With a little imagination...

...subconscious anticipation of work blends with school days. Before I woke up this morning, went to work and attended actual meetings, I dreamt of one in a classroom setting. The conference room had big tables and colorful chairs, and watercolor paintings on construction paper were taped to musty windows as sunlight streamed in over a slop sink. Another team was meeting in the same space at another table, which made it difficult for my team to hear our editor on a conference call. The noise was so distracting, we actually misdialed and got Mrs. Roper on the phone instead. “Oh, that's Mrs. Roper,” I explained to my bewildered coworkers, “Mrs. Roper, can you connect me to our editor?” She groused and did so, but then our editor complained of the noise. We relocated to another table where, for some reason, my old college buddy Rob was boisterously laughing about something incoherent. I think it was related to a story our mutual friend Rey recently told him. In real life, Rey told him that he couldn't understand how long I took to get ready in the morning while I was staying with him, that I was the only guy he knew that could take 20 minutes to shave and still have a five o'clock shadow. I assume that's why Rob was in the dream, but through the laughs all I could make out was, “Yoooo, Rey said you have a different door every day!” I couldn't take too much time to decipher this, as my gaze shifted across the table to my supervisor, who was smiling either at Rob's joke or the Tenor Horn laying on the table before him on some newspapers. I play a Baritone Horn, so I'm not sure why the slightly smaller brass instrument was in a dream quickly outdoing a Sopranos dream for sheer weirdness. At this point I changed the subject to the clock on the wall, which indicated that forty minutes had elapsed and we'd yet to discuss the next Science Fiction catalog. At this point my editor, who somehow was now physically in the room, voiced her assent from a child's seat along the far wall. Then I woke up.

...a callous smoker could start a brush fire. I've never used one, but automobiles do still come with ashtrays, correct? Why then does EVERY driver throw his or her stub out the window? On the way to work this morning a driver in front of me flicked his arm out the window, and a smoldering butt ricocheted off my windshield a moment later. I need to end this paragraph soon, as I'm not comfortable with two of the words I put next to each other in the preceding sentence. At least New Jersey has taken a step in the right direction with the whole smoking thing, though. I've never been a fan of smoking.

...and some retouching on my part, I can rethink my original assessment of the actress cast as Gwen Stacy in the upcoming Spider-man 3. I wonder what geeks did before computers. I've lost track of how many people have re-colored this new Spider-man costume and posted it on message boards. I initially agreed that Bryce Howard wasn't the best choice for the role, but the next thing I knew I was altering the photo to see how she might look. In case no one's realized it yet, I am a huge loser. Don't tell anyone.

...I might wrap up tonight's post and concentrate some of my writing energies on my class. My homework isn't due until Tuesday, but one week in I'd hate to revert to type and wait until a night or two before to at least start. In school, I always waited until the last minute. Once in college, I stayed up until 5 AM to finish a painting project, slept for an hour, drove to Queens, gave a speech in my speech class, and then handed in shoddy color swatches all inaccurate due to my fading vision the night before. Say, I wonder if this class is why the classroom setting snuck into my dream? With a little imagination, anything is possible...