... because that's kind of what's going on. I'm trying to merge the old blog with this one because I really like some of my old posts and I don't want to delete them, and theoretically there's a way to do that except for how I can't figure it out, because I'm really a Luddite anyway and I don't appreciate technology that is any more advanced than vacuum tubes which I don't understand either but they are warm and glow so... And that is why some people believe I have ADD. Except for how ADD doesn't exist anymore because it wasn't politically correct enough, and now it's ADHD and... Oh, bother.
Anyway, this is the first entry on the new iteration of my blog. Welcome back to the Colonial, now located at radiofreebroadstreet.blogspot.com. Hopefully I'll figure out how to merge the old content sometime soon so that this thing will look a little bit less like an Army requisition form, and it will have all the tasty goodness you were used to once upon a time.
I was actually somewhat productive last week and wrote three different things to post here, but I did that on my own computer and I'm doing this now on a school computer (Sssh. Everyone thinks I'm writing lesson plans) and it didn't cross my mind that I might email them to myself so I could post them from school. I'll get that sorted out when I also merge the blogs.
Therefore I'll start your re-entry into my world with the bizarro dream I had last night. It was sort of spectacular because it was a dream that actually happened in installments. It was a weird weekend sleepwise. I slept in way too late on Saturday, which may or may not have been related to various activities involving corn-mash-based products on Friday night. I then napped on Saturday afternoon, went to the movies that evening and went to bed early. I proceeded to sleep for about twelve hours, woke up, had lunch with some friends and then decided it would be a good idea to nap again, which of course should have meant that I wouldn't sleep properly Sunday night. This was not the case. I hit the sheets and was out cold until it was time to get up this morning and be all producto-teacher.
In the course of these massive sleep attacks, I had a continuing dream which made absolutely no sense at all upon reflection but, like all dreams, made perfect sense while it was still going on. Why do dreams DO that? In the real world, if I saw a giraffe walking down Grove Avenue I would either think that the circus was in town or I'd seriously question my own sanity. In a dream, though, it is perfectly and unquestionably normal that not only do giraffes walk down Grove Avenue but that they got there on magic cardboard airplanes and then that you ride them around town before eating them because they are made of ravioli.
This dream was one of those dreams where you're in your own house in your own hometown. Neither the house nor the town look anything like the real version but you know that's where you are. So here I was in my house (well, actually my apartment, because while I still have a house I don't happen to live in it at the moment) and I kept discovering new wings of the house that I had forgotten about. This is also a recurring dream of mine. I have no idea why. Then at some point the whole apartment (which, again, bore no resemblance to my real apartment) became underground and then turned into a bank vault. And, of course, I did not question in the slightest why I would be living in a bank vault. Maybe it's just what I do, I live in vaults. Then I woke up. But--when I napped later--I was right back in the same vault (which I still believed to be my apartment), only this time, the cat could talk. I don't remember what he said, but he could talk, which was pretty cool. Then I woke up again and that was it for the vault/apartment-talking cat dream.
I love seeing those "dream number" books at convenience stores. Apparently, you can consult it to find your dream and then it tells you what numbers to play in the lottery. I'm pretty sure if there's actually an entry for "vault apartment and talking cat" it will say "You are too weird to win the lottery. Get a job."
The idea of dream interpretation strikes me as amusing because all of my dreams are so utterly mutated that I don't see how they could possibly be interpreted. I mean, most of the "dream interpretation" books say things like "If you dream of a giraffe...". They do not say what it means if you dream of a giraffe made of ravioli, much less what will happen if you do or do not eat it. Believing in dream interpretation is sort of like taking a fortune cookie seriously. And whatever happened to fortune cookies? They used to say cool things like "You will meet a strange woman." Now they say smarmy things about being kind and loyal and a true friend. Great, even the damn pastry shop is trying to reform me.
Gotta jet. The cat just told me a giraffe walked down the street and it smells like fortune cookies.