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04 October 2006

Last night I dreamt about 3 little birds, which were not fully grown and were somehow copies of one of them (as could be true in Second Life). They were a rich brown* and small, like wrens. They lived outside, and it was cold and dark, but I was going somewhere and called them, and they jumped inside my shirt to warm up. I got to where I was going and they jumped down and wandered off... then... something.... can't remember what - maybe someone was singing - prompted me to say the birds were needed, so I called them and they came running over. I moved my right hand in an "up! up!" movement and they flew up and around. My older sister was there and she said, "I think it's too cold in here for them," to which I replied, "Deborah, they live OUTSIDE."

I have no clue what, if anything, the dream signifies. I usually think of dreams as just random snippets that rise to prominence with about the significance of bits of vegetables that float up in a pot of soup.

Yesterday I closed my windows. I did so as the night before I'd been really cold. I think I usually close my windows sometime in October and open them some time in April.

*I had a friend when I was a teenager, who was named Rich Brown. He'd say in a mock musing manner as though trying to describe a color, "It's kind of a RICH brown." I never saw him again after about the age of 17 although we wrote for years longer and he even, unprompted, mailed me some hash when I was in England.

On Thursday I was talking to Frank:
Me: Well, one good thing about m.s. is that I have time to think about my life.
Frank (disgustedly): You're just sick. You don't need to have m.s. to mull things over.
Me: Yes, but I'm always trying to think of some way that having m.s. is kewl.
He's right, but I can't help but think that trying to find something good in a crap situation is not the worst thing I could do.

The other day I was talking to Enjah:
Me: I've just realised I may not think the way other people do.
Enjah: You've just figured that out?
Me: Yes, today.
It was like a lightning bolt from the blue that morning, when it suddenly occured to me. I presume I'm like everyone in that when I think about something there are things that are so ingrained in me that I don't even know they are there - assumptions or the way I think things definitely are as a base. Sort of like the way ordinary lightbulbs color everything yellow, yet we don't think "It's yellow," we just accept that as normal. Anyway, I had been thinking about Syd Barrett, who was supposed to be an artist yet didn't seem** to produce any artwork. I'd just read a thing his sister had written saying he hadn't been mentally ill. The assumption popped into my mind in a kind of schematic way: artist = paintings if 0 paintings then artist = something awful interfering. The interesting thing to me is not anything, rightly or wrongly, about Syd Barrett, but just that I have an assumption of producing artwork (or anything, I expect) if possible, as a base.
**Maybe there are bazillions of paintings in storage or under his real name.

posted by - 10:56 AM


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