Late at night, in a house way out in the woods, my father looks in the pass-through window in the kitchen. His eyes are glowing red (and he has a maniacal grin) and I know he is evil.
I try to call out for Mom but my vocal cords are frozen in fear. I can't get the word out. I whimper, whimper, struggling to speak.
Evil father has come in the back door and is headed down the hallway towards me. I whimper, whimper, still struggling to speak. In one last Herculean effort I scream just before he reaches me....
MOM!!!....
and I wake up.
Hubby is yelling from the bedroom, "It's just a dream, it's just a dream!"
It's 1:30 am and I had fallen asleep on the couch hours ago after eating a vegetarian pizza. I go snuggle up to Hubby so he'll keep the boogers off for the rest of the night.
What was so weird about this dream was that my evil father was Dick Van Dyke. Why on earth did he make an appearance in my dream? And why was he evil?
I wondered as I tried to get back to sleep if "Mom" had shown up to rescue me, would it have been Mary Tyler Moore?
No more veggie pizza for me. I'm going back to sausage and mushroom.
"I believe that what truly matters in the making of art is not what the final piece looks like or sounds like, not what it is worth or not worth but what newness gets added to the universe in the process of the piece itself becoming."
Journaling:
1 comment:
That's gotta mean something. An evil Dick Van Dyke is quite the image.
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