Freud Called!

Ohhhh! NOW I get what that dream meant the other night! It meant the past is out of sight, forgotten very nearly, the repository of lost things that live just above us there, untouched by time, relying on virtual sources of nourishment (and, to hear the cat tell it, episodic benders.)

The walls down where we live grow suddenly wet and sometimes water runs clear across the floor because …well, because that’s how those Snow’s of Yesteryear are: they sometimes melt and trickle down and catch us all by surprise in the little Chamber of Forgetting that is the present moment.

My slaughtered cat is up there living along as if coyotes were never created, and the ugly red curtains I made when we were too poor for real curtains, and all these big standing houseplants I bought to disguise the fact that we had no furniture….. Ah but it’s all there, our memories of the lovely young Sophia Loren below, and Linda Hamilton above with her killer muscles, oh and the young Jack Kennedy before steroids squirreled his cheeks out and of course, of course, of course Jayne Mansfield, seen here with Sophia who had scant reason to look enviously at anyone before Jayne came along: Resplendent Jayne before Death came and took her in that car wreck.