Jim's quiet musings . . .

What a difference a few days can make. More snow in the forecast. I'm beginning to think I have seasonal affective disorder. I have the blahs. Do you remember my post about clipping strings? Well, once again, my procrastination has caused those damn strings to get out of control. I'm getting overwhelmed. The snow doesn't help.

I missed my first class on social research and I'm paying the price. Good grief. I just want the damn degree thank you. What do you mean I have to put some work into this? My research proposal appears to escape me at present. Perhaps if I look for it, I'll find it. Somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind. Somewhere in those convoluted folds and deep crevices, there has to be a research project idea laying there, waiting to be found.

My energy level is low. I awoke this morning from a terrifying dream. My whole body was into it. I was struggling for my life. A dream friend and I had made a plan to meet back at the hotel (The Plaza - a good name for a hotel) and I took the wrong elevator. I got out of the elevator and walked into a cafe, took a serving cart loaded down with flat cakes and fruit (it seemed the thing to do) and pushed it right out of the cafe/restaurant. Suddenly I realized that I did not know where I was. I asked directions to the Plaza Hotel and a man pointed in the direction of a bridge. One of those bridges that part in the middle to allow boats to pass. I made my way to the bridge and finally could see the hotel, which was a mere mile away. How the hell did that happen? How did I get so damn far from that hotel that should have been in the same building I was in when I got into the elevator.

The guys at the bridge terminal had to have been screwing with me. I watched the bridge lower and cars pass over, heading in the direction of the hotel. I put my thumb out. Most of them were business people. Some looked French. One woman looked like the hairy creature on the Adams family with hair down over her face, cascading down to her waist. None of them stopped. I saw the opportunity and decided to run for it, only to discover that I was moving like I was immersed in a viscous jelly. I reached the end of the bridge only to feel it begin to move.

There I was, dangling on the end of this massive iron structure and screaming at the top of my lungs. I began whistling loudly to try and get the attention of the bridge workers. I never saw their faces but somehow knew they were getting a kick out of this. I awoke in a sweat, sitting bolt upright, breathing like I had been immersed in water for way too long. It sucks waking up like that.

Wonder what Freud would have made of that one? Probably would have suggested some sexual deviance deeply seated in my brain. Somewhere in those convolutions where my research project is hiding. -Jeeem-