"I Gott’a Stop Eating a Hunk
of Cheese Before Bed "
20 October 2004
Dreams. Oh, how I have come to hate dreams. Slather my brain with drugs before laying down each night to ensure I have only have the dead calm sleep of deep, deep space but tonight, today, a 2 reeler.
Reel 1, Scene 1. Am in front yard waiting for some friends to arrive as we are going on a trip to some casino someplace. As I wait, impatiently, I walk over to the electric pole which is in the yard, and check out the piece of wood which is wedged in at the bottom and which has always bothered me for some reason. Just does not look right. Anyway, I kick at the wedge and it breaks and I lean over and pull it out of its space beside the pole and find a hole has now been left beside the pole in the ground. Well, at least that stupid wedge is gone.
I begin to walk around the yard waiting again and when I turn around, the telephone pole, without a sound of any kind, has leaned way over and is now in a 30 degree angle off the road. It has not fallen onto the road and no wires have been pulled loose or broken but obviously the pole now has a problem and I know it was that dam wooden wedge.
Just then an electric company truck comes down the street and passes me by, not even noticing the dangling electric pole. I yell at them and they stop and backup their truck and get out to start repairs.
(Quick transition to scene 2 of reel 1). Friends have arrived for casino trip and now too some neighbors to watch telephone\electric pole repair work and all have wondered across the street to where there is a memorial bench in an neighbor’s yard to her recently deceased husband Jim. Anyway, folks begin to set down and I get in line to find my place when all of a sudden out of nowhere, there is Jim, the deceased husband. At first I am taken back that he is there as I sure he is dead but no one else seems to even notice he is there and or are bothered by his appearance. Anyway, I begin talking to him and say something like, “Aren’t you dead ?” and in his straight forward Vermont style way of talking, he turns to me and says, “Well, so too will you be in less than a year”.
At this point, I make a leap out of this dream and land into another one but it is only the second reel of the same dream.
Reel 2, Scene 1. My friends and I are at some small time casino on the road to our final destination and I do some gambling but mostly notice the rough crowd in the place, eating and talking.
Reel 2, Scene 2. I am in a hallway, narrow, white walls, with lots of doors on the right side and I am walking somewhere. Ahead of me, I notice a shorter version of me, bald, white shirt, dress plants and as he opens one of the many doors, I see a pistol get pulled out of his pants and raised as he enters the room. I do not see who is in the room but when the door closes, I hear the muffled sounds of gun shots through a pistol silencer. Many shots. Professional killing.
I take the very next door, hoping to escape from any harm and hoping the killer did not see or sense me behind him but no sooner am I in the room but the door opens and in comes the killer, gun raised at me and I hear the first shot and feel it hit.
Reel 2, Scene 3. I am still in the room but now it is filled with my friends who are all milling around. I am startled that they seem to be taking no action on my behalf. I have been shot, only God and the killer knows, how many times. I turn to one and yes, I am standing and say, “Hey, what about some help here?” “Hospital maybe or medic call?” But one of them turns to me and says, “ It would do no good as you are dead.”. “We checked your pulse and you don’t have any.”
What? Here I am standing, talking to this group who obviously see me and can hear me, telling me that I am dead. Am I really dead and only dreaming they are there?
I continue to plead for medical care as I know, I must be alright to be conscious and standing and talking with them but all my begging goes on death ears.
Jump out of this dream into a semi awake state and up out of bed.
No more dreaming for this night and really can’t take any more drugs to ensure I could go back to sleep and not fall into a Reel 3 of the same dream.
I really got to stop eating a chuck of cheese at bedtime.
For more Ron Stultz writings, click here.