I have been remembering my dreams quite a bit lately. It doesn’t happen often, but when I tend to remember them it happens often for a short period of time and then tapers off. It doesn’t always mean I didn’t sleep well, either. Sometimes I feel entirely rested, others I feel as if I didn’t sleep at all. 

Last night I dreamt I was in a play; a Shakespearian-type play. I was to play God in the first act, the first scene actually, and when opening day came, I was totally unprepared. Not just a little, ENTIRELY unprepared. It was as if I knew I was supposed to be there; like I had put it on my calendar so as to be there on time but had never looked at the script, ever. I was walking around, minutes before the curtain rose, trying to figure out how I could cheat, carry the script with me, something, anything. Then I woke up.

If I wanted to go all Freud on myself, I could analyze what some deeper meaning this could specifically relate to, or just realize I need to pay more attention to what the fuck I’m doing. The latter will probably make me laugh less and is surely more accurate.

After I made some coffee, I sat here at the computer thinking if I should share this benign tidbit of info about my night. Then, I saw a link by my friend Wakeman of all people (a man I know is extremely smart and very cool, but who usually shares links to man/genital/potty humor sites) to this article from the British Medical Journal about an auto-appendectomy in the Antarctic in 1961.

It’s just amazing at what we humans can do. Honestly, I can kind of empathize with the man. I may not be able to do what he did because I don’t have the skills or knowledge to do it, but to make those type of decisions and just do what must be done in the face of huge adversity, I can comprehend and even at times understand. This man lived, obviously, and had given wonderful account of the incident in his diary. He even thought to have someone take a few pictures halfway through the surgery. 

I should give account of things happening in my life, memory is so faulty. I wish at times now I had taken pictures or written down the things I went through instead of relying on memory. I’m sure the edges get blurred in memories and the images themselves begin to be seen en rose. 

Also, not knowing what is to come, perhaps I should try to be a bit more prepared instead of flying by the seat of my pants. I realize, for the most part, it’s worked so far, but I’ll never know when I’m going to need to know how to do something I should have learned how to do years ago. 

Besides, in my dream, I was playing God and didn’t know my lines. We could have fun analyzing that all day.