If I were a star ship my dreams would be the transporter room.
What a room that is! It not only takes me to different locations, it transports me forwards and backwards in time and improvises scenarios based on both the past and the future. Sort of a transporter-holodeck all wrapped up into one.
The bad thing is that I don’t get to program what goes on. I have to take potluck and lately the pot has been a bit dark. Last night I couldn’t tell if there were cobwebs hanging from the walls and ceilings or if they were rotted netting that was disintegrating from time and dust. Neither one was particularly wonderful to think about.
A dream like that really holds me back.
I leave the transporter room carrying a sort of smoggy cloud that hangs over me even when I open my computer and gaze out at the rest of the world, making it hard to write happy little thoughts.
I wrote several this morning. In fact there was a virtual buffet of thots added to my computer this morning! But not one was really palatable enough to send out into the world.
I know some people can direct their dreams. I can influence mine, but I don’t seem to have the final power of directory. Assuming they are more than an undigested bit of beef, or histrionics contrived to get my own way, my dreams have decided to go where no one wants to go…
Back into the past to clean out the cobwebs, no matter what they are made of...
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