Rapier brandished high.

I’ve been hanging out around the wrong people. I do not dream. I haven’t remembered dreams since I was a kid, with very rare exceptions. I’m proud of the fact that I ordinarily drop off to a black unconciousness in which no deep, buried thoughts rise to bother me each night.

Last night I dreamed.

The Professor had returned to California to attend a Socialist convention/rally/protest? and I was staying with my mother (who has been dead a year and a half now) watching television and worrying about him. An insurrection occurred, and The Prof was leading the Socialists into battle, riding a big black horse and waving a Civil War style rapier high over his head. The rapier was so silver it was white, and blindingly bright.

Of course, a la Indiana Jones, the saber was no match for a gun, and the Prof was the first casualty of the war. It was reported on the television news. I had the television and the radio on, waiting for news of the battle, and I learned that way. I told my mother that The Prof was dead, and she asked “Did you even love him?” I told her “no”.

She then told me she wanted me to go out and purchase a CD for her. I went back of the house down to the creek to buy the CD. There was a wooden stairway, rather elaborate, with railings and a platform, that I’d never seen there before. I used that to get down the bank to the creek, and then jumped in the water and started walking/floating down the creek. The water was crystal clear, and I was scanning the creek bed under my feet looking for her CD.

I drifted down as far as the foot bridge that a neighbor had built when the creek widened to a deep pool. There were overweight people (I got the impression they were retirees) in too tight bathing suits using the creek as a spa.

Then The Professor came to bed and I woke up. No more meatloaf before dinner for this chick.