“Never tell your dreams. What if the Freudists come to power?” Stanislaw Lec
It wasn’t a particularly inspiring — or inspired — dream. Just a little more odd than usual. I happen to think that dreams are the product of the brain’s de-fragmenting process, (we’ve all watched our computers defrag…moving the little squares around until everything is nice and tidy, no bits in the wrong place…of course we have). Anyway, I believe that’s what dreams are: our brains tidying up the weirdness in our heads.
I’m thinking maybe there is just a little more weirdness in my head than usual, which is not entirely surprising, given that my life is now back in three (yes, 3) twenty-foot containers. This time it was not neatly packed by professional movers. This time it was packed — if you could describe it as that — by me and assorted helpers in a frenzy of “get-this-place-emptied-out-quick” activity. Said activity occurring in the final moments before my departure and the renovation crew’s arrival.
But I digress. I am now in, or at least near, Ireland, while my house is being totally renovated. More about that later. Right now I want to tell you about this dream, in the hope that someone can help me to make sense of it. It seems that I was visiting Sarah Ferguson, former Duchess of Somewhere. In real life we’ve never met. At least not that can recall. Well, it seems that Sarah had this pet fly, and I was helping her look after it so that no one would swat it. Now what do you suppose that was all about? I can’t make any sense of it at all. I had thought that the massage just before a light dinner, a little bit of wine with dinner, and an early night would be calming. Soothing, even. But here I am, at 3:30 a.m., contemplating Sarah Ferguson’s pet fly. Is that weird? Or is it just me? MM
Sometimes we have to protect the small precious things that we can overlook when we’re surrounded by bigness … how’s that?
I’m reading these last few posts in reverse order, ‘cos Mrs Widds and I took ourselfs out into the wilds for a completely off-the-grid break. I came back to well over 500 emails!
P.S. no idea where Sarah fits in the picture though … maybe you read something about her that hooked your unconscious and it forgot to tell your conscious self and went ahead and used it anyway.
Sarah Ferguson is the ex-wife of one of the British royals. Not sure what’s she is doing nowadays, and frankly don’t care. More interested in your dream and that fly. But not an unraveller of dreams so afraid I can’t help. There might be a good story in that though.
Gary Ross said:
Defrag while on the other side of the world could be confusing. If the dream recurs when you return home, see a doctor.
On Fri, Sep 12, 2014 at 10:14 PM, The Meandering Matriarch wrote:
> The Meandering Matriarch posted: “”Never tell your dreams. What if > the Freudists come to power?” Stanislaw Lec It wasn’t a particularly > inspiring — or inspired — dream. Just a little more odd than usual. I > happen to think that dreams are the product of the brain’s de-fragmenting > pr”
Seeing Clarely said:
Sounds like dislocation and jetlag.