cracking open, slowly.

I may be on a roll with dreams that have some real solid doses of reality in them about what I need and what I'm capable of and what's just all okay. In my dream this morning, I was married, of all the nutty things. Happily, as far as I could tell. Some cute girl I don't think I've ever seen before (though with many qualities of a certain friend of mine). We lived in some house in a city somewhere, with a yard, and had our day-to-day lives, and we each did the things that we liked to do (which often enough weren't the same things). And it wasn't entirely easy, and it took some work to talk to each other, and when I looked at her I smiled and got the warm fuzzies.

I am quite certain I have never dreamed about being quietly, happily married before. I am, of course, getting old, no doubt losing the wild edginess that made me such a hellion in my younger days.


(Growing up remains interesting. I train with the occasional aikidoist who started as a child, some of whom are now well past black belt, and I can't get over how their aikido is missing a dimension of depth, a sense of patience and quietude that comes with age, not just experience. It amounts to discovering that the bumper stickers that say "Youth, strength and skill are no match for age, cunning and treachery" have some real truth to them.)

If you buy new music and notice that new albums have gotten louder over time (and probably crappier-sounding), you're not hallucinating. Some time ago, a recording engineer did a fascinating analysis of the discography of the band Rush, documenting the phenomenon.

Well, whatever. I'm here.