Here's to Holmes and this blog.
But first, my dream.
Last night, one of a few before my "full" sleep test to determine whether or not I'll spend the rest of my life with a snot blower up my nose to counteract my potential apnea (but in truth, I'd rather just die early), I dreamed a dream. And you were there, and you. You I've never seen before... (Tone, I'm counting on you to pick that up.)
We were at some resort in the mountains. Some place I've never been. It was a sort of Hilton at Aspen kind of place-- not great, but not a motel. Everything had that "Rocky Mountain" look: unfinished lumber, Native American prints on woolen blankets draped over hearths-- that sort of thing.
It was close to 6 am. Maybe just after. And the kids were stirring, because it's a hotel and they never do well at a hotel (can I get an AMEN, anyone who has traveled with their kids?). They decide they're up for the morning, and Jayne is beat, so I say I'll take the kids down to see what's at the Breakfast Bar.
So we're walking through this grand old lobby, I'm in a bathrobe and slippers (what the?) and the kids are pulling on bagels and I see Rob and Taliatha meandering toward me. I'm shocked to see them and, for some reason, they are not so shocked to see me. Tai waves, good naturedly, and Rob looks abashed. Then, not a few feet behind, comes Durerden and Chambers with their wives. Then Tone and Mikey. Mikey looks violently ashamed. And then it occurs to me... The reason for all the shamed faces, the darting eyes. Tone wouldn't even look at me. I think Steve-O finally said "Hey, we're just going to nab some breakfast." No, it was Rob. He just stood there, so guilty.
But it was clear that you didn't all just find yourselves there at this resort and say, Hey! It's six in the morning. Let's grab some breakfast! You had clearly arranged it-- and gone to great lengths. We were in freaking Aspen, for crying out loud. And here I am, dragging my kids through the lobby when I meet you all and it's clear I'm the last person on earth you had hoped to see. Freaking Benson and Vanderhorst were there! This grand reunion, and no one called me. (My dad, the shrink, would lean back in his chair at this point and roll his eyes. This is like, Psych 101, anxiety dream fodder. To think his own son would have such transparent dreams...)
Someone was saying, "We couldn't reach you" or something, but I was too flustered to respond. I just plowed through the mob with my kids and went back to the room. I even got online to see if there was an email I missed. But there was nothing. I left the room to investigate and that's where the dream started to unravel and nothing made sense anymore. I ended up in the basement of the HFAC trying to break into a dark room with one of my Photography professors.
Nothing made sense but this, and this is the kicker: I vowed, at some point, never to post on The Provonian again.
Which is what brings me back to where I started. Cheers to Holmes for putting the blog in place. A year ago, it wouldn't have entered my thoughts, let alone my dreams. And now, it seems, when the world is crashing down around me and all my friends have abandoned me, my only revenge in that universe of melting clocks and criss-crossed nerves and sinews, was to take a vow of silence on our joint blog.
Unluckily for the rest of you, I was dreaming. And I'm going to post again, and again, and again, and again...