I've worked at the museum for the past couple of mornings, just for old times sake, oh... and for the money. This morning, a woman asked me if I was the guy who sometimes brought bugs and reptiles to the museum. I replied that I was, and she told me that her son has a picture of me with a tarantula, taken a couple of years ago, on his wall. She went on to say that ever since that particular visit he's been collecting "weird things." She wasn't sure whether to thank me for this or not.

Ha. My plan is working!

Speaking of weird things, I think I've finally interpreted a recurring dream I used to have as a child. The dream went something like this: It always started with a feeling of absolute serenity, illustrated for my oneiric eyes by a slate of uniform, foggy grayness.
This didn't last though. At some point there was an enormous gasp, like a sharp, collective intake of breath. As this was happening, the serene gray fractured and became a writhing, convoluted tangle of edges and lines. It was like the worst thing in the world had happened.
I've talked to other people who have had similar dreams. At first I was thinking about how it's a great metaphor for how needlessly complex our society has become - a society where time-saving devices ensure that we have time to do all sorts of stuff that really doesn't need doing, and where we depend on things that we don't understand - but after more thought it seems to me that it's probably a memory of being born. The transition from the peacefulness of the womb to the sudden assault on our senses is supposed to be the most difficult thing that ever happens to a person. That means, like other bad things that happen, it will leave a lasting impression on the memory, even if it is only on a subconscious level. When we're born, the clean slates of our minds don't have the wealth of symbols that we rely on later in life to help us put things in order. When we're born, we are inundated with raw, alien data. It must be absolutely overwhelming. So overwhelming, in fact, that we can only remember it in dreams.

Something to think about, anyway. Anybody else out there have dreams like that?







Etch-a-Sketch artwork by Lexy.