buddy’s dream #49
Oh my head.
I’m on a couch in a living room in San Marcos. California. The sun is shining in. It’s a Monday. The kids are napping. Two days before my 73rd birthday. I was reading Malcolm Gladwell’s “Outliers” and fell deeply asleep. When I woke I didn’t know where I was. Jump up. Run. Run to your notebook.
Crazy life. My jeans are faded to hobo status. I’m bringing only my backpack when I fly Wednesday from San Diego to San Jose, change planes on to Boise, Idaho, where my youngest son is staying. Habitating. Backpack menu – a new ‘Surfer’s Journal’ magazine. A steno pad and two notebooks – one, my Morning Pages. A paperback on Zen Koans. One pair of boxers, one pair of socks. One t-shirt, a toothbrush and tiny toothpaste. Two pens, maybe pencils. A white phone charger. Probably a flannel shirt, dark green. A hardcover biography of Lou Reed.
Three day visit, and – I hear – now the kids are up and about again.
Oh, I’m at work.