yet again whilst upright and sipping coffee. But it sent me off to dreamland, for a damn change.
Seems to me we're having to wring my dreams out of me lately, my circus of sleep disorders being as intractable as they are, but maybe I'm just a damn chicken, not wanting to face the kind of truth that comes in that door. I can't imagine it, really, not really, but I have to consider that because I am way so unhappy with the state of things as regards my spiritual mastery. I have all kinds of good excuses, which, of course, don't really cut it for me and so are not much more than fleeting intersections with the morbidly tangential. So that leaves me bummed about the dearth of remembered dreams.
I was hired to be Steve's woman. Not hired as in on a salary, but as in there being a job to do. We were both much younger and our own age. I was feeling good on my way to his office/home/island, pleased that I had not accepted this earlier, that it had to be right or he wasn't going to be right. As I neared the building, a young woman came out crying.
I asked her what was wrong and she told me she'd been shoved out. I very brightly told her to take heart because I'd been shoved out once and it was the best thing that ever happened to me, that being shoved out meant she was going on to great things. She did take heart. She stopped crying and her head came up as she proceeded off into her future.
As I entered the building, someone pointed me toward Steve's office. I walked in. We didn't need any introduction, any starting, we just flipped into it. We needed naps. He went off to his room and I to mine. I slept like a dead woman. When I got up I went off to find him, wearing only a huge sweater. He was up on the deck talking with some distinctly mainstreamized fairly dweeby wannabe yuppie couple... maybe second string character actors for B movies. I only fleetingly worried I wasn't wearing enough clothes.
There were waves in the bay all around us and very big boats bobbing in them too close to us. I was exclaiming about it and Steve said it was nothing to worry about. It was just Sting and Bono and some others fucking around, showing off....
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