Tuesday, November 10, 2015

Let's Do It

Sunday afternoon I was indolent.  I had been craving hot cocoa, so I made some, enjoyed it, and promptly had a sugar-crash.  At least I got a workout in earlier in the afternoon.

The latest song that's become our favorite to sing is Cole Porter's "Let's Do It."  Mark observed that innuendo songs were nothing new, and found a clever early ninety's reworking of the song with references to Liberace, authors, and various English lords.  This has inspired us to make our own verses.

I think the difficulty is getting words like Eugene, cyclists, and Oregon to fit in the meter of the song.  

William Blake, burning bright, did it.
Chuck Palahniuk with a fight, did it.
Let's do it; let's fall in love.

Cyclists who ride side by side do it
on the streets of Eugene.
Drivers who text do it,
and it makes them careen.




Monday night I woke up around 1 AM certain that I'd heard something in the garage--you know when there's a memory that straddles sleep and wakefulness:  it's not the noise that wakes you, it's the memory of the noise.  I woke up enough to wander around the house looking for hooligans.  Our neighbor's garage proximity light turned on, so a raccoon or a cat or wayward bar-and-grill patron must have activated it.  A little over a half hour later, I went back asleep, only half-convinced the noise that woke me was the refrigerator or a hard drive or the ticking of a baseboard heater.

And then I proceeded to have Processing With People dreams.  I was suddenly in a strange town, but I had been living in the Reed College house known as The Motel Six; so I was sad that it had broken up, and I was trying to get KKMHK (whom I haven't seen in over a decade) to move in with me, and we kept having these odd financial discussions while wandering through an empty apartment.

In another dream, I was going to take a hot-air balloon ride (the balloon was very home-made and kind of small).  I was going to fly with someone, who kept changing throughout the dream.  At the end, it turned into someone who said 1) they were Muslim, 2) they were in love with me, 3) because their love was forbidden, they couldn't be alone with me in any circumstances--but they wanted to confess their feelings so that when they started shunning me I'd understand why.  There was something more about talking with a psychologist along the lines of what must be going through their head.

I woke up thinking "Huh?"  
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