Master Index of Archived Threads


The Dreaming Tree 2017

themetfairy Jan 10 2017 08:52 PM

What have you been dreaming about? I dreamed that we had a couple of mice in the basement. But when I went to check on them, I found an opossum instead. Even though it was only a dream, it still makes me want to move.

MFS62 Jan 11 2017 02:19 AM Re: The Dreaming Tree 2017

How lucky can you get? I've lived on a street called "Possum Drive" for 40 years and never seen one (live or in a dream). Seen a lot of skunks, though but not in my dreams. As for my dreams, recently they've been about work. Too dull to even talk about. Maybe it is because I was out of work while I recovered from my surgery. Back to work yesterday. Let's see if I keep having those dreams. Later

Rockin' Doc Jan 14 2017 04:37 AM Re: The Dreaming Tree 2017

I dream about retirement. Hopefully on a tropical beach in the not too distant future. Oh, wait, you meant when we're sleeping? Then, I got nothin'.

John Cougar Lunchbucket Jan 14 2017 01:10 PM Re: The Dreaming Tree 2017

This is very funny. [youtube:jmg9jvxq]PNUVm2AXSGc[/youtube:jmg9jvxq]

cooby Jan 14 2017 04:13 PM Re: The Dreaming Tree 2017

themetfairy wrote: What have you been dreaming about? I dreamed that we had a couple of mice in the basement. But when I went to check on them, I found an opossum instead. Even though it was only a dream, it still makes me want to move. Lol! I've been dreaming almost nightly that I live in my moms house, but as a young adult with my kids as children. Last night I dreamed Ed Hearn came to visit. I don't know how I knew it was him cos I don't remember what he looks like. He played football catch with the kids while I cooked dinner and about 20 relatives showed up

Edgy MD Jan 20 2017 01:36 PM Re: The Dreaming Tree 2017

I dreamed I was a White House advisor—but not just any White House advisor. I was some sort of crossed combination of William Faulkner, Shelby Foote, Nick Cave, and James Carville, I was the designated Southern Gothic White House advisor, serving presidents both Republican and Democrat, inheriting the mantle from a sagacious but oddly dressed southern goth before me, and holding it until my own death and bequeathing it to the next Colonel Cottonwood or somesuch. I'd stroll affectedly into mansion giving grave and cryptic prophecies on public policy while all the staff nodded solemnly. My paintings were displayed in the Oval Office and other sanctified public spaces, my music was portentously performed and pensively and soberly received by an overpaying public, my writings a staple of public and private school curricula. I knew in my heart of hearts that it was all hopelessly derivative, that I might really achieve something meaningful if I concentrated on one medium, but I knew my part. I was Sage of the Soil and I had to keep playing the role. In part to keep up with the role, and in part in despair at my celebrated descent into self-parody, I was a terrific lush, oiling myself regularly throughout the day. Though my wife would accompany me on sojourns to visit the president and his staff, I would insist on driving myself, and we were more or less safe due to the Southern Gothic landscape I drove through—half-dead cotton fields, marshy swamps, and soft, spongey trees covered in bug-eaten kudzu. I could bounce the car off of pretty much anything. I had that torturous combination of being self-destructive and indestructible at the same time.