Dreamland

"Praise the saints and pass the gravy"! Isn't that a famous saying? Oh, maybe not. Anyway, it's a beautiful day in the western panhandle of Florida with, and dare I write this, temperatures approaching seventy.
MJ Hawkeye has been doing quite a bit of research on dreams and dreaming lately. This is clearly another circumstance on which Lizzie and I part ways. You see, once she hits the hay she's gone. She goes into a coma for seven and a half hours then wakes up to remember nothing. She never dreams. I find this quite interesting since I'm the exact opposite. It can be quite frightening. Ten years ago I did one of those medical exams, the type where they attach all kinds of electrodes to your head. Correct me if I'm wrong but there are four different REM(rapid eye movement)sleep cycles to a full and restful sleep. When a person gets to number four they become a "Lizzie" then wake up relaxed and refreshed. MJ never gets out of number 2. In other words, when I'm asleep I'm also awake. This is also an indicator of why my dreams are violent, colorful, scary, re-occurring------------okay, they aren't much fun if you get my drift. My own personal theory on the REM thing is when I was a kid I wet the bed so I forced myself to sort of stay awake. Then I wouldn't be lying in Lake Pissmeoff when I woke up.
In a conversation the other night I mentioned to Lizzie how much trouble it was lying in bed because I knew what lie ahead when I finally dropped off: bombs going off, cars flying off cliffs, always in technicolor. My worst dream is I'm coaching at a school and keep getting hired then fired, then re-hired. I finally go to work for the boss I had in real life and, after making more money than Rockefeller, quit the job so I can go back to the coaching job living off food stamps and going through the same torture all over again.
Well, I am proud to announce that in awakening this morning there are no remembrances of dreams. My eight hour journey into the Twilight Zone is full of nothing but sugar plum trees. It's a great day to be alive.
Too bad I have to screw things up by going to the golf course. When I get back from that adventure I'll be ready to hang myself----or not. It should give me enough fodder for tonight's foray into Dreamland. Whatever happens I'll always be able to fall back on what the famous philosopher's have always said, "praise the saints and pass the gravy".