I am having trouble with consciousness this morning. This might be because of the three times I’ve had to answer the door when I was trying to be asleep. Or it might be the painkillers. Or it might just be that the transition from the dream world to the conscious world has been more than usually jarring while I’ve been sick.
My head is a very strange place. And generally I like that. Sometimes it writes books for me while I’m sleeping. Sometimes it scares the crap out of me. And then sometimes…
I had a dream about a duck — well, it was an angel that was being a duck at the time.
Paul S: How would it convince the guy it was an angel?
Me: Well — talking duck.
I’m assuming it was talking. Maybe it was just angel-ing in it’s duck form. Being in the guy’s life. As a duck.
And the duck killed itself because the guy it was being an angel to was looking hypoglycemic. It had an argument with his dog about it first.
Paul S: Well, of course. You can’t just rush into these things.
Of course, the angel didn’t really kill itself. Just it’s duck-self. I think. I mean, who knows? There is no part of this dream that made sense. I mean, if you were feeling hypoglycemic would you really want to eat a raw duck that was talking a minute before? Maybe the duck was made of candy… I just… I think I need a nap.