what dreams may come...

I spent yesterday in a funk. Usually these can be traced to some significant comment or action that begins the funk but not this one. Usually when traced I can identify, release and move on but not this one. I was in bed at nine. Asleep by ten. Whatever my funk, it left me wanting to yell, ' shut the f--- up', and that isn't at all my profanity of choice. It just kept dancing on my tongue yesterday, daring me to spit it out. I confessed each time knowing well that even thinking it wasn't in my best interest but it tagged along in spite of my purer intentions.

I wasn't mad at anyone. I wasn't upset. I was just funked I guess or hiding as Brian might describe it. And asking a funked person what's wrong, though compassionate, is also frustrating to all involved when the explanation is no where to be found. So I just didn't say much, which in fairness to my family will attract their interest without delay, being the gab I am. I walked long, I sat, I showered long, I went to church, I went for pizza, I played with my hair and went to bed. End of Saturday.

I dreamed of dad all night. He was so real at one point I woke myself up saying his name. He was so real I spent the rest of the night rehearsing in dreams exactly how I saw him, where I saw him, searching for him and repeating it over and over again so I wouldn't forget when I opened my eyes. I remember some but it's never the same awake. I'm no shrink but I suppose my funk might be connected to my dreams, my subconscious feelings and fears perhaps suppressed by activity and faith in the light of day. I wasn't ready to lose him and the haunting replay of that night has been wisely edited from my heart for the most part, but I get flashes sometimes and it's just too much. Just. too. much.

This has changed me, I know that. As if the last year or so hadn't changed me enough already. I know all the good answers and I know this too shall pass, but who knows what dreams may come in the passing or who I'll be on the other side of it all.