Cobwebs and Dust

I think my subconscious may be redecorating. I’ve hardly slept the last few nights with all the hammering going on, not to mention the parade of cowboys, lost souls, cartoon characters, disjointed former co-workers, furry alien talking animals and the occasional sweaty, toothy guilt devil.

With nothing but a tarp thrown over the floor of awareness, I can see and hear everything that’s going on. It’s like a dream episode of Clean Sweep, in which sleepy me is confronted with a jumble of animated numbers, childhood phobias and rusty Freudian symbols all balled up, and I have to decide what to do with them. “How about this Marlboro guy driving a 50-foot-long Cadillac convertible with a two-headed penis strapped to the hood? You gonna be needing that?” Before I get a chance to answer, he’s been tossed overboard. I watch the fins of the Caddy turn into a shark and eat the cowboy whole.

I feel very much a bystander in the process, and I guess that’s okay. But if there is redecorating going on, I hope I’m getting something good – something spacious and uncluttered and serene. Heaven knows I could do with some serious subconscious feng shui action. Mirrors at the back of my mind, to bounce out bad dreams and just, for a time, let me sleep.