Greetings, my fellow port swillers!
Regular friends of the decanter seem to enjoy my occasional posts about odd dreams, I believe? Well, Ol’ Robbo’s got a humdinger for you this time.
I had to fly out to the Mountain West overnight this week on biznay (thus ruining a pre-planned week at Smith Mountain Lake, but never mind).
As I’ve mentioned before, I never sleep well in a hotel, usually drifting between a light doze and wide-awakeness. It was the same this time, with Self becoming fully conscious about every two hours or so.
I had to be up particularly early for my appointment yesterday, so when I found myself awake around 4:30 ack emma, I simply muttered, “Oh, ALL right!” And rolled out of my bunk.
But as I started getting ready, a thought popped into my tiny little mind: “Hold on a tick,” I said to myself, “this is MY bathroom! What on earth am I doing HERE? I know I flew out yesterday, so what’s going on?”
After thinking on it for a moment, I said, “Oh! this must be a dream!”
And then, as they say, I woke up.
I found I was back in my hotel bed. But after breathing a sigh if relief, I suddenly became aware of subtle movement off in the corner shadows. And just as I jumped up and shouted “Burglar!”, some great brute came leaping in to throttle me.
And then, as they say (perhaps rather less often), I woke up again.
I’ve had these dreams within dreams now and again before. They never cease to discombobulate.