Dream of G___ fades back into the mist, and I pursue musical improv

 

After our video date ended rather abruptly, I was a bit agitated and couldn't get to sleep right away. When I finally dozed off at 4am, I had a dream about the exact scenario that had just taken place: She was telling me that she was breaking up with me, both as a friend and as a never having qualified candidate for a sexual romp. She was done with me. 

And to top it off, my nice guy card was being revoked because I was being pouty about it. St. Nowhere gets his halo repoed for bad karma points.

In my dream, after getting rejected by my slut friend, I went to an open mic night at a local nightclub. There were all kinds of routines being showcased, from comedy to solo musical acts. I showed up with my acoustic guitar and was preparing to do some damage.

Before I got onstage though, I experienced a total loss of ability to remember even one of the songs that I had been practicing. Some kind of mental block left me with no recollection of what chords to play or even a single lyric. 

After being told I would be disqualified from playing, I sat down on my bed, which happened to be next to the stage. I started strumming the guitar rhythmically, deadening the strings so as to make it sound like a percussive instrument. 

After a moment or two of this string slapping, the MC called me up to the stage.

"See?" he said. "You do have some ability. Why don't you make use of it, and give us some extemporaneous composition?"

I got onstage and continued my rhythmic pattern. It sounded like a rap beat, so I started to mumble some rhymes, incoherently at first, but with more confidence as I got warmed up. It wasn't going to win first prize, but I didn't get booed offstage either.

As I finished up and was leaving the stage, I got a few compliments among the stunned stares. They weren't expecting a rap to come out of me, and I had to admit, I did seem to be rapping beyond my talent level, like I was channeling Little Dicky or early Eminem.

----

Now, as to the question on "What to do, when...," I'm going to mow the lawn. Life goes on. Too tired to yawn, feeling like a french fried prawn, a pawn in the game, a face with no shame, inviting the blame -- lame. Serendipitous sluts, poly-amorously disengage us, not making the cut. Like what. The actual fuck. Or not. Sucks to be us. Gonna rage with the machine against the grass so green it makes wizards pee emerald just to be seen. 

Speaking of which, that emerald green piss wizard will be me, if I don't get off this couch and press the resume button on my life.