So Much Nonsense

Dearest Rachel –

I don’t know what my brain was trying to process last night, but it certainly was working overtime in generating dreams. Mostly, however, the dreams it was creating were both fairly realistic (that is, nothing to psychedelic or dreamscape-y), and at the same time, illogical enough for me to recognize them as such while I was in them – but not so much that I could quite control them. It was all just so much nonsense.

Let’s start with the basketball finals. Yes, you heard me. It would seem that my high school was facing off against yours, and that’s where we met. Now, I think the Prospect Knights were reasonably good when I was in high school – we might have won the conference once while I was there – but I don’t recall ever having gotten into the state competition. I know nothing about the Macomb Bombers, aside from their colors of orange and black, and you wouldn’t have been able to enlighten me on any of that, in any event. And of course, the fact that we would’ve been in very different divisions – 6 or 7A versus 2 or 3A – meant that we would never have encountered each other throughout the competition, even if I was on my team as a three-point shooter, and you were a basketball enthusiast. It was all so puzzlingly ridiculous, that I was trying to parse everything wrong with it even as I was draining buckets from halfcourt. I knew this shouldn’t be happening.

Of course, the scene shifted, as dreams do, with absolutely no preamble, to some form of celebratory dinner. I think our nephew Will was one of the servers, all of whom were hidden behind curtains just a few feet in back of the tables themselves on either side. And when I say ‘hidden,’ I don’t mean they weren’t noticeable; the curtains separated them from the diners, yes, but since the curtains covered windows, the natural light from outside made their silhouettes plain. Oh, and one other particularly absurd aspect of it all; ‘little’ Will was, like all the other servers, barely four feet tall, which is patently untrue in real life.

Again, I write remember nothing more about the mail itself, as I was looking around and taking in just how… wrong everything was. I suppose I could’ve just enjoyed things, and gone with the flow, or tried to connect everything into some kind of Wonderland-ish story – or at least made the effort to converse with you, since you were sitting beside me for the first time in months – but I was too wrapped up in trying to make sense out of it all. Where are we in our own timeline? Who are these other guys who are supposedly my teammates? How does Will fit into this? And… wait, where am I now?

Where I was at that point, was back at home. Only now, Kevin was over, and Daniel and I were trying to figure out where and how to accommodate him. At least in this scenario, I can understand why my brain is thinking about it; between the fact that Daniel and I will be traveling down to his place later this month, and the chaos involved with the remodeling process, it makes sense that I’d be wondering about how to accommodate him in the midst of it all, even if that’s months away, and everything will be done by then.

Granted, laying out bedrolls for each of us in the master bedroom hardly makes sense. After all, Kevin can’t sleep on his back, and Daniel prefers either a couch or recliner anyway, all of which leaves me with the master bedroom to myself as always. But dreams aren’t required to make sense, or at least don’t see any reason to force themselves to play by real life’s rules. And as a result, it was morning – and nearly a quarter to eight, so I had to get up fast and get washed up a dressed before the contractors arrived (despite knowing full well what an impossible task that would be) – and we had to roll up our beds beforehand.

Strangely enough, it was at this point that I actually woke up, and discovered that it was barely six o’clock. And while that was not what was disconcerting or upsetting about the dream – to be fair, I’m not sure that anything really was – it was a relief to see it be that much earlier than I’d originally thought. The overcast grayness outside helps, too, as it makes the outside seem even that much earlier than it is; I have to be careful not to let myself go back to sleep – even if I might want to – or it will be a quarter to eight before I know it, and I’ll have to do all that scrambling over again, but for real this time. At least I’ve got the time to tell you about it.

But that should be all for now; there’s a whole day of real stuff to deal with, so I have to get on with it. I’m sorry I didn’t talk with you at the table; I’m sure you would’ve had a lot to say to me, if I’d bothered to listen.

Take care, honey, and keep an eye out for me.

Published by randy@letters-to-rachel.memorial

I am Rachel's husband. Was. I'm still trying to deal with it. I probably always will be.

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