Sunday, April 16, 2006

It's My Party and I'll Phhtttt If I Want To

We are having a party. There is a young blonde who will be our entertainer, which means DJ and electronic musician, I think. I see we have stashed stray laundry items in the back seat of our auto, and I see the purse of the DJ there also, so I tell Niki J we must move our gear out because obviously the back seat is where the DJ intends operating.

In the bedroom now, we are watching a large screen series of photos. One of them becomes a slide show with audio. I worry. Emmie is sleeping. I think, but she's slept enough. But it's also a very long slide presentation, ominiously starting with the Big Bang.

The DJ is out in the street, a residential lane with little traffic, leafy oaks joining over it, directing traffic of partygoers. One drives up in what a dream will make of an old MG TC, which means cartoonish and undetailed. The driver says out the window, help me, I can't turn around. Then the DJ stands and watches him as he does just that with an overwide sweep.

I am in the banquet hall now, but I have this odd habit. I go "phhtttt" at odd times, and frequently. What a terrible social trait. We are all standing and talking and suddenly I have blowouts at the lips, and go "phhhhttttt." Oh, dear. I must go.

I sleep with a CPAP, an oxygen device, due to my sleep apnae and related snoring. I have learned I must wear a headband as a gag to prevent just such blowouts, and last night it slipped away and worked into my dream, as often happens with our physical sleep states, which proves we are bodily connected to the dreamworld, which is both exciting and frightening, isn't it?

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