Augie Dog and I were sharing an early autumn breakfast; his was toast, mine was eggs, salmon and mushrooms on English muffin with a lovely mug of tea, when through the open bedroom door a sleeping Mr FD could be heard declaring:
“Glorious! Victorious!”
Only in his dreams.
Mr FD was deep into his snoring and snorting sleep rhythm when he muttered, “Blood. What is that up there?”
Then all I could do was lie in the dark and think of brain splatter.
It is not as if Mr FD has been silent in his sleep, it is just that most of it is unprintable!
Last night I heard Mr FD muttering in his sleep “I just frown at it, that’s what I do, just frown at it!”
A late morning sleep-in produced the following sleep talk from Mr FD:
I was driving home when the cops pulled me over and threw me into their car, and here we are and so forth. They were driving me home when they stopped for me to queue here.
Do you think there is something he isn’t telling me?
As sleep talked by Mr FD:
They should have disappearing little interludes during the talks just to give the media something to talk about, don’t you think?
Julia Gillard and Barack Obama?
Angela Merkel and Vladimir Putin?
Flamingo Dancer and The Big Whatever?
Too much 24 hour news cycle, I fear!
Nightales Chapter 748:
Mr FD’s sleep talk: “Is that a three? Wow!”
My dream started with a composting toilet.
It was a large square wooden pedestal, or more accurately “thunderbox” in the Australian vernacular, but exquisitely crafter from Nordic pine. It appeared to be sited into a grassy knoll in the cubicle. (I must have been channeling the London Olympics opening ceremony with its meadows and hills). There was moss and flowering nasturtium clustered around the wooden base.
And it was in the middle of New York.
It was in a public restroom/ toilets. I waited my turn patiently, but I was a little anxious that men kept coming into the restroom, and they appeared oblivious when I pointed out the females only sign.
I soon resigned myself to their presence and took my turn in the cubicle, but it appeared that people kept popping their heads over the top and giving their opinions about everything.
I announced myself as a first time Australian in New York and walked out to use the basins. This was five stars with toothbrushes and warm towels for my use. It was then that I noticed a female attendant, and started to become anxious about how to tip her; or rather how much to tip her, and explained that I was Australian and we don’t tip. I wanted to give her five dollars, but she insisted on a dollar, and I could keep the toothbrush as I appeared to have forgotten my own. I resisted and gave her five dollars, which she ripped into pieces.
This upset me, as ripping it up meant that neither of us had the five dollars, so she picked the pieces up again and I left with the toothbrush.
When I walked outside, there was a long queue to an Indie outdoor concert where my sister was waiting. My sister was not my real sister, may I add, and I was not really me. We were both very pretty, happy twenty somethings.
By now, I felt like I was in a Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan movie; especially when I walked along the queue and was joined by a tall handsome young man and his friend, who chose to sit with my sister and I. We were soon laughing and romance was obviously in the air.
My brain was telling me that I had the plot for a romantic comedy, that I was on the road to replace the lately departed Nora Ephron, and having some fun along the way when Mr FD’s voice broke though and he started rambling on about snakes.
His dream ended my dream. I wonder what Professor Freud would make of that!
We were in bed and I was explaining to Mr FD my present world view (if you don’t stop your tossing, turning and babbling in your sleep I am going to smother you with several of my pillows because the glands are up under my jaw, and I have another sore throat and right this moment I hate you...) when he offered:
“Would you like me to put on an animal show for you? I could dance and make animal noises, and even use puppetry if you want…”
I said that he could but as long as there were no sock puppets. I always think sock puppets are so amateurish.
Later, when he was fast asleep and I not again, he muttered in his sleep, “There will be dancing in the streets when I get that ice berg home.”
Such are the dreams of mice and men, as well as mice men.
Another snippet of sleep talk from Mr FD:
I don’t need to worry because I don’t know. I just have to say I don’t know and then I don’t have to worry about not knowing. I don’t know though.
Mr FD had been having a very vocal night when he launched into the following sleep talk:
It’s hovering over there. See it flying up near the roof? It’s got green glowing eyes and a steel helmet…I think it’s a rat.
