I generally appreciate the hours spent dreaming. They are helpful, insightful, and often just plain entertaining. Last night was one of those evenings, however, that I awoke glad to be free from the demons that vexed my sleep. All of the dreams had one theme: futility of my labors. I remembered Kurt Vonnegut’s character Rabo Karavekian, the Armenian abstract-impressionist whose works all dissolved, leaving him with a legacy of futility.
Today shall be a day with school, applications for subbing positions, and following through on other things that need attention.
The whole image of seeing work that needed to be done being destroyed, often as soon as it was produced and then by the treason of the pens that I used to write, failure to find paper that would hold its ink… it was almost as if the very tools of my trade were rebelling against me with a disdain that they reserved for those beneath contempt. They would rather have been destroyed than be the means by which my words could be read.
Here is something amuzing that I found on two of the blogs posted today… might be making the blog rounds, who knows? "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" in Latin! Everybody sing:
Aufer me ad arenam.
Aufer me cum turba.
Da mihi glires sparsos melle.
Reditum domum non curo velle.
Pro leonibus exhortemur.
Nil refert hominum.
Duo, tria membra edent
gladiatorum.
Which, being interpreted, means:
Take me to the arena,
Take me out with the crowd.
Buy me some dormice in honeycomb
I don't care if I never go home.
So let's root, root, root for the lions
Not the humans they maim
Munching two, three more body parts
at our Caesar's game.
Gotta love it... jeeze, I wish I'd have written it! Enjoy it anyway!
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