***I am having this problem with dreams. I didn’t know it was a problem. Things I have accepted as my reality for decades…seem to have been dreams. Sometimes they came into reality with different players…sometimes the same ones. I can say quite emphatically that the memory where my motorcycle broke down and I climbed the rickety wooden steps to an apartment over a garage was NOT real. When I opened the door to the apartment I found Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward sitting at an old square table sipping coffee. It smelled delicious! Telling them my problem got the help I needed. Paul and Joanne very kindly fixed my bike for me and I went on my way. I know that one was a dream. Come on now….
***But the line between reality and fiction blurs a lot. For the last thirty years I have had this picture in my mind of a bald Rod Stewart at a piano fronting a band. I have always accepted this as his shaved head period. When I recently mentioned this to a friend I was informed with authority that Rod Stewart had NEVER shaved his head and appeared in public. OK, so maybe he did it behind closed doors for a while and really, sometimes his static hair does look like a wig. I am not ready to file this one away yet.
***OK…this one definitely was a dream. I was walking through the woods with a guy…following a distinct pathway to a clearing. In the middle of a good-sized area was a bed with sheets, pillows, and a comforter. OK…I definitely see sexual direction in this one. On the bed was a writhing pile of snakes in a moving tangle that could have struck fear in anyone watching an Indiana Jones movie. I turned to my paramour and said, “I suppose I have to clean this up?" Yes…that was definitely a dream.
***The scene is Los Angeles, the sixties. I had sex with the drummer from Wipeout in the bushes behind the Dean’s house at Occidental college. Now I am asking myself “Why in the bushes?” This was not a dream, but I really wish it was. What was I thinking?