I'm so clever...if I could just remember!

So...I'm writing some clever thing to post in one sentence. I get it all written, then realize I could do better with the beginning of it. Deletion begins: backspace, backspace, etc. I've got the new start in my head and am all set to write, and then I find myself outside, determinedly heading for the fence at the side of the yard. I get there and discover that I was "writing" this whatever-it-was in Scrabble tiles atop the fence, and by the time I watch Roxie chase some animal in the bushes, discuss something with Kevin, and remember that the supply of tiles is back toward my house on a stump, I've completely lost the idea I had. Can't even tell what it was by reading the end of it, still posted in Scrabble tiles on the fence.

Or, I'm looking out my condo window as I often do, toward our entrance/parking lot, and I see in the dusk a white van or something leaving with what appears to be a too-long carpet roll in the back. It's hanging out and dragging on the ground, and because it's dragging, for some reason the driver has to swing the van around and I watch the rug swinging around behind him. All of a sudden pieces of the carpet begin to break off in large clumps...WTF? I look more closely and see that what I thought was carpet is actually a horse, and it is taking the most massive dump in our entryway that I've ever seen. And it doesn't stop. These are pieces of horse poop the size of unsplit logs! On our property! I dash out, and see that the driver has stopped, gotten out, and is approaching our side yard, which is pretty unkempt, with waist-high weeds and many trees, etc. (The horse is still wildly pulling, trying to free itself of the rope with which it's tied to the truck, and pooping.) I approach the man, who is young, shirtless, long-haired and with a beat up straw cowboy hat on. I say, "What's your name? He gives it to me (Troy Peterson) and, that name sounding familiar, ask if he knows TCF (my ex). He says no, at which point I ask if he's planning to pick up all the horseshit in my driveway, and he says no, and starts to approach me (there's a fence in between us). Suddenly he is an older man, dressed in a nice, coordinating outfit of brown slacks, brown shirt, and a tasteful sweater of brown and green argyle over the shirt. He says, "You have missed one important part here. If I were (someone, some candidate in the last local election) and had told you my name, you would have responded in kind." I say, "I'm sorry, I'm old...I'm 84, and my name is Linda. Just wondering if you're planning to pick up all that massive horse poop in my driveway." He smiles a smarmy smile and says, "That's something, isn't it? No."

Then I woke up, feeling once again as if I were swimming upward in molasses.

I "write" a lot while I'm sleeping, and solve puzzles, meet people I've never met and have time for relationships of one sort or another, along with other odd encounters. I actually once dreamed I'd gone to a play and was stunned by the costumes. Went backstage to congratulate the costume designer, then woke up still in awe of that designer and those costumes. It took 10 minutes before I realized that it was a dream, thus the gorgeous and clever costume design was, in fact, MINE!

The problem is that I usually can't remember all my cleverness, not to mention the brilliant writing, once I surface.

Thanks, Effexor, for another entertaining nap. And (here's the tie-in, lame though it is: Thanks, "Old Age" for the need for naps.) Besides, I had to post this somewhere, and it's WAY too long and strange for Facebook. And I'd embarrass my children, other family members, and my friends.