I want you to think about your dreams and tell me what dreams are. But I don't want you to tell me anything you read that dreams are. I want you to make up something new, without caring if it is right or wrong or was ever said before. Just brainstorm about what dreams are.
Sometimes I have dreams that challenge me. So maybe dreams are ways to bring you into an appropriate frame of mind to do battle with the world once you wake up.
Maybe when you are asleep you are wandering far away from the earth, and the dream is part of the transportation back here, and tells you where you are going, namely here. So you are reminded oh yeah, this place.
I have recurring dreams about being lost in transit on trains, not knowing my way home. Maybe that is a way of saying that this is one place where you really have to be careful and keep track of things. Don't lose yourself. Maybe it is like a vaccine, showing you the disease so you will defend yourself against it.
Are your dreams fun? Mine aren't. Mine suck. Mine put pressure on me to solve a situation. Just as in life I always feel an undercurrent of pressure, I'm responsible for my wife and kids, I have to hold on to this job, to try to pay the bills, to do all the tasks that come my way at work, to not get fired. Like it isn't fun, it's responsibility. Basically I guess that life sucks. But I don't act that way. I don't run around like a chicken without a head. I don't succumb to pressure. I take my time and do things at my own pace, but I feel the pressure of responsibility 24/7, which is why I'm a good provider.
Taking on a family is like putting yourself in a yoke and pulling like an ox your whole life, which sucks. And they don't appreciate it. You enslave yourself for ingrates. Yeah, that's part of life. You keep pulling your rickshaw with your wife and kids in it, and they don't give a damn that you're pulling the rickshaw. If I set this burden aside and ditched it, they'd be up a creek without a paddle.
My dreams are like that. My life is full of humor. I take my time at work and don't stress out. My life seems pretty comfortable. Underneath it is this constant stress like electricity going through a telephone wire. Hey, keep your job, meet your deadlines, don't piss anybody off or you'll get in trouble and lose it all, pay your bills - and watch your family finances shrink at a pretty alarming rate sometimes, then see that your kid has $150 in text messages and the cell phone bill is $300.
I liked it better when I was the baby of the family sitting in a shopping cart being pushed around a supermarket by my parents.
They say life is a gift but I don't see it that way. Sort of a "thanks for nothin" kind of gift. I don't see it as a gift. I see it as a chore, as a responsibility, as a series of hurdles to jump, as a never ending responsibility. Somebody with a slave mindset like me makes a decent enough provider.
I see death as an escape, but not a depressing one. I think of me as a sentry on duty here, and when I'm called back home, yippee. Oh what a relief to be back home, back in heaven, back to being me, take off the yoke, say goodbye to Lennie, I don't have to be him anymore. Halleluyah.
My dreams are like that too. Preparations for the next day's burden. You wouldn't know it the way I kid around at work and at home. I just take the approach that I have a right to enjoy my day, so I will. In a way it's an act of rebellion. I demand and take the right to laugh and enjoy the moment. But my sense of responsibility is stronger than that. It can't be ignored. I can't drop the ball no matter what.
I refuse to put in overtime. I refuse to allow the stress to overflow. Hell with it, see ya tomorrow, I'm goin home.
Lots of stuff remains unfinished today? Yeah, no kidding. I could live in that office, work an 80 hour week, there would still be plenty that needs doing. Some people on the job come in on Saturdays on a regular basis. To me, the boss is a friggin pig. The hell with him. The employees shouldn't spoil him the way they do, without pay. Selfish prick put his son through Yale. Screw him.
So when the 7 hour day is done, I go to my car and hopefully get all the way home without a car accident or a traffic ticket from one of the many blood sucking mosquitoes cruising in their cars with those pinball machine lights.
I hope there's something good to eat for supper. What did I do all this for anyway? What do I get out of it. Donno. Beats me.



