I am in my bathrobe as I recall a dream.

The great thing about wearing your bathrobe in front of an open window that looks out to a building across the street is:  You're not guilty of indecent exposure.  Nor are you guilty of flaunting your company's dress code.

It's my company.  I determine the dress code, and there is no supervisor breathing down my neck.

So there.

To my credit, I haven't backslid into my YouTube habit today.  I'm spending my day writing.  Have you noticed?  It's not going to be the Great American Novel, but it's not going to be a worldwide best seller like Fifty Shades of Grey either.

Hmm...

My writing ranges from my screenplay which never seems to end and texting sweet nothings to my wife in order to entertain her while she's at work.

Whatever keeps me away from YouTube.

I'm aware that the young folk are on their phones a Tikkin' and a Tokkin'.  A friend explained to me what TikTok was and I said, "Ah!  Like YouTube, only worse!  Hard pass."

Of course, I may or may not link this post to Facebook, which is another infamous vampire of people's time and energy.  Judging from the quality of this blog, I think I won't.  I've written better, and I think this is my nadir.  I can't write worse than this.

I had a strange dream.  If that is of any interest to you, O reader who may or may not exist, I'll be glad to share it.

The time is the late 1950s, the place is the West Side, pre-Lincoln Center.  My mind has stumbled onto the location for West Side Story.

The Jets and the Sharks are forming a shaky alliance.  

They have a common foe:  The might of the army of the Persian Empire.  

Tens of thousands of foot soldiers, lancers, archers, and cavalry men against twenty or thirty dead end kids.  It's like the battle of Thermopylae without the Spartans.

The Jets/Sharks alliance puts up a good fight.  They manage to bottleneck the Persian army at West 64th Street and Amsterdam.  They make a flying wedge formation and drive their way through the superior forces.  The Jets and the Sharks are dressed like street kids, but they have bronze shields that protect them from thigh to neck.  The Persians try to overwhelm them with superior numbers, but the mothers, wives and girlfriends of the gang members swarm out of their buildings.  They either engage the Persians with frying pans and rolling pins, or they supply the Jets and Sharks with food and bandages.

In the meantime, I am in my apartment's kitchen.  It is sleek and modern in contrast to my skid row surroundings and the mayhem that has broken out on the streets.  I search for a jug of grape juice to our myself a glass.  Without looking at what I'm doing, I pour some of the contents of the grape juice jug into what I think is a glass.  When I'm done, I realize I have poured the grape juice into a bottle of Clorox.

I say aloud, "How could I be so STUPID?"  Then I notice Susan next to me.  She says, "You're not stupid.  You're LEARNING."  I stare at her in silence with only the clamor of the Jets/Sharks vs. Persia battle raging outside.

I say, "Let's go to the pool."  She smiles and we leave the kitchen.  When we step outside, the battle is nowhere to be seen.  The streets are empty.  No Jets, no Sharks, no Persians.  Just a dusty Amsterdam Avenue with some store fronts shuttered.  Other stores are open and are clearly trying to make ends meet.  An old fashioned taxi putters by.

Then I awaken.

I look at the clock.

It is only 12:30 AM.

I groan and stand up, leaving Susan to sleep alone in our bed.  I slouch out to the living room and lie down on the couch / chaise lounge.  This is something either Susan or I do on nights where we can't get any sleep.  I feel miserable.  I think I'll never get any sleep tonight.

The next thing I know, it's 6:45 AM.  I managed to get a good night's sleep.

Susan is in the kitchen, preparing breakfast.  From the couch, I asked her in a garbled voice if she slept well.  "I did," she replied.

We begin the day talking about the dreams we had the night before.   She had a dream about being with her parents at the breakfast table.  I told her about my West Side Story/300 epic.

I've noticed something about our dreams.  Her dreams are very intimate in nature and deal with day to day concerns and anxieties.  Mine are epic in scope and often deal with either a great war, interplanetary travel, or both.

I've jokingly referred to her dreams as indie films, and my dreams as summer blockbusters.  I don't know if that makes me a more shallow person in comparison to Susan.  Maybe it's just apples and oranges.

Well!  It looks like I have something worth posting after all.

More later...

- JJB