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Fresh Paint
Thursday, October 27, 2005
 
Continuing Story, Continued
Was it a dream? Did it really happen?

Not talking about the Sox win (tho still not sure about it -- generally am a Cubs fan, but we in Chicago will take anything).

Tuesday night (if it really happened) got phone call at 3:45 am, that I of course answered, figuring that, since I haven't had a heavy breather in awhile, it had to be Bad Family News. (Didn't really think all this until later, however, since I was mostly asleep.)

Was police, and could I come outside and look at my garage? I looked out the window thinking it was someone with a baseball bat trying to lure me out of the house, but with all the flashing lights, it appeared that they were truthful.

Found robe and shuffled out, thinking about a new theory of sleep -- that when you sleep you upload your brain somewhere while the shell of body rests, then on waking you download it again. And if sleep is interrupted it doesn't all download correctly, or perhaps you get someone else's brain.

Anyway, if it really happened, the only thing I could find wrong was that someone had placed a magazine in the middle of the back window of the car. This was what had caused the police to stop, in fact, because they thought it was peculiar.

Yes, strange. People usually take stuff from my garage. They don't leave stuff (except for throwing away trash, pizza boxes, etc.)

I live near a busy corner and former crack house (now torn down). A few months ago someone called the police because they saw someone lurking in the bushes, so I found myself telling them about seeing someone peeing near my neighbor's house. He had gray curly hair and was looking in the window.

But did it happen? I don't know. Since my brain hadn't completely arrived back in my skull, maybe I made it all up.

Eventually I went back to bed, but by that time I was completely awake and should have stayed up and painted or whatever, but didn't, so fell asleep again around 9:00, and so missed the whole day. Good thing I'm still unemployed.


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