smacky and bucky

These days, I usually don't remember my dreams unless I'm stressed or sick. When I was in the Peace Corps, I had intensely vivid dreams for over two years, thanks to the anti-malarial drug mefloquin. (A drugged banned in Britain, by the way, but still given to folks working for the U.S. government. Oh boy!) Dreams like a three-foot tall lizard jumping like a frog, hopping toward me, and I'm tied to a chair and can't move. Fun things like that.

But for some reason, for the last few nights, I'm remembering my dreams again. Sunday night I dreamed I was in an apartment and someone said "Let's go to the party next door." We were walking down the hall and I asked "Is Chaka Khan going to be there?" Well, guess who answered the door? Chaka Khan. I said "Oh, I love your music!" Now, I know she did I Feel For You, and Tell Me Something Good is a kick-ass song, and I'm Every Woman was used in Oprah commercials, but that's the extent of my Chaka Khan knowledge. I don't own anything she's done. Inside at the party, my wife and her mother were arguing loudly and everyone was uncomfortable.

That's Sunday's dream. Last night's is hazier. The only thing I recall was the world being built around me. Literally. I could see construction out of the corner of my eye, but when I'd turn my head, it would be normal. Someone or something was building the world as fast as I could look. But it wasn't quite perfect, because I kept catching glimpses in my peripheral vision.

So, what does it all mean? My wife and her mother talk all the time, and I can count their arguments on one hand, so they're rare.

I'm thinking of calling in sick tomorrow. I cut the grass yesterday, and though I've never had allergies before, my sinuses are now bothering me.