More Storms / Love Goes Bad
Recovered: 01.04.2006
[The afformentioned Team of Psychologists never did explain the 'Storms' themes of my dreams. Here's to their Associates Degrees, and all that goes with them.]
The dream was new, but just as confusing as all the others. Second person, I was looking at myself while I was gripping the railing of something (ship? building? seawall?), with grey swirling clouds and flashes of lightening behind me and a fierce wind whipping my hair around (it was 3-4 inches long, with a few telltale grey strands about in it) that was so strong it nearly drown out my voice, what little I had to say. I was in a dark uniform, but not the same as the one I have on now.
"NO! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" I paused briefly and shook my head, looked behind me into the maelstrom, looked back, then pushed myself off the wall and went into it, never losing eye-contact with the person I was addressing. I knew who the person was that I was screaming to, and that I was extremely pissed off, and I knew that in order to fix it I was going to die in the process--so naturally, I did it. Then the dream ends.
I was reminded of the dream for no particular reason while taking a Love Gone Bad report on the front porch of a house off 6th Avenue near the #9 Fire Hall. It was a repeat of a repeat, the Baby's Daddy wishing to file charges against the Babies Momma for assault, her having slapped him awake from his all-night-bender in the front yard with his buddies as evidenced by dozens of empty cans of Steel Horse Reserve and bottles of Remy Martin strewn about the yard. He had just done two months for beating her with a stick, and was visibly excited that she had awakened him with an open palm so he could now exact legal revenge. He was horribly let down, however, when I informed him otherwise and told him that no one was going to use me as an instrument of revenge, before breakfast at least. His response began putting him into a position to be the one Riding himself instead of her, but in short order he became sullen, accepting defeat while he distractedly tried to figure out how his Lex Luthorian Plan of Vengeance had so suddently put him in the 'hot seat' instead of his intended and once beloved target.
I had deposited "Lex" elsewhere and went back to interview the Baby's Mother; she was in a quandary because she lived with her Overweight Knight and their brood in his mothers house, as they had done since Clinton was still in his first term. They were in their late 30's, and just getting started. With their third child. She espoused her problems like a bad fitting on a water pipe, and I decided to take a moment and sit on a bench on the porch amidst plastic lawn gnomes and animal feces and desperately tried to get her name and date of birth between disjointed stories. Several moments passed and I met with little success, so I took an additional moment to bury my face in my hands as I tend to do before crying, and looked up for a moment between my fingers just as a wire fell from the utility pole in front of the Fire Hall and connected with another to create a fantastic shower of emerald colored flames and sparks, causing the power in the block to go out. As unfazed as I, Ms. Luthor never hesitated like the truly dysfunctional trooper that she was and as the first people in the street stopped their cars to ask me to turn the power back on, I stood up silently, handed her a business card, and departed. She never stopped talking.
I pulled to the side of the road in the shell of a shipping warehouse that had been closed for years (deades?), and worked on that report and the three prior. I could have cut-n-paste'd them if I still worked Brainerd (or maybe even in the South Side), but alas...this was not the case in Eden.
I finished two of the three reports when another call came out ...
[The afformentioned Team of Psychologists never did explain the 'Storms' themes of my dreams. Here's to their Associates Degrees, and all that goes with them.]
The dream was new, but just as confusing as all the others. Second person, I was looking at myself while I was gripping the railing of something (ship? building? seawall?), with grey swirling clouds and flashes of lightening behind me and a fierce wind whipping my hair around (it was 3-4 inches long, with a few telltale grey strands about in it) that was so strong it nearly drown out my voice, what little I had to say. I was in a dark uniform, but not the same as the one I have on now.
"NO! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" I paused briefly and shook my head, looked behind me into the maelstrom, looked back, then pushed myself off the wall and went into it, never losing eye-contact with the person I was addressing. I knew who the person was that I was screaming to, and that I was extremely pissed off, and I knew that in order to fix it I was going to die in the process--so naturally, I did it. Then the dream ends.
I was reminded of the dream for no particular reason while taking a Love Gone Bad report on the front porch of a house off 6th Avenue near the #9 Fire Hall. It was a repeat of a repeat, the Baby's Daddy wishing to file charges against the Babies Momma for assault, her having slapped him awake from his all-night-bender in the front yard with his buddies as evidenced by dozens of empty cans of Steel Horse Reserve and bottles of Remy Martin strewn about the yard. He had just done two months for beating her with a stick, and was visibly excited that she had awakened him with an open palm so he could now exact legal revenge. He was horribly let down, however, when I informed him otherwise and told him that no one was going to use me as an instrument of revenge, before breakfast at least. His response began putting him into a position to be the one Riding himself instead of her, but in short order he became sullen, accepting defeat while he distractedly tried to figure out how his Lex Luthorian Plan of Vengeance had so suddently put him in the 'hot seat' instead of his intended and once beloved target.
I had deposited "Lex" elsewhere and went back to interview the Baby's Mother; she was in a quandary because she lived with her Overweight Knight and their brood in his mothers house, as they had done since Clinton was still in his first term. They were in their late 30's, and just getting started. With their third child. She espoused her problems like a bad fitting on a water pipe, and I decided to take a moment and sit on a bench on the porch amidst plastic lawn gnomes and animal feces and desperately tried to get her name and date of birth between disjointed stories. Several moments passed and I met with little success, so I took an additional moment to bury my face in my hands as I tend to do before crying, and looked up for a moment between my fingers just as a wire fell from the utility pole in front of the Fire Hall and connected with another to create a fantastic shower of emerald colored flames and sparks, causing the power in the block to go out. As unfazed as I, Ms. Luthor never hesitated like the truly dysfunctional trooper that she was and as the first people in the street stopped their cars to ask me to turn the power back on, I stood up silently, handed her a business card, and departed. She never stopped talking.
I pulled to the side of the road in the shell of a shipping warehouse that had been closed for years (deades?), and worked on that report and the three prior. I could have cut-n-paste'd them if I still worked Brainerd (or maybe even in the South Side), but alas...this was not the case in Eden.
I finished two of the three reports when another call came out ...
posted by Longshot! [Sane] at 6:49 AM
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