Poets & Poltergeists

The elevator door opens and I step inside. There is motor grease covering the floor and sides of the elevator car. The door closes and I move. I am alone. But the elevator keeps stopping and then going. I get sick. I feel like I am experiencing the morning after a night of partying and inebriation.

I am in front of a large crowd. I am about to perform a concert. My guitar is strapped to me and the mic is hot; soundcheck has already been done. The crowd is angry. They are yelling and screaming at me, cursing. Their screams overwhelm me.

I am back inside the elevator. This elevator was messier than the first. There is motor grease everywhere. But this elevator is different: instead of the doors that close like normal, there is a single metal bar, black with grease, that slides accross my chest. It's too close. I'm clausterphobic. I can't breathe.

I'm in a luggage shop. There is a lady behind the counter that won't sell me luggage. She just keeps talking about her daughter. She won't shut up. I'm going to miss my flight.

Make any sense to you? It doesn't to me. These were some of my dreams this moring. I tossed and turned all night. I couldn't get the past the poets and the poltergeists playing in my head. This happens often, I don't no if it's the artist in me or whatever, but it messes me up most of the day when it happens. The rest of the day wasn't much better. What little energy I had, I spent in an intense critical discussion in my NT class. After a hearty meal at Taco Bell, I went into the office. After Marc and I did some work, I took trip to Barnes & Noble and The Compass, expecting to relax with Java and a few books. Instead, the worker at the compass felt the need to interogate me about my theology (everything from cosmology to eschatology) after she found out I was a religion major. When I answered her questions, she proceeded to try to debate me. I shouldn't have worn a Baylor shirt, it would have saved my headache from growing. I haven't really had much in the way of vigor today. This didn't help any. I guess it was a just a whole day of poets and poltergeists.