Odie loves fruit snacks. The strawberry farleys kind (the kind that has so much gelatin they bounce like basketballs off the counter.) And he can smell a fresh poured bourbon at 50 paces. He takes after his father.
before undies get bunched let me assure everyone that he’s never had either. I wouldn’t be a good mother if I gave him things that would make his short journey inside his mortal coil a little more exciting. would i?
one thing that does make me bad mom material is that i havent been home enough lately. the sphynx breed requires constant attention and interaction. when they dont get it they become unbalanced. nervous. skittish. like a dog without exercise…
hes my little love monkey and he needs hugs!!
and im here to give them. so im finally home, after what feels like weeks away, to love him. i can also get back to where other love and attention is needed. my play. now that i have this time to be at home ive already become more balanced. there is only so much chaos (new york kind of crazy) my small mind can tolerate… im highly porous and highly absorbative…i need serenity that this hellhole doesnt naturally provide. staying inside does my mind good.
i never officially closed dreamweek. i think right now we’re at 5 entries. id like to have 7.
so. i will share a dream i had this morning.
i was in a playwriting group meeting area that was like a messhall, a guild, and a nightclub combined. more messhall/guild though. with low ceilings, starbucks style lounge seating..and small intimate spaces lit by low light. there were groups of talented writers circling the place. of which i was the newbie. total rookie. didnt know anyone. shaking in my boots a bit with intimidation and trying to hide it. we werent writers sitting in a circle and sharing. we were hanging out in different areas of the area and i had various conversations with different writers at different times. nothing specific and nothing i can remember.
in the kitched area of the writers guild i was cleaning my fish tank. for those that have had pet fish in real life you know what i mean when i say its quite a task. and since it involves water and floating lives in this water it isnt the easiest thing to do. takes skill. i must have been doing a deep clean of the tank because i removed the fish and put them in a large pot, water and all. and i put the pot on the stove. i know what youre thinking..this sint going to be good. well, just hear me out.
the pot was exactly like a pot i have at home that i use for fish purposes and i keep it on top of the stove when not in use….but in real life i never put the fish themselves in the pot. you can just leave them in the tank when you clean. so dont worry. i just use the pot to add fresh water….and ya’ll know i dont cook ever…
so in the dream. i have the fish in the pot. the pot’s on the stove and two these writers come in. big huge tall football looking guys. theyre joking and laughing. theyre already accomplished writers. i talk to them a bit while i clean my fish tank and then i step away from the stove to do take care of another step wouldnt you know it one of the assholes turns the fire on and starts cooking the fish. he didnt know they were in the water. and i dont notice until the poor little guys start swimming at top of pot like theyre dying and i freak the hell out and try to save them. i go into full fish rescue mode.
it was too late. i was so sad and upset i was crying.. and you know when i cry hard in my dreams i wake myself up and im crying in real life. well that happened. i couldnt save the fish. i tried everything.. cooling them down. nice cool fresh water. nothing worked. they died. i cried.
when i woke myself up i had to look around for aminute, grab my bearing and i saw that my real tank was intact. i was just so thankful it had been a dream. then i was happy.
let the hermitage of the hermit writer begin. may the muses bless me with their love.