I know that I have been irritatingly silent lately. My Tune for Tuesday and Weekly Crush have been nearly the only things that have been passed through this blog for over a month now and, I should mention, I find it increasingly unacceptable. But the fact of the matter remains that I started this blog to make myself write since I’d been in something of a slump, writing wise, since leaving college behind all of three, nearly four, years ago. But lately I’ve somehow managed to pick up that mantel again, and am in the middle of what should end up a book at some point. What’s more, a book written in the words of a somewhat overly wordy protagonist. This is not entirely a stretch for me, as you may or may not have noticed throughout your perusal of this blog, but it does require an awful lot of energy to keep that sort of thing up and manage to not fully annoy any potential reader.
On the other hand, I have also spent the past two weekends traveling. First to Niagara Falls, or as my traveling companion, Co-Worker C, refers to it a rather generalized “Canada”. And then back to Gallagher Gate in Nelson County, Virginia. There is something very cathartic in traveling for me. I think I’ve expressed my views quite thoroughly on this subject here, but I shall say again; I go stir crazy when I don’t travel. I start itching and start to get depressed because I start to feel stuck. A weekend away does wonders for that. It’s the one prescription the doctors never thought of, so I wrote it for myself. But weekends away do have the maddening ability to set one behind. It’s worth it, but work piles up and blogs get forsaken. I shall improve forthwith. Or at least I shall try.
This morning I had a dream that I was having a rather philosophical conversation with Zooey Glass. My best friend, K, has always said of me that I am perhaps the most suggestible dreamer she has ever encountered. She is right, of course, when I recount the things that occur in my dreams I can usually trace them to very specific pieces of conversation or thoughts had the day before. If I concentrate very hard on something while lying in bed waiting for sleep it’s not a rarity for me to manage a dream about it. And, I suppose, I should explain I have been reworking my way through Salinger in attempts to write an… essay I suppose the word would have to be, about the Glass family. So, it’s not all that strange I would dream about conversing with this fictional character, but it was still a somewhat strange sensation. If I were to choose a Glass with which to have a conversation I don’t think it would be Zooey. Buddy, perhaps, or, with rapt attention and adoration, Seymour. Still, I could not rouse myself out of this dream because I didn’t want to stop listening to what Zooey was saying.
I would also like to detail, in brief, that when walking into work this morning, in a somewhat expedited gait, as I was running late because of the aforementioned dream and managed to clock in approximately one maddening minute late, I encountered two nuns in full habit, three pregnant women (one resting her merchandise on her swollen belly like Homer Simpson holds a beer), and one nurses uniform.