Any dream will do

...strange things happen to me.

And when there's that dull pain in the arm, something akin to dunking your hand in a tub of ice overnight and waking up to this searing pain that you can't quite locate the origin of, it means introspection. And that too, the deep I-am-not-looking-for-answers-I-think-I-have-them-all kind.

Strange conversations are the order of the day, yes. Normal conversations went out of fashion aeons ago as we all know and almost every single conversation I've had ever since I could string words together doesn't fall into the normal category, so, the way this paragraph begins is actually dumb. Who cares?

Even stranger are the times when we speak but don't really talk. Like this grocery store lady who wants to know some detail about someone that I don't care to discuss. Like rhetorical questions that don't call for answers but get them anyway. Like calling someone on their home phone and asking them if they're at home and getting a reply in the affirmative. Like wanting to tell someone how much they mean to you and not being able to say what you want to because you fall way, way short of the right words. Like not getting a chance to speak in an argument because the other person wouldn't shut his mouth and then stewing in your own anger because you couldn't get a word in.

The TV is on full blast in the living room and I'm in this little corner in my room typing at a furious pace with Peaceful, Easy Feeling playing on the speakers. I don't know exactly what it is about having crossed 21 that makes young, inexperienced children wax eloquent about life and love and faith and time and integrity. Life's not going anywhere, they say. Try sitting on the beach and watch the ocean relentlessly do what it does from dawn to twilight to dawn over and over again, I say. I don't think I love the person I'm supposed to be in love with anymore, they say. Try waking up the day you're sick to a cool, gentle hand on your clammy forehead and ask yourself if you can live without that person, I say. There's no faith and trust and sincerity and steadfastness in any relationship anymore, they say. Try standing in the kitchen when the lady next door is making chapatis for her family at dinnertime and listen to the hubbub at the dinner table and sniff the aroma that wafts in from the window, I say. Time's of the essence and I haven't done anything worthwhile, they say. (You're telling me!) Try going without sleep for a couple of days and see if you can lift your head to look at the clock after 48 waking hours, I say. My integrity is my most important possession, they say. Integrity? You might want to try some country music before you spell the word, love, I say.

Rest and be thankful. Yes.

                    

Sidenote: Rob Morrow as Don Eppes in Numb3rs gives me a peaceful, easy, nice, dare I say molten liquid warm feeling. Kind of like dark chocolate in a double boiler. Note the way his eyes crinkle breaking his face into this I-feel-my-smile-do-you? grin. My heart just didn't stand a chance. Mmmmmmmmm. We likes. A lot.