Michelangelo sibyl from the Sistine Chapel

 

third person

He woke this morning wondering why his dreams had been so strange. He had slept poorly and he blamed it on the dreams. It was annoying and puzzling at the same time. What was his brain trying to tell him? What was he supposed to understand from the dreams or were they just random thoughts conjured up to confuse him? Where could he find these answers or did he really want any answers at all? He wasn't sure, but he knew that at last he was awake and had to start the day.

More than once he woke up only to see that an hour had passed since he last looked at the clock. It was a repeat of what had happened yesterday afternoon. His body was doing whatever it felt like doing and his brain had to adjust to the changes.

One dream that bothered him the most was the one where he was a drug addict or at least he was hanging around those who seemed to be users. He had never done serious drugs so the dream was purely a product of his imagination. Perhaps the multiple viewings of Trainspotting had lodged itself into his brain and were now just surfacing.

He remembered a dream image where he had to slide down a liquid filled tube. The water inside of it glowed a faint green so he was reluctant to lower his body into it. Where did it lead? Would he drown if he climbed into it? Why was that the only way out? The others were shouting at him to hurry. They were being chased by someone and they had to get out now or they would be caught.

It was as though he had grafted science fiction elements onto the toilet scene in Trainspotting.

In one dream he had a girlfriend and he remembered the sex from the dream. She was not anyone that he knew from the waking world. She was yet another product of his mind. He wondered where do these women come from and why is it never the same person?

Even after shaking off the effects of the dreams, he wasn't in any hurry to get a start on his day. It was his weekend and that meant it was a time to relax. There wasn't any timetable to keep or forms to fill out. He was his own man for the day. He could sleep the day away or do something completely out of the ordinary. The first choice seemed more reasonable to him and far more attainable, but he had enough of sleep so he went over to the computer instead.

After an hour being online reading email and journals, he made his way to the window to observe the weather. He wondered when is winter going to end? When will the sun shine more? When will the clouds release their hold on the sky? When will there be color again?

Soon he tired of this thinking and decided that it was a good time to read. He wasn't ready to shower and get ready to go out just yet.

Cold Mountain has been neglected by him. It was a bestseller and very seldom did he read bestseller novels, but something about the book appealed to him. One review had called it an American Odyssey and he loved the Odyssey. Joyce had modelled Ulysses after the Odyssey and he loved both of them.

Noon. It was time to shower and venure out into world of people instead of hiding in his shelter.

Rushmore wasn't playing until 1:45 at the local theater, but he had to get out of the house now. He was feeling trapped and was ready to do some errands. He could do his taxes later in the day and get the oil on his car changed tomorrow.

The errands went faster than he thought and he got to the theater fifteen minutes before show time. Once again he was the first one in the theater and he wondered to himself will I be the only person in here today. Were the reviews that he read wrong? Had he made a mistake in coming to see this movie? Soon the minor questiones faded and he closed his eyes and relaxed. Soon there might be others. He could wait.

A sound was heard and a vibration in the floor accompanied it. Someone else was walking into the theater. A middle aged woman appeared around the corner. She looked around and chose a seat at the other end of the row. A few others wandered in after her before the movie started. He would not have the theater to himself today.

There were a few times when he laughed out loud and he found the soundtrack appealing. Then there was that obscure Who song that he had read about in the review. He even thought that he might have to get the cd.

After the movie he made a quick trip back to the bathroom to see if his hair looked okay. He thougt that it might be matted down after he pulled his sweater back on. He wasn't sure who he was trying to impress, but he didn't want to look as though he had just crawled out of bed.

The rush hour traffic was just starting to build when he got onto the freeway. According to his schedule, it was time to go to the laundromat. He would beat the after work crowd and most of the stay at home mothers would be done by now.

After the laundromat he drove to the comic book store. A childhood addiction had taken hold again and he didn't care. The clerk was ready to put him on what they called the package plan. They would hold a list of his comics and he could pick them up in one shot. Never again would he miss an issue. He would have to think about it some more before he signed a contract.

A full moon was rising as he headed home. All that he needed now was some food. Cooking did not appeal to him so a submarine sandwich from the local chain would have to do instead. Maybe he would make some fries to go with it.

He read some more and wondered what he had accomplished. Was today a wasted day? Why wasn't he happy? He didn't know. All that he wanted to do was sleep and forget about it. Tomorrow would be better.

 
written input at the moment: Cold Mountain - Charles Frazier
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