I dreamt that my fifteen-year-old daughter had rented a nice one-bedroom apartment in a high-rise somewhere in mid-town. I was impressed. How had she managed this at fifteen? I wondered in my dream. I have been underestimating her, I thought, as I noted that the three rooms were all decent-sized. I was also worried, however, because there was something menacing about the crepuscular streets below. Also, though her roommates had not yet arrived, a lot of people had left skis and snowboards in her living room. I was worried these ski owners were taking advantage of her and apartment in Manhattan - and then I woke up.
I know dreams are among the dullest topics of conversation but indulge me. I'm struggling here. I am trying to stay awake until a grown-up's bedtime. I am blaming my dream-filled morning for my fatigue. That and work. My daughter recently got her first job and she's showing a certain terrifying initiative. Manhattan is down there waiting. Apparently, I have things on my mind.
OK. So it is now just past 9 PM and I think I can retire without being positively geriatric. Actually, one bit of excitement remains in this short evening. I just downloaded Morrissey's autobiography to my iPad and I'm going to read it as soon as I get my teeth brushed. I'll report back here. Here's what they're saying about it over on Goodreads. What kind of dreams might Morrissey's life story trigger?
Good night. Thanks for bearing with me.