in my dreams
i am a vivid dreamer. i always have been, except maybe during times of distress. in college i kept a journal next to my bed, so upon waking, i could groggily recount the images that occupied my subconscious. and now, if you ever run across tweets that don’t particularly make any sense, chances are they’re snippets of a dream. or, sissy and i are running amok. either/or.
since returning to san francisco after dad’s funeral, my dream patterns have changed somewhat. the nightly images are as prevalent as ever; however, i can’t recall specific details or story lines. and what’s more, dad or the topic of his death has been in every. single. dream. since coming home. that’s a little over two weeks’ worth of nights hazily occupied by dad’s presence. not that i mind, but i wish i could remember more. i want his appearance to be more vivid.
last night, though, there was a slight break in this trend: mom and i needed to move a red coleman cooler and pull in some rope after a picnic. this was either before or after the news of michael jackson’s death. he died on the same day as my dad. i looked up to the skies and said:
“daddy, make sure you get a seat on the bus next to michael jackson.”
the end.