aefenglommung (aefenglommung) wrote,
aefenglommung
aefenglommung

I wonder what Freud or Jung would make of this one

I woke up in a panic at 5:30 a.m. this morning. I had had a bishop dream. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the Methodist appointment-making process, many of us clergy who have lived through several appointments start to have disturbed sleeping experiences every spring. So do our family members. They don't mean anything; they're just anxieties coming out in dreams. As Annual Conference approaches, even those of us who are virtually gar-ronn-teed to stay put start worrying about sudden changes in employment.

But I was also feeling the effects of the massive amount of pepper bacon I fried up as a midnight snack, so I chomped on a pile of TUMS and tried to go back to sleep. No go.

I staggered up, got a cup of coffee and attempted to face the day. collinsmom said, "Are you going to stay up?" I didn't know. I went downstairs and read my e-mail, then curled my too-big body up on the old too-small loveseat and tried to sleep. I got a wee bit cold.

There above me was an old, ratty afghan I saved when we cleared out my parents' home seven years ago (after my widowed father died). It's fragile, but precious. When I was a little boy and didn't feel well, my Mommy would wrap me up in this thing. It's a fragment of my childhood. Since it was draped over the back of the loveseat, I sleepily reached up and laid it over myself for a bit of warmth. And there I awoke, refreshed, two hours or so later, in an impossible position on the loveseat, but covered with -- well, I guess you could say, "my blankie."

At last, something to drive the bishop away. Thanks, Mother.
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