Category: draft

This rescued draft post almost reads like a subtle parody of a reply to a personals ad. And yet, I’m almost positive that I wrote it in all sincerity.

I can’t recall if she ever replied or not. I don’t even recall anything about the person who posted the original ad.

It was years ago, I’m sure.

At any rate, something to ponder on this cold (but not snowy) Tuesday morning.

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Browsing the profiles on Salon, I’ve become cynical and jaded. Since at least the time Salon switched over to the new format, but probably even before that, it seems that replies and actual connections with like-minded singles had been, well, falling off. Drying up, even. Maybe it’s me and my profile, maybe it’s the season (are standards higher during the holidays?), who knows? But, I paid for it, so I still go through them from time to time, looking at the pictures, reading the clever answers to the clever questions. Shopping, basically. Window shopping.

I saw your profile. You seemed cute. Tall, and I’m a tad shorter than you – that’s sometimes a problem for women to overcome, I understand that. Not for me, of course. I read further to see your clever answers.

And in the very first space I get a bolt of lightning. Arthur Nersesian! I have at least four of his books and love them all. “Chinese Takeout”? I haven’t heard of that one! I surf over to Powell’s website and search – and not only do I get a hit for “Chinese Takeout” I find ANOTHER book by him I haven’t read! Have you read “Unlubricated”? Me, either, but now I know I have to go to Powell’s on my lunch break and pick both of these up (I work downtown, 5 blocks from Powell’s – it’s a favorite hangout. A burrito from Baja Fresh on 11th and browse the stacks in the City of Books).

Am I trying too hard? Maybe. But some women think that’s cute. At any rate, even if you don’t write back, I wanted to thank you for the early Christmas present you unwittingly sent my way. Thank you, and I hope you find what you’re looking for this season.

From a couple of months ago, comes the following post. Started, and not finished.

*****
A cold, rainy day, and a long work week, and being low on money, and not exercising, and feeling alone.

I needed… comfort food.

Yeah, I sought to fill the hole created by things both in my power to change and things outside my ability to change… with food.

I’d hoped to, at least, choose wisely, something low calorie. I just didn’t want to have a simple sandwich at home.

So I went to the Limelight.

My favorite waitress waved when I walked in. She came over, and sat with me and chatted a bit. She was tired, she said. “I’ve been out late every night this week.” She had started school just weeks before, but instead had been drinking and not sleeping.

It felt like there was more she wanted to say… but for whatever reason, didn’t say it. She took my order (Sante Fe chicken sandwich with spicy sauce, jack cheese and grilled jalepeños and the soup of the day)

2 December 2006

My phone rings. I pick up.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Oh, hi, son. Listen, two things. First, are you going to Max’s birthday thing tomorrow?”

“Yeah, at some point.”

“Oh, OK, good. Second, are you going to New York for Christmas?”

“Yes, I am.”

“What airline are you flying?”

“Alaska.”

“Oh, great. Do you mind if I ask you what kind of deal you got?”

“I had enough frequent flyer miles to cover a round-trip ticket. I had to use a lot, because of when I was going, but I still have a bunch left over.”

“Oh, nice. When are you going?”

“I fly out the 22nd, and I’m coming back on New Year’s Day.”

“Oh, so you’ll be there for your birthday?”

“Yeah. Are you going to go?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about it. Since everyone’s going to be there, I’ve been trying to find a deal. It’s hard because of all the black-out days.”

“Right. That’s why I had to use so many frequent-flyer miles. Forty thousand.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, but it’s all covered., so that’s nice.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I was thinking. Since everyone’s going to be there, you know, I was just thinking that it might be nice to come out for just a few days, maybe, and get a car… and drive down to [my hometown], in Jersey. The old homestead is still there, I can see it in Google Earth.”

“Wow. I’d… love that, dad.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, don’t tell anyone. Don’t tell your sister about it. I’m trying to work out a deal.”

“OK.”

“Carol is running hot and cold on the idea, but maybe if I can get a deal…”

“Right, dad.”

“OK. See you tomorrow, son.”

“Bye, dad.”

This post was originally started in February 2007. The part in brackets, where I gave myself notes on the dream I was describing, are now as inscrutable to me as they likely are to anyone else. I have no memory or feeling about the words I wrote down almost 2 years ago. But the rest of the post, about dreams and dreaming in general, is still interesting to me.

Enjoy.

*****
Not everyone dreams – or, perhaps more accurately, remembers their dreams. Scientists can demonstrate that anyone they test shows the same level of brain activity during sleep, but after the subjects wake up and pull the little sticky tabs and wires from their bodies and skulls, not all of them report images, feelings and other dream-like memories.

I almost always remember my dreams. In fact, when I was in my teens, a friend and I heard about lucid dreaming, which was apparently a state of dreaming where one is aware of the fact that they are dreaming, if you can imagine such a thing. It sounded like the best fantasy playground ever, where one would experience what it would be like to be truly limited only by one’s own imagination.

In point of fact, in all my attempts, I only managed to experience a few brief moments of dreaming lucidity, and those moments, where I took the reins of my powers of thought, remain etched in my mind as if they were actual, living experiences. The reason I bring all this up now is simply as a preface to the idea that I have somehow exercised my “dream muscle” to the point where I can be considered an elite dreaming athlete.

Our dreams are normally full of images and feelings taken from our waking life and given new juxtapositions, they form patterns, both familiar and new, and examining them can reveal much insight into how we are dealing with the world. But the way in which the symbols are brought to our conscious awareness seem to be shaped by the amount of creativity we experience when conscious – or so I believe, with my layman’s understanding of the brain.

My dreams, lately, have taken on an even stranger tone, in fact. But do not be alarmed. I think they’ve just been infused with greater and greater levels of creativity.

[roller-blading at the airport; Ken in a pinstriped suit; Clinton on TV in same suit]

[picking out a red bottle from the bread carts; acting as Brian acting as someone else; going to find my friend and co-worker; in an IT department for a store of some kind; new second-in-command manager with hair growing out of her face; wanting to do anything she can to help me find my place; referring other friends who may be lost, too – including ACTUAL Brian; “that’s funny – they wanted to be sure I talked to you, too!”]

Lately, I’ve taken to going back into my draft posts – the ones where I started a post then decided to save it for later. Sometimes I don’t have the time to fully develop an idea, and sometimes I start it and, for whatever reason, lose the creative energy to continue, or lose my train of thought.

I have 60 of them.

In an effort to always have something posted here, I have been looking for unfinished posts, and then, y’know, finishing them, and scheduling them out ahead.

But there are some posts where now, months later, I have no idea where the post was going to go, what I was trying to say.

But there’s still some value in them, I think. Maybe if I contemplate it, I can fill in the blanks. Maybe not. But at least it might be interesting.

Presented below is one such post. I originally started it on 17 April 2007. The parts in square brackets are where I was leaving myself an idea of what to write, a space I could fill in later with more details.

I don’t remember what was going to go in the last one – the one about Sunday school – except the vague outlines of my memory of first contact with organized religion. I don’t remember how it fit into the rest of the post.

I’ve given this post a tag of “draft”, so that I can do this again in the future and collect ’em all in one place.

Feel like helping? Post a comment to share your thoughts on the theme I was aiming for. Help me do some archaeology into my own mind…

*****
I was complimented recently on my writing. She told me it was warm, and friendly, and that she could just imagine me right there in the room with her.

[Story about having a typewriter when I was in Kindergarten]

Not sure if those stories were gibberish or actual stories – but there’s evidence that they may have been readable, at least.

[Story about mom watching me and my sister looking at the Sunday funnies on the living room floor – and mom realized I was actually reading them to my older sister. According to the family mythology, I was three years old.]

Post title mentions the three R’s and between ‘riting and reading that’s only two. You may think that the third R is ‘rithmetic, but I had in mind my first encounter with Religion…

[Story about bible school]