Dreams, and realities.

My dreams tend to be repetitious.

And rarely so comfortable as to produce the wish to remain in dreamland.

Now, we all hear the stories of the "Actor's Nightmare." A fellow named Durang wrote an extremely humorous short play surrounding that idea. You know what I'm talking about; even non-actors have this nightmare. You're on a stage, you can't remember rehearsing the play, and yet there you are in front of an audience, unsure of the blocking and completely void of any idea as to the text of the play. And just when you think you've got a handle on it, somebody else comes in and starts a different play.

And most of the time, you're naked.

You don't mind waking up from a dream like that.

My dreams are usually the college dreams; the ones where you can't remember your class schedule, and you continue to blow off a course, knowing that you need THAT particular class in order to graduate. I find myself more often than not walking the halls of some academic building I don't recognize, trying to find a classroom I should have been attending since September, and here it is, finals week.

Waking from that one brings a kind of relief I don't often find in wakefulness.

But sometimes, I do hunt down my diplomas, just to be sure.

Sometimes, in the night, I am visited by the ghosts of friends past; perhaps it's my overindulgence in the works of Charles Dickens, or my affinity for the redemption of the human soul. It's good to see the faces again, and it really hits me in the dead of the night how much I miss those folks.

Alas, usually we wind up talking about something that has nothing to do with anything. I can remember talking to my old friend Ed about horse racing, even though I'm fairly sure that we never attended any such event. At those times, I sure wish the spirits would send a little something about the near future that I could use.

Perhaps if we talk about horse racing, they could send me a winner.

I don't dream so much anymore. On any level. Waking or sleeping. My sleep patterns are becoming more and more unusual, and the fact that I live most of my life in the dark doesn't help matters much.

It's starting to get very lonely out here.

Perhaps it's something I can grow out of.

Or, perhaps the ghosts of the past can give me some advice.

Until then, it's me and the computer and the phone and MSNBC.

Good night and good morning.