Ola! How is everyone?

Michelle kind of freaked me out Saturday night/Sunday morning…ish! I think it was actually Sunday since I remember picking my cell phone of the night table (I use it as an alarm so Michelle can use the clock…I’m so good to her) and seeing around one in the ante meridiem. You have to understand where I’m coming from when I relate this tale. I’ve been reading, on and off, Neil Gaiman’s short story collective “Fragile Things,” and while I wouldn’t describe him in the same vein as Stephen King, I would definitely put him in the horror genre of a book store. And yet I wouldn’t, as well. He is an author of such caliber that he can jump around from every section of your local library and still feel comfortable. He’s written comedy with (my favourite author) Terry Pratchett; he’s written horror; he writes fantasy. Kristen even has one of his many “for younger readers” books in her desk at school because I recommended it. He even wrote comic books of which one was my very favourite of all the titles I collected: Sandman. Dark, gritty, intelligent and just enough content to make you uncomfortable as your skin tries to crawl away from your body.

So now you may have an inkling of the mindset I’ve been in lately when the lights turn out, and I attempt to sleep. Neil has done many stories in the H.P. Lovecraft universe, and while I’ve only exposed myself slightly to Lovecraft’s works, I definitely know enough about it to describe Neil’s horror works as Lovecraftian. For those of you familiar enough with Lovecraft, you won’t need to follow this link to learn about the popular Cthulhu of Lovecraft tales. I will definitely be reading more of his works.

I had a dream while in this mind set. I remember my dreams, mostly, after awaking, but the level of detail retained has always varied. I sometime immediately remember the dream and its contents as soon as I open my eyes, or an event during the day may cause a jog in my memory reminding me of the previous evening’s slumberland entertainment. Sometimes the dreams are so vivid that when I’m reminded of them later I have trouble distinguishing them from an actual event from the past. And other times the dreams are so emotionally draining that I find they affect the way I feel and act throughout the day or days to come.

In this dream, Michelle and I sat in chairs in a room of insignificant mention. A phone rang, and my wife passed it to me saying that I was wanted on the other end. I don’t remember saying hello, but I do remember that it was Michelle on the other end. I looked over and saw her in the chair beside me, no phone in her hand and her mouth wasn’t moving to the words coming from the telephone’s ear piece. I enquired as to who this really was on the other end, to which the voice replied. “Very funny!” and continued to speak to me about matters I found trivial. Michelle, who sat beside me, continued to sit beside me. Michelle, who was on the phone, continued to speak as if answering questions I hadn’t actually asked her.

I continued to voice my doubts about the identity of the person speaking to me, and Michelle, who sat beside me, didn’t seem to notice that I was becoming agitated, and, in fact, didn’t seem to realize that I was even in the room.

The voice on the phone finally gave up on me and said, “Hold on!” There was a moment or two of silence on the phone before another voice came on. “Hello,” it said.

It was me!

I could recognize my voice easily enough. I continued to talk to myself from the other end, but the part of me that was sitting in the chair talking to myself over the phone was becoming quite upset with the charade, and I started to voice my discomfort. I started to fling insult after poorly thought out insult at myself over the phone. The voice on the other end started to protest, but he couldn’t get a word in edgewise as I had had enough. I was not going to be made a fool of.

“What am I if I’m not dead?”

It took me a moment to realize that I had woken up and was lying in my bed with Michelle to my left. The room was still dark, and it was at this point that I checked my cell phone for the time. I thought I had heard someone ask me a question, but I wasn’t sure if it was the tail end of the dream or if it was real.

So I asked, “Wh…what?”

Michelle, in her drowsy voice, asked me, “What am I if I’m not dead?”

I couldn’t tell if she was asleep or not; Michelle and I have carried out many conversations that she would never recall as she was asleep and dreaming while I should have been, as well.

“Um, alive?” I responded.

“No!” she exclaimed. “What am I if I’m not dead wood?”

If I had been more awake, which it may seem impossible at the time as I had no intentions of falling immediately back to sleep with the way my brain was buzzing and my heart was pounding. But if I had been more aware of the situation, I would have said, “Useful?” Instead I said:

“I don’t know!”

She didn’t respond after that, so, finally realizing that she was still asleep, I asked her the same question:

“Well? What are you if you’re not dead wood?”

With just a tiny hint of a drowsy pause, she answered: “Alive wood!”

No amount of urging could get her to continue, and I am now forever left with wondering what had brought that particular topic up. She doesn’t remember saying or asking anything, but the tale really amused the kids.

I got to play drywaller helper this weekend. My buddy Roger hasn’t had the best of luck when it comes to hiring people to help him out. He related the fact that he went through three people in one month, all of them falsifying their experience, but readily showing their lack of it on the job. So I got to help him out at a particularly nice duplex on Saturday. I’m actually a little sore seeing as my job hasn’t required any heavy lifting, and I’ve forgotten what the free gym upstairs is for.

This is a shout out to anyone with drywalling experience living in Calgary. Roger needs reliable people! Let me know if you’re interested, and I’ll pass your contact info to him.