Copyright 2005 Ben S. Pollock
Friday, January 28, 2005: Recalling a dream is not where I want to go with Brick. But what the heck. It’s a Brick. It doesn’t go anywhere until heaved. That’s Krazy Kat’s downfall, he realizes just as he sees one heading toward him from Ignatz Mouse, too late to duck.
It’s from two nights ago, but it wants to stay in my mind. Fortunately it’s short.
Scene is "our" kitchen, though not a house we’ve had in waking life. My wife is there, and Dad is too (though he died in 1985 and why am I not yet dreaming of Mom who passed two months ago?) Our cat Tiki is at our ankles (In real time, Tiki is a rescued stray, very strong, a mouser, birder and who knows what else (a neighbor once saw him kill a rabbit) yet is extraordinarily affectionate).
It is night, and on the glaringly lit kitchen floor is a relatively large scorpion. It is fist-size and cream-colored (as opposed to finger-size and brown).
I decide to capture it so Tiki won’t. He’d get stung, having never seen one; scorpions are essentially non-existent in the Ozarks, that’s what I’m thinking.
End of dream. Don’t know if I caught the critter or killed it or took it outside, or how.
What I do know is the odd feeling I’ve been left with, that I was the only actor. My wife had no suggestions, and normally she’d be voluble in such a circumstance. My father just stood there, but wasn’t this the sort of event that daddies take charge of? Tiki was in no rush to investigate the intruder, not like my clever tom at all.
Never mind any symbolism or partially recalled memories that may be part of the understanding of this dream. What I do know is that "it" was all up to me. -30-