the fears
Just got back into town after a rainy weekend at Camp Evergreen. Nearly four inches of rain fell while we were there, and here in Pincher, apparently, fell six inches of snow. But I'll never really know that for sure, because, as usual, it's melted already.
The rain didn't keep us from having fun, however. In the course of one day, I did a high and low ropes course, wall-climbed, bouldered, went on a trail ride, a hay-ride, went hot-tubbing, built a wicked fort in the dining room, and played some savage dodgeball hybrids with senior citizens. Not exactly your average weekend, and yet last night pretty much broke the mould beyond repair.
After a nice hot shower (not to mention a long overdue one), I headed for my own personal cabin, got into my Grandma-made pajama shorts, and climbed into my bunk. I enjoyed a chapter of the Epistle to Titus, and was wandering through "The Time Machine" (H.G. Wells, I think), when my eyelids began threatening to close up shop for the night. Unfortunately, it was at a really good part of the book, but fortunately, I was weary enough that I didn't care. Book closed, lights out, good night. Even the fact that the bunk was about six inches too short couldn't keep me awake.
A digression: I've been watching a show called Stargate recently - my first journey into the horrors of prime time sci-fi addiction - and there's an alien on the show named Teil'k who said the flat-out funniest thing a few episodes ago: "Undomesticated equines couldn't remove me." I laughed, aloud and alone. If you know Tiel'k they way I do, then you're probably laughing right now just thinking about it. Wild horses couldn't drag Tiel'k away. A short bunk couldn't keep me awake. End digression.
So I fall asleep, and start moving through the various stages of sleep I learned about in Intro to Psych (I only remember the R.E.M. stage, and that only because of the band responsible for timeless classics like "Nightswimming" and "Strange Currencies"). Somewhere inamongst those seasons of sleep, my night adventure began. Out of nowhere, a coyote howled, and from the sound and volume of it "nowhere" was right on my front porch. I don't think I actually woke up at all, and that's the problem. When that mournful call shot through the night, I only had enough energy to stay concious until it was over, after which I slipped back into my sub-concious, just in time to be assaulted by the first volley of irrational fears. Before I could calm these fears with truths like "coyotes won't hurt you," and "their call is actually quite beautiful," even "You're ripped like a bad dog, Simon. You can take them," the fears took over and launched me into a dream-version of what these coyotes could do to me. Suddenly I emerged into a dark, dark world, not unlike Camp Evergreen at night, where coyotes were no longer the small, mangy scavengers I know from Saskatchewan winters. Suddenly, they were transformed into snarling, surreal wolves, not unlike the animated monsters from the winter chase scene in Beauty and the Beast (I'm pretty sure the dream coyotes were even animated). And, like most scary dreams, these monsters were after me, and some blurry, poorly defined people in my company. The "hoard of blurries" and I just barely got into the cabin, and, though I was trying with every subconcious ounce of energy I had, I just about let the coyotes in after us. But I shut the door in time. And the dream ended. Unfortunately, I didn't have the energy to wake and comfort myself with the knowledge that it was only a dream. So, the fears took over again, lowering me spluttering into a sea of doubt (read these next lines in a nasty voice like that grey, pig-nosed lackey from Care Bears) "Are you sure they can't still get in, Simon? Are you positive they're not already in here? Sssshhhaaa, sha, sha, sha, sha, sha!" This continued on through the wee hours of the morning, and there was nothing I could do about it. I was too tired to resist. I think I even stooped so low in my subconcious weakened state as to shine my flashlight under each bunk (from the safety of my own, of course), to make sure there were no mutant coyotes in my cabin. It actually got that bad. Hours later the sunrise awoke a soft glow of hope in the ugly orange curtains on the windows. I was sure the fears were gone. I relaxed, ready for a couple hours of much-needed peaceful sleep. And I'm sure it was good sleep, but all good things come to an end. This good thing ended with an earth-shattering explosion about 18 inches from my sweet, sleepy head. My wake up call. No angelic morning song like the day before. No caring words from my buddy Russ. It was Jim's turn this morning. I can just see him, complete with evil grin and steel-toed bright orange "gum" boots, rearing back and delivering a vicious kick to the undeserving cedar siding of my cabin wall, 18 inches from my sleeping body. I woke up. And thanked him as best as I could. I really do love that guy.
Weird night. I'm glad I had the chance to process it. I'm glad it's over. I'm glad Jim won't be waking me up tomorrow morning. I'm thinking of nasty ways to wake him up without suffering the wrath of his good wife. Suggestions welcome.
Thinking about renting "Sahara" tonight. For a guy, that Matthew McWhateverthecrap is fan-handsome. And sand is quite pretty. Happy weekend.
The rain didn't keep us from having fun, however. In the course of one day, I did a high and low ropes course, wall-climbed, bouldered, went on a trail ride, a hay-ride, went hot-tubbing, built a wicked fort in the dining room, and played some savage dodgeball hybrids with senior citizens. Not exactly your average weekend, and yet last night pretty much broke the mould beyond repair.
After a nice hot shower (not to mention a long overdue one), I headed for my own personal cabin, got into my Grandma-made pajama shorts, and climbed into my bunk. I enjoyed a chapter of the Epistle to Titus, and was wandering through "The Time Machine" (H.G. Wells, I think), when my eyelids began threatening to close up shop for the night. Unfortunately, it was at a really good part of the book, but fortunately, I was weary enough that I didn't care. Book closed, lights out, good night. Even the fact that the bunk was about six inches too short couldn't keep me awake.
A digression: I've been watching a show called Stargate recently - my first journey into the horrors of prime time sci-fi addiction - and there's an alien on the show named Teil'k who said the flat-out funniest thing a few episodes ago: "Undomesticated equines couldn't remove me." I laughed, aloud and alone. If you know Tiel'k they way I do, then you're probably laughing right now just thinking about it. Wild horses couldn't drag Tiel'k away. A short bunk couldn't keep me awake. End digression.
So I fall asleep, and start moving through the various stages of sleep I learned about in Intro to Psych (I only remember the R.E.M. stage, and that only because of the band responsible for timeless classics like "Nightswimming" and "Strange Currencies"). Somewhere inamongst those seasons of sleep, my night adventure began. Out of nowhere, a coyote howled, and from the sound and volume of it "nowhere" was right on my front porch. I don't think I actually woke up at all, and that's the problem. When that mournful call shot through the night, I only had enough energy to stay concious until it was over, after which I slipped back into my sub-concious, just in time to be assaulted by the first volley of irrational fears. Before I could calm these fears with truths like "coyotes won't hurt you," and "their call is actually quite beautiful," even "You're ripped like a bad dog, Simon. You can take them," the fears took over and launched me into a dream-version of what these coyotes could do to me. Suddenly I emerged into a dark, dark world, not unlike Camp Evergreen at night, where coyotes were no longer the small, mangy scavengers I know from Saskatchewan winters. Suddenly, they were transformed into snarling, surreal wolves, not unlike the animated monsters from the winter chase scene in Beauty and the Beast (I'm pretty sure the dream coyotes were even animated). And, like most scary dreams, these monsters were after me, and some blurry, poorly defined people in my company. The "hoard of blurries" and I just barely got into the cabin, and, though I was trying with every subconcious ounce of energy I had, I just about let the coyotes in after us. But I shut the door in time. And the dream ended. Unfortunately, I didn't have the energy to wake and comfort myself with the knowledge that it was only a dream. So, the fears took over again, lowering me spluttering into a sea of doubt (read these next lines in a nasty voice like that grey, pig-nosed lackey from Care Bears) "Are you sure they can't still get in, Simon? Are you positive they're not already in here? Sssshhhaaa, sha, sha, sha, sha, sha!" This continued on through the wee hours of the morning, and there was nothing I could do about it. I was too tired to resist. I think I even stooped so low in my subconcious weakened state as to shine my flashlight under each bunk (from the safety of my own, of course), to make sure there were no mutant coyotes in my cabin. It actually got that bad. Hours later the sunrise awoke a soft glow of hope in the ugly orange curtains on the windows. I was sure the fears were gone. I relaxed, ready for a couple hours of much-needed peaceful sleep. And I'm sure it was good sleep, but all good things come to an end. This good thing ended with an earth-shattering explosion about 18 inches from my sweet, sleepy head. My wake up call. No angelic morning song like the day before. No caring words from my buddy Russ. It was Jim's turn this morning. I can just see him, complete with evil grin and steel-toed bright orange "gum" boots, rearing back and delivering a vicious kick to the undeserving cedar siding of my cabin wall, 18 inches from my sleeping body. I woke up. And thanked him as best as I could. I really do love that guy.
Weird night. I'm glad I had the chance to process it. I'm glad it's over. I'm glad Jim won't be waking me up tomorrow morning. I'm thinking of nasty ways to wake him up without suffering the wrath of his good wife. Suggestions welcome.
Thinking about renting "Sahara" tonight. For a guy, that Matthew McWhateverthecrap is fan-handsome. And sand is quite pretty. Happy weekend.
posted by Simon at 6:25 PM
5 Comments:
Ripped like a bad dog, was it?
Dreams can seem so real at 3 am. I once had a dream that crabs had invaded my bedroom, and were crawling everywhere. I woke up, my heart pounding like a drum, and inspected my dark blankets for the crabs; i really believed they were on my bed!! I had to feel around for them! Wow.
AS for the McWhateverthecrap movie, it's actually pretty decent (better than the recent Nicolas Cage one, National Treasure)...and it's fairly squeaky clean. I particularly enjoyed the view of African landscape, and culture, etc.
hey simon. we just watched the McWhateverthecrap movie a few weeks ago and i liked it too. just to let you know, we pray for you. i talk to your dad about you. he is very proud of you :) have a great week.
My dearest Simon,
(that was actually one of our name choices if we had a boy) but whatever. Do you still remember one of the first times we met. I was sleeping in your bed and I can't really remember if I was wearing pants, but that is not important here.
It has pained me that we have grown apart these many, many years. Do you still remember watching "Rocketman" and Heather's house. Fun times.
We actually watched "A Time To Kill" with matthew mc whateverthecrap just a few days ago and as a purely heterosexual man I can say with a degree of certainty that yes he is attractive.
I am sorry for the oong comment but I am just so excited to talk to you. I'll see you in my dreams.
-Beef- or matt or whatever
first of all, matt, i highly doubt you were wearing pants. i sometimes wonder if some of the guys in that dorm even owned pants. i'm also a little choked up about how we've lost touch. who knows? now that i've been reminded that you and patti are still alive, maybe we'll run into each other sometime. And way to go on having a gorgeous daughter - i'm not surprised, really. thanks for dropping a note; i'll be keeping an eye on your blog.
Ok, as much as I could make some deep comment regarding this post, I'm choosing to comment on the "Prime Time Sci-Fi television addiction" you mentioned, being as I too was at one point an addict.
This was shortly after dropping out of school here in Vancouver, and before I got my job at HMV. I developed interesting "relationships" with the characters of Start Trek:TNG due to my habit of watching at least two hours a day, four on Fridays. You know it's bad when you find you're making comments to yourself such as: "Geordie would have just loved that", or, "Man, Worf would be pissed", regarding your own everyday life. Thank God I found a job.
Post a Comment
<< Home