You're in the Army now -- Walk before they make me run

 

I'm not sure it was the actual Army, but I dreamed I was in some branch of the military, or at least something that passed for it. People wore the olive green uniforms and spent a lot of time marching or doing drills. I somehow managed to be on the fringes, never quite participating actively in the exercises.

Reiner, my old YC Honda boss, was there in a supervisory capacity, as usual. He caught me loafing with my boots off, lying on a blanket playing with an acoustic guitar I'd found. I believe it was my mom's guitar, the one I recently acquired. I surmised this because it had a nut that looked suspiciously new. 

I stopped playing the guitar when Reiner busted me for loafing. I attempted to feign nonchalance by casually smashing the guitar on a bluetooth speaker that I had which was also on the blanket. All the strings got jarred loose because the nut, which wasn't glued in place, shifted. I made a mental note to perhaps repair the guitar later.

I was up on my feet, still barefoot and Reiner commanded me to go stand in a small section of wet sand that had been carved out of a grassy area that looked like someone had removed the sod with an exacto knife. It kept filling up with water, which gave me an unpleasant squishy feeling on my bare feet. I was standing there at attention, when some other authority figure, I believe Arvada from Esplanade Manor, mentioned that some of the other recruits were going on a walk and that I should join them.

"Go for a walk? I'd love to!" I said enthusiastically, getting excited like a puppy dog and all but wagging my tail. "I love walks!"

I'm sure "going for a walk" was their euphemism for more of that military marching crap, but that didn't occur to me. I inquired about somehow obtaining a map of the local area. I wanted to get directions to the nearest market, so I could stop by there on my "walk." They assured me I wouldn't need a map but that they'd see what they could do to find one for me anyway. I also needed to put my boots on, although the grass felt nice under my feet after the soggy sand.

I wandered off, carrying the guitar and speaker and soon found myself on Arvada's front porch. She wasn't home, but her daughter and son-in-law were there, locking the front door and getting ready to go out on a walk of their own. I was a little disappointed that they hadn't invited me along, so I sat down on the porch and started messing with the guitar I had smashed. It was going to need a lot of work, so I tabled the idea for the time being. I was about to start fiddling with the Bluetooth speaker when I was awakened by my phone's text dingy. 

It was my psychic friend, Jeannette, inquiring as to the proximity of a wildfire in a neighboring county. I hadn't heard of it, so I quickly looked it up. Another massive wildfire in a remote area of Butte county, 30,000 acres and only 15% containment. I thought it looked extra smoky yesterday. It's not an immediate threat, but it will most definitely tax the firefighting resources, making any new fires that pop up that much more difficult to contain.

Oh, and I just now remembered that before the whole military dream, I'd been playing some music with my friend Richard from the cult. We used to mess around with some of the music ministry equipment in his garage back in the day, before his brother, Pastor Robert Leon, found out and put the kibosh on our unauthorized sessions. 

In the dream, I was playing the same guitar, my mom's acoustic electric. I set it down on a coffee table, and some guy picked it up and started playing it. He did some fancy showboat moves and then proceeded to smash it on the coffee table. The guitar proved to quite resilient, though, and only sustained a minor ding. He gave up the idea of smashing it and set it back down on the table. 

---- 

Now, for whatever reason, I have the song "Before They Make Me Run" stuck in my head. Maybe I'll play it a few times and see if there's a message in there for me. I tend to get earworms at semi-appropriate times, so maybe there is a hint that I'm supposed to be taking from this authority/walking/music themed dreaming that I'm doing.

I suppose I ought to get my ass off the couch and go out and water the dead spots on my lawn, then exercise and get my day started. The only scheduled event is a session with my therapist at 12. I'm not sure what we will talk about, since nothing of note ever happens in between our appointments. 

I feel that I'm not taking the idea of therapy as seriously as perhaps I should. Since the core issues I am dealing with are beyond the scope of therapy to actually fix, ie. mortality, the unknowable nature of existence, etc., the most we can do is toss about ideas as to how one might make life in the cloud of unknowing slightly more bearable. We are all on the Titanic together, but some people seem to be less bothered by the idea that the ship will certainly go down, and there is no evidence of a rescue party having been dispatched. 

At least my shrink is a realist and hasn't claimed to have a "wellness toolbox" or schematics for fixing the Titanic. That kind of honesty is refreshing:

"Give it to me straight, doc. I'm fucked, right?"

 

"Yes, but perhaps there's a strategy you can employ to feel less fucked, you know, find some kind of 'resting place' for your ass, so it doesn't get so worn out."

 

"Thanks. Good talk. I'll try that." 

I won't try that, though. There's some honesty for you. My days of trying things seem to be through. Maybe they will have to poke me with a cattle prod to make me run.