Tell Me about Me

Dear Eugene,

Last night I wasn't feeling well and this morning I woke from a nightmare, nothing dramatic, more like a mild annoyance.

So I was in this room, I think my son's room, and there were two switches on the wall (only one in real life).  I tried to turn on the light but it wouldn't, and in the dream somehow I already knew it's because I turned on the other switch shortly before, which was for some sort of ventilation.  I also somehow knew to turn off the ventilation is to enable the light switch again (don't ask me why) and proceeded to do so but only reluctantly (don't ask I said).  Then the light lit up.

Into a ball of fire.

I looked at the ball as if it's expected and  muttered, I will let this go on for a while.  But, like, die already, please.  Let's get a move on...

And almost immediately the burning ball toned down its rhetoric, sizzled, then fizzled.  Every freakin' time, friend, every freakin' time...but thank you for the quick turnaround, don't get me wrong.  I am glad the ceiling looks ok...

 Then alarm clock.

Now it is not hard to read the dream--any dream--as a metaphor that says something about real life.  It is harder to not read anything into to.

I've always thought anyone with half a brain can do what Daniel finally did to interpret Nebuchadnezzar’s dream.  But the king asked for not just an interpretation.  He wanted someone to first tell him what he has dreamed.  "Tell me the dream, and I will know that you can interpret it for me."

I think the king knew there's so bullshit going on around him that it must be easy for anyone to retrofit a smear of that stuff to what has been apparent to everyone all along, his fear and anxiety, a crown of terror he wore out in the open under bright day light.

Everybody knows already I am a headless chicken running around all day long in this stupid shiny palace.  I am the emperor in his new clothes and everybody makes fun of my nakedness.  Now I don't need you to give me a punchline.  Don't you put me in a Gong Show.  I want you to tell me about Me.  Say it to my face that I am headless.  Tell me I behave like chicken.  Then--only then--will you earn the right to tell me why I run.

I think he was just asking for friendship but didn't know how to do that nicely.

Yours, Alex

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