PhilM
Location: Salinas, CA
Age: 40
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"Only two things are infinite--the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the former." Albert Einstein

"To announce that there must be no criticism of the president, or that we are to stand by the president right or wrong, is not only unpatriotic and servile, but is morally treasonable to the American public." Theodore Roosevelt

"I'm not as think as you confused I am." Someone, somewhere, at some time

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Friday, August 04, 2006
Dreamscape

Normally, I don't remember my dreams. Most of the time, I'm not even sure I have dreams. I go to bed, fall asleep, wake up several hours later, and there's no recollection of anything in between. In order for me to remember a dream, it has to fall into one of two categories: so incredibly strange that it would make Willy Wonka look normal; or scary enough to make Stephen King crap his pants. But even then, within a few hours I've forgotten most of the nitty gritty details. Sure, I remember the basic gist of the dream, and the "major plot points", so to speak. But it's not like I can bring up images from the dream in my head. So it is with a strange sense of awe that I inform you all that I can still remember, in every minute detail, the dream I had on Wednesday night. And I do mean every detail. I can picture exactly how much stubble was growing on my face (I obviously hadn't shaved in a week), what clothing I wore (my Flying Tigers P-40 t-shirt and a pair of worn jeans with a hole above the right knee), that I had no shoes on (just a pair of socks with the big toe on my left foot sticking through a hole), and I was wearing an old watch (one that I threw away years and years ago because it had a large chunk torn off the face from a bicycle accident). And do you want to know exactly what happened in the dream?

I combed my hair.

What? You want to hear more? Well, I'd like to tell you more. But unfortunately, that's all that happened. I. Combed. My. Hair. That's it. That's the entire dream. Shoot, I don't have a whole lot of hair to comb, so it's not like it takes me the length of a good dream to comb it. And I'm definitely not hung up on my looks so much that dreaming about my own grooming is a usual thing. I have no idea why I had this dream, let alone why my brain chose it store with such detail. I think it might be because I've been associating with you people too much, and since you're all crazy it's starting to rub off on me. Yeah, I like that explanation.

And speaking of long-term associations, do you realize that this is my 500th post? Yeah, amazing, ain't it? Five hundredth. Should be worthy of some kind of celebration, no? Or at least some monumental post of significance. But no . . . all I've got is how I had a dream about combing my hair. Does this mean I've actually hit rock bottom in my blogging?

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