An early wake.

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I had hoped to sleep until 5:00.  I woke at 3:30, again.  I stayed in bed until 4:30, just resting, trying to grasp sleep back.  At that point I surrendered to the call to wake.  All good though.  Teeth brushed, a cup of coffee, and about to feed the girls.  Never feed them when you first wake or they will try to wake you.  Actually, they won't be fed for several more hours.  I don't want them to equate my waking with their sleep.  Some days I just do it automatically, without thinking.

Today?  The kitchen.  As much as I can do.  Bits of organizing as I go.  The trick to organization is two-fold.  Likes or similars with likes or similars.  Then keeping it that way and defining and redefining what is similar.  Of course, along the way, one must design, purchase, create spaces and places for the various objects that belong together.  It is no easy task.  Memory is required to make those locations accessible.  It isn't scent, mostly, that allows a squirrel to find it's hidden food, but memory, with olfactory as a function once memory has worked it's magic to within the range where smell can help.  So it is with arranging a household for humans, if other cues might also be used, and scent being rarely a part of it.  So, with this new concept in mind, as I prepare to clean and bring order to my life, I have some hope of arranging things a bit differently.

Oh, the notion of organizing?  It just came to me.  I am sure others have better ways, definitions, and methods.  But I can't use what other people have.  I am not in their shoes.  I have to keep things very simple in my weak areas, and so I will.  At least at first, and see where that gets me.  If I get anywhere into this, then, perhaps, I can go on to perfect, or at least improve, on the notions.

Dreams.  All dreams, all night.  All of them seemed typical dreams, last night.  Actually I have been dreaming a lot lately.  Nightmares, memory sorts of dreams, regular dreams, odd dreams.  I have tried to hold onto them but failed.  I am still holding on to the ghost of one of the dreams, but there is no form to it and yet I do not know how to bring that dream into focus or let them go.  So, I am stuck digging at an empty hole in my mind, grasping at mist, but not frustrated about it.  I just can't stop.

Some dreams are mostly about me.  The two sides of Doom, with a touch of something else even so.  Neither is great, or perfect.  I am not sure how much that happens between the two halves is healthy, unhealthy, useful, detracting, right, or wrong.  All I know is that the sides were once considered two wolves which were once thought of as good and bad, but it isn't that simple.  Each side has it's own set of good and bad.  I suppose, in these dreams, I explore those aspects of each.  Yes, the show, Supernatural, was like some new material along the line and some material I have already hashed out, in dreams and awake.  You just have to see the brothers as being one man, with Castiel thrown in as a side aspect, not angelic but something... odd and potent.  Very lost and yet very found.  At one time, truly homeless, without reason or hope, until they, I, surrendered those things and found them.  So it is.

Some dreams are obviously about my various paths, hopes, times of life.  I wish I could show you the whole of these things.  There isn't enough time, or a reason, yet.  We will talk, in heaven.  I wish, too, to hear your stories... in a time and place when we know and cannot lie.  Without shame or accusations, just understanding, we will talk then.  There will be time then.

Even my dreams of past loves are often exploratory.  While I could be a hard man, I was better than many of these women had known, mostly.  Certainly an improvement over what they knew shortly before our meeting.  But I wasn't a savior, their savor, as the bible suggests for husbands.  I was just a resting place, as they were for me.  I had too far to go and they had no hope.  For a short while, however, we created the world we had once hoped to know more fully.  I have known love.  I just could not own it.  Not then.  Nomads simply travel.  I understand wandering the desert for forty years.  Truly.  But there was manna, in many forms.  I even learned to foreswear the lust to turn the stone to bread, and accept the real.


A few hours to wake, then on to the kitchen.  Good day.