Dreams, all night long.

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So many topics, so many things to consider.  In one of them, I had gone on as planned in one set of memories, mustanged and all the way to being the captain of a submarine... as my first Captain (commander, by rank, but hush) and mentor did.  I really was on the way.  Then it all broke.  Don't remember much, it might have been falling before, my youth was able to maintain.  But more, after my first tour on my first sub as Captain, I went for sherry, a pipe, and a talk with my former Captain/mentor.  It... was what... should have happened?  Lots of holes in even this line of memories though.  Still, it felt right.

Another dream was mostly about problem solving a sub I was on.  Oh, it's fun-dandy, really is.  But when you have normal duties on top of vital issues with serious time constraints, the pressure does build.  But it makes you much stronger, as a man.  It was that fire for life I spoke of before.  I have it, but it's buried so deeply by my flesh that it just doesn't have feet in the world.  I miss having that on tap.

Women, too, of course, graced my dark dalliances.  As complicated, fire fueling, frustrating, and satisfying as a submarine is, a woman is epochs of orders of magnitudes more.  Everything fixable is not of hand or mind alone, but of soul and spirit.  Nothing that can be fixed can literally be seen and have tools or hands laid to the effort.  And yet those things are just as vital.  The dreams were good.  Complicated, of course, frustrating at times, but worth the efforts.  I do missing speaking with the feminine through a woman by my side.

On and on, dream after dream after dream.  I held what I could.  Eventually the perpetually changing dream mind-scape eroded the memories of all save a few.  On the good side I didn't wake exhausted.  Then again, I did sleep ten to twelve hours.  The girls, oddly, were rather patient.  Could they simply have sensed my need?  Usually, if I am not up and feeding them by 7:00-9:00, they are doing ruffian asymmetric land warfare against poppo's person.  And they are little brutes about it.  Learned to go for the feet and legs and be prepared to hop and skip.  Brats!  Got to admit, when they choose, they win.  Furballs!  Who exactly decided to give them sharp teeth and claws, anyway?

Well, on to my morning... early afternoon, that is.  Have a great day.