all the rest have 31
Things slip away, don't they. Whatever it was that I had in mind to blog about this morning is irretrievably gone. Linda says "not so" but I keep thinking I'm insane. Or at least a touch of insanity. Or maybe it's just the aging.
No, I'm pretty sure I'm insane.
Blogging becomes a problem when it gets treated like a diary, or even journal, and, being public instead of private, people see one's innermost thoughts.
Well, not really the innermost. The totally innermost are never allowed to surface above periscope depth, nomesane?
Anyway, deutsche Küche this morning: two thin slices of Braunschweiger on toast, along with the second mug of hot & black.
Dream last night kept recurring after I woke up momentarily relieved it was just a dream: in a cave of some sort, it had narrowed down to a very close place. I was lying flat and trying to inch along to the next open space, lying flat because the floor of the cave and its ceiling had become so close, less than a foot apart and narrowing, working my way along thinking that I'd reach a place where the closeness began to widen, but it kept narrowing until I got stuck and couldn't move, and couldn't even work my way back. Wake up, slip back to sleep in spite of trying not to, and the cave dream resumes.
There's a specialty called Dream Therapy in which I had a little bit of training, and read a couple of books, about twenty years ago; and there are folks interested in dreams, who regularly get together in small groups to present dreams they recall, for group discussion. I tried it but it seemed a little goofy to me so I dropped it and never really got into it. This was not my usual anxiety dream, though. The last Time I remember having a recurring dream was in the ICU at Cleveland Clinic in January 2011: over and over and over again dream, wake up, go back to sleep and again and again, the very loud music of a military marching band playing "Deutschland, Deutschland über alles" - - which a nurse told me don't be concerned about it, it's quite common and we call it ICU psychosis. It's your anesthesia drugs clearing out of your system, it usually takes a couple of days, you'll be fine.
Which bring to mind Songs - -
Songs: music that stirs in the head and won't go away. Recently I titled a blogpost "just because" and it triggered that phrase in the lyrics of a song from untold decades ago when I was hooked on country and western music - - what, growing up, I knew as hillbilly music and quit listening to when I realized it was a recipe for inducing depression. The phrase Just Because
George Jones as I recall? Try having that tune torment your mind for several days.
Sometimes a hymn we sing in church on a Sunday will haunt me like that, playing continuously, running through my mind for several days into the rest of the week.
Earlier this week I was browsing World War One history and films online, when some early 20th century songs and music popped on the screen and the mind games happen again. Two songs in particular. The first, from World War One as a soldier and his sweetheart are parting, him off to war, a duet sung by Vernon Dalhart and Gladys Rice, in which she rolls the r's so pronounced and melodramatically that it's downright silly
And the second, from The Great Gatsby, a song I remember hearing my mother sing along as it played on our car radio. Which for me dates the memory to our 1935 Chevrolet, a car with yellow spoke wheels, white sidewall tires, a heater, and a radio. Before seatbelts I'd stand on the car floor in the back seat and listen as mama sang. When the 1942 Chevrolet arrived just after Pearl Harbor, it had none of those extras. No radio, and when we drove to Pensacola and back at Christmas we had to take blankets along because the new car had no heater. In May 1948 mama got the new Dodge for her 36th birthday, and it was fully equipped again: radio, heater, and WSW tires.
Anyway, the song that haunts obnoxiously: