I wrote this a few months ago, during the summer. I was living in Philadelphia with my brother and his family at the time, and I was nanny to my baby nephew during the day, while my brother and his wife were at worked. It was a long, long summer. I was left alone for much of the time.
I’m all alone in a mostly empty house. All the time. Or at least until 4 pm. Every weekday. Other than the three cats, two dogs and the baby, I’m alone.
My dreams come out to face me. They look me in the eye and speak (clear evidence that I’m mentally deranged, or schizophrenic). “Why do you ignore us now? There is nothing and no one to get in our way. Write your book. Sing your song. Take dancing lessons.”
I turn away from them and click on safari. I first look to see if there is anyone on line I want to talk to. None. Then I search the web for weird stories about creepy mysteries like big foot, vampires and spring heeled Jack.
“How about that comic book?” one of the smaller, quieter dreams steps out of the group. “You got that computer with me in mind. So why don’t you draw up a final draft of one of your old pages and use that fancy new scanner/copier/printer to put me into your computer. Then google programs for comic colorists. Maybe they’d be expensive, but you’d be a step closer to making me more than a dream. How about it? Please?”
I look up pictures of chupacabras and find videos of the extinct thylacine.
I go up to my room and lie on my bed. I dream of my own secret world, with my own secret friends and family. People that know me, people that I’m not afraid of. One of my taller dreams steps forward to make a plea, “What about me? I’ve already been realized! All you need to do is work on me. You needn’t buy anything, or go out and learn something you don’t know. There are no tools that you don’t have. All you need is patience, diligence and your computer”.
This dream is my book. He’s right, I need only take time, of which I have much, and start to type. Perhaps a little outline would be nice. I shan’t know the end until I get there, but my story will let me know how he should end. “I will!" he says, "As soon as you write me, I will be that story! I’ll tell you how I’m to be ended, once we get there. But you know how we’ve got to start, don’t you?”
Of course I know. However, I was online for all that time, and then I wandered through my fantasy world for so long. Now it is nearly midnight, and I’m very tired. Perhaps I'll start tomorrow. No, definitely tomorrow! When my dreams are my only sentient companions, I cannot deny them for long. Can I?
Here it is! Another link of the day! http://lifejustkeepsgettingweirder.blogspot.com/
Life just keeps getting weirder. This is by far the funniest blog I've come across yet. She is freakin hilarious to no end! From Pan Flute gigs to the Undead of JoAnnes, this gal had me rolling on the floor in endless convulsions of hilarity. You simply MUST check this out.