I woke up slightly disoriented but also greatly relieved. And tired. More tired than I had been when I had laid down.

   In that twilight I had been thinking of a lady. Longing from a distance and crushing on people is easy. You have only the lust and desire to be “with” them but nothing real world like job stress, aging parents and children, money woes and/or body breakdowns intrudes on the fantasy.

   The second half [or second or third dream, who cal tell?] involved one of those people I lusted and desired. But the fact was that drama surrounded her like the dust cloud around Pigpen or the raincloud over “Bad Luck” Schleprock on the old Pebbles and Bam-Bam cartoons. In the dream we had wed one day, then overnight she had disappeared and now everyone was looking for her and her friend who had run off with her kids in the middle of the night. I was smoking [I don’t other than an occasional drag]and unsuccessfully trying to dial a rotary phone to call into work and wondering how to explain this to them. SHE showed up but explained her friend’s decision to take off and why they couldn’t show pictures of the kids without one of the parent’s consent… then we had to leave our little apartment but I had to leave my bass guitar behind… ?

   How had I gotten here in my dream? I had earlier been dreaming of an ex with whom I shared a dossier of information I had gathered about her and then dumped a print out – as in one of those old style computer printout sheets with the white and green lines, holes on the side, perforation, etc. about how our lives together were going to be for the next ten years. And reviewing a tape of a jam we had [not really] at a party at one of my friend’s apartments with me on rolled up newspaper for drums, banging them on the floor. I wondered how the downstairs neighbor could stand that but remembered that he had been upstairs partying with us.

   The other funny thing about dreams is how people who never crossed paths in real life can mingle together in your dream. I’m 99.9% sure that the ex in this part of the dream had never met Henry in real life, yet here we were in Jim’s tiny, raucous, rocking apartment. The work I had been trying to call was my place of employ from 1991 to 1997 but in my thoughts in my dream it was the original divided building, not the later expanded workshop.

   I got out of bed top take a squirt and get a sip of water. Shadow must have sensed my unease because as I exited the powder room, he came up and rubbed against my legs as if trying to say “it’s okay dude.” I tried laying down again and he jumped up and lay down by my feet to sit with my but my mind was too tilt-a-whirl to go back to sleep.  I got up, loaded the dishwasher [might as well ‘accomplish’ something!] and turned it on and jotted down some notes. It’s 06:00 – “What’s the ‘O’ stand for? ‘Oh my God it’s early!’” – and still as dark as it was when I left work and when I went to bed after watching YET ANOTHER JFK theory show.

   Look, I am not a conspiracy nut but l realized the date on the way home and had just been thing that it’s been more than half a century – long after most the participants and witnesses are dead – that we don’t really know who blew Kennedy’s wig or why.

   This time, the Secret Service accidentally popped him with an AR-15 from the chase car and covered it up. First, by threatening the Medical Examiner andrushing the body out of Texas – where the law was any homicide required an autopsy before releasing the body. Then they stole… er, secured all the notes, photos, x-rays from the hilariously overcrowded [FBI, Secret Service and reps from the three other branches of the service!] Keystone Cops level contaminated Bethesda attempt at autopsy. Then threatening anyone and everyone involved with a “breech of national security” charge and jail time if the talked. And of course old Arlen Spector gets skewed for not calling any of the Secret Service or Bethesda pathologists who could say “This wound was too small for the 6.5mm bullet. The third and fatal shot was from back left from a low caliber, frangible [meant to fragment for maximum damage] bullet” – i.e. the .223 AR-15 the Secret Service had in that chase car. [There are photos of an agent holding it as they raced off to Parkland.]  It seems people in cars following the Prez  - like the mayor and his old lady and some Congressmen  -and on the ground in Dealey smelled gunpowder – which according to the show, would have blown UP Elm Street from in front of them.  One witness drawled “you don’t smell gunpowder unless it’s blown in your face,” suggesting the waft would not have been from Oswald’s perch above everyone.

   Sometimes it’s exhausting being in my head.