Don't give up: by the end you'll understand.
Dreams can be very impolite sometimes. For instance, this one not only woke me up in the middle of the night, but was so realistic, I lay awake thinking up all kinds of plans to scan it to a .jpg file and email it to the newspaper's editor, with a nice accompanying op-ed piece about the individual's right to privacy, and the Postal service's non-right to open and comment on people's mail, before I realized it had been a dream. The interesting thing about this snail mail was that it was written long-hand in pen on what had (I surmise) been my choice, school notebook blue-lined three-hole punched note paper. I had found the letter (I think it could have been in a dream-workplace mail-room) in an envelope addressed to a childhood love-interest, with what seemed to have been the correct stamps on it. It had been torn, neatly in four, and left on someone's desk. It was a dream, remember, and I had no knowledge of why or how I came to have found it.
In the envelope with my letter was another longhand letter written in ball-point on the same paper, from somebody in the Post Office named Wayne something-or-other. It was, with my letter and the envelope - correctly addressed, also torn in four, at the same time, as if it had been the intention to mail it back to me, but Wayne had changed his mind. I guess the desk must have been his, or else the letter had arrived on *my* desk, and *I* had torn it, unopened perhaps, in four. I don't know. All this had happened in the blink of an asleep eye.
Wayne's letter started out "If I were you, I wouldn't be claiming, like you do on page three, to have used the rite postage or adresed your mail the way the rules say your sposed to." There were no profanities; it was straightforward and misspelled perfectly clearly. In my half-sleep, I had planned to include, in my imagined op-ed piece, a "redacted" (?) scan of his address, including only every other character of the postal code, and leaving his last name and street name out. I guess I've seen a lot of what my wife, the librarian, calls 'gov docs' on the TV lately.
An interesting side-note is that people have recently been forming clubs, just to write longhand letters to one another, and get them by snail-mail. I do not recommend this, as the human race has only recently 'slipped the surly bonds' of paper mail. I rejoice in not getting much, though bulk junk and free tabloids still fill my box.
My wife, who probably woke me with her snores, if it wasn't the dog, Petey's, has no such dreams. Hers are long rambles which make absolutely no sense and do not in any way relate to recent experience, except in unaccountable ways. Terribly, unbearably boring they are, and very annoying to have to sit through. In contrast, mine seems to have borne a few obvious lessons, not least of which is: dreams can come true, especially if it is your dream to have more dreams.
People who write anonymous stuff on Web Forums don't have any right to privacy, even if it says "Personal Message", or even "PM". And the Internet is Forever, so watch what you say when it is *not* anonymous.
Dreams are very impolite: this one had me stay up in the middle of the night writing it all down. Can you imagine?
"Try - Just A Little Bit Harder" - Janis Joplin
CCSVI procedure Albany Aug 2010
'MS' is over - if you want it
Patients sans/without patience