Weep no more, my lady.
Oh weep no more today.
We will sing one song for the old Kentucky home.
For the Old Kentucky Home far away.
I don't typically remember my dreams.
I don't know if it's because there's a long twisted road to my subconscience and I lose a lot of information on the way back to lucidity - or if my dreams are just too random.
But this morning I woke up around 9:30 and my brain was mentally singing Stephen Foster's legendary tune.
That's the only thing I could remember from my REM sleep.
My Old Kentucky Home.
How bizarre is that?
I don't think I was dreaming about a UK game. I also don't think I was harkening back to another time when men wore seersucker and women coped with corsets while sitting on verandahs with sweaty mint juleps in hand. I really have no idea why I was thinking about the traditional tune sung to close out my alma mater's sporting events.
The other day my friend Crime Lady told me I was in one of her own dreams. I was apparently a cabaret type singer, singing smoky tunes in a white, sequined top. In her dream sequence, CL appoached me after my set and said I made some nasty face at a back-up singer who was walking by. The dream version of CL asked the dream version of me what the sour face was all about, and the dream version of me replied that I didn't like the back-up.
It was funny, as CL was relaying this fantasy senario - she didn't know what to make of it, and nor did I.
I called my friend, Bling, the other day after I had a vivid, memorable dream involving her. The only thing I remember now was that Bling had just had a baby in the dream. I left her this nugget in a voice mail and she called me back Friday to say she had just started dating someone new.
What do dreams tell us? Are they mental trips to a parallel universe? Do they give us a subconscious opportunity to work out all of our problems? Are dreams a kind of foresight into the future?
I just wish I could remember a few more of my dreams (and nightmares).