Yes, I gave in and stayed home today. I don’t take sick days very often, but it was all I could do to get through the school day and my rehearsals yesterday. Not so good. Phenergan is my friend.
But I’ve never gone more than two days without a post. Can’t start that trend now, what with my third birfday coming up, can I? Mais non. So here it is. I’ll tell the tale while it’s still somewhat fresh in my mind.
I had a dream this morning. I know it was this morning, because the Thriller’s alarm startled me out of it. I was with my students on choir tour, but instead of NYC, we were in Dallas. It wasn’t a part of Dallas I’ve ever seen, or that even exists. It looked more like, say, a European city, with old, delightful apartment buildings and shops, lined up close together on narrow streets. As I sat on the tour bus and told my students, “We’ll be seeing this part of the city later,” a text-messagy-type update scrolled across my phone screen: Paul McCartney dead. Then my phone went dead. I couldn’t retrieve the message to see if that was what I’d really read, or if I was mistaken.
Immediate switch to a concert venue. Students have vanished; I’m there with people I don’t know to listen to a band I’d never heard of. I’m sitting on the right side of what I believe was a church, but I’m seated under an eave, where I can’t get phone service. Finally, I can take it no more. I ask the man next to me if he’d heard anything about McCartney, and he said, “Oh, yeah. I heard that on the news yesterday.”
Rinnnng, rinnnng, rinnnng…
This is why I never remember my dreams: they’re too stupid. I think I know why the phone was involved, though, seeing as how I spent three hours last night rebuilding the replacement Droid Verizon sent me (my camera and gallery went kaput, so I finally used the insurance policy I’ve been paying into for years). It’s still not where I want it settings-wise, but it’s getting there. Thank the gods for backups of contacts, ja? I just wish Android would have saved the free apps as well as the paid ones.
Anyway, I’m not sure why McCartney was involved. We can’t lose that guy yet, please. Do you know another 68-year-old man with full-voice high Bs? What a performer, wow. Beyond words.
OK, I’m off to make tea and curl up on the couch.