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Odd Night
It was a night of strange dreams. First, I dreamed about Monty Python.
I dream about them and SCTV once in a while, and in my dreams they're usually personal friends of mine. I don't know if this means anything, but much as I loved the original Saturday Night Live, I never dream about them.
In this case Eric Idle and Terry Jones were both being Welsh housewives. They were, of course, about the age that they were when they made the show. I was watching them on TV, and heard a critic saying that Idle's Welsh accent was not as well done as Jones'.
Then suddenly I was in college. An important professor was lecturing, and I was trying to keep up with notes. Suddenly I realized that he was giving us two essays that he wanted us to write, immediately, in class. These would be a major part of our grade for the year. But I hadn't heard what the essays were supposed to be about, and I couldn't figure it out from looking at the notebooks of the people around me.
He'd posted the requirements on the blackboard, but they were written on relatively small pieces of paper. I couldn't see them from my seat, so I went up with my notebook and copied the information off one of them - the other was illegible. I was to write an essay about mice from the point of view of a cat. I figured that would be easy; as I headed back to my seat, I was already blocking out ideas.
But back at my seat, I ran into trouble. The essay was forming in my mind, but I couldn't find any blank paper in my notebook. There had been a lot of blank pages moments earlier, but now every one of them was full. I started looking around for ANY paper, anywhere, but the other students were finishing their essays and handing them in. The classroom was emptying rapidly, and I hadn't managed to write a single damned word.
And suddenly I was in that kitchen with Terry Jones and Eric Idle.
"Don't feel bad," I told Eric, patting him on the back, "of course his accent's better - he's Welsh!"
We all laughed, and then I woke up.
I'd gone to sleep relatively early, so I felt rested, for a change. Headed downstairs, started the shower running, then headed back and turned on the upstairs hallway light (there's a switch at the bottom of the stairs).
"Hey!" came a mildly outraged cry from Sebastian's room, "I'm tired!"
"But it's time to get up, baby boy!" I answered.
"Oh. Okay," he said, and came out into the hallway.
If only it was always that easy.
I dream about them and SCTV once in a while, and in my dreams they're usually personal friends of mine. I don't know if this means anything, but much as I loved the original Saturday Night Live, I never dream about them.
In this case Eric Idle and Terry Jones were both being Welsh housewives. They were, of course, about the age that they were when they made the show. I was watching them on TV, and heard a critic saying that Idle's Welsh accent was not as well done as Jones'.
Then suddenly I was in college. An important professor was lecturing, and I was trying to keep up with notes. Suddenly I realized that he was giving us two essays that he wanted us to write, immediately, in class. These would be a major part of our grade for the year. But I hadn't heard what the essays were supposed to be about, and I couldn't figure it out from looking at the notebooks of the people around me.
He'd posted the requirements on the blackboard, but they were written on relatively small pieces of paper. I couldn't see them from my seat, so I went up with my notebook and copied the information off one of them - the other was illegible. I was to write an essay about mice from the point of view of a cat. I figured that would be easy; as I headed back to my seat, I was already blocking out ideas.
But back at my seat, I ran into trouble. The essay was forming in my mind, but I couldn't find any blank paper in my notebook. There had been a lot of blank pages moments earlier, but now every one of them was full. I started looking around for ANY paper, anywhere, but the other students were finishing their essays and handing them in. The classroom was emptying rapidly, and I hadn't managed to write a single damned word.
And suddenly I was in that kitchen with Terry Jones and Eric Idle.
"Don't feel bad," I told Eric, patting him on the back, "of course his accent's better - he's Welsh!"
We all laughed, and then I woke up.
I'd gone to sleep relatively early, so I felt rested, for a change. Headed downstairs, started the shower running, then headed back and turned on the upstairs hallway light (there's a switch at the bottom of the stairs).
"Hey!" came a mildly outraged cry from Sebastian's room, "I'm tired!"
"But it's time to get up, baby boy!" I answered.
"Oh. Okay," he said, and came out into the hallway.
If only it was always that easy.