I’m afraid I won’t even be thinking about writing for the next two weeks or so. I, my friends, am an unashamed Olympophile. “Oh, they’re all professional athletes,” you say. “We shouldn’t watch because of China’s abusive attitudes towards dissidents and religion.” “It’s all tainted by drugs anyway.” “There’s too much jingoism these days.”

Fooey. I know all that. But I can’t help myself. I will watch as much as I can, not to see something historic (Michael Phelps, the 100-meter dash) or histrionic (”I can’t believe that she didn’t get the mandatory deduction for that hop on the landing! This is a travesty!”), but in hopes of seeing something inspiring. Something like the performance at the 1976 Montreal Olympics of Japanese gymnast Shun Fujimoto (who out Kerri Strugged Kerri Strug, IMHO).

During the floor exercises of the team event, he actually broke his right kneecap. But he still had to perform on the rings in order to secure the gold for Japan. The only time that you need to use your legs on the rings, of course, is when you land. I can still remember the smile, the glow of pride on his face, when he stuck that landing - on one leg, of course - and slowly rose to acknowledge the cheers of the crowd. At the time, I don’t think that anyone knew how badly he had been injured; he was flown home to Japan in a full-leg cast.

I will watch for that, for what the late Jim McKay called “the human drama of athletic competition.” So erotica will have to take a back seat. I hope you all find something to enjoy in the Olympics, big or small.

Well, I was going to post something completely different, but a dream made me change my mind.  Sure, I could have ignored the strong impulse, but that wouldn’t have felt right (and don’t most people, when it’s all said and done, want to feel right?).

I had a simple dream last night, so mundane and realistic that it wasn’t until I was watching the water drain away that I realized my tub wasn’t plugged up.  I could have sworn it was; I saw it not drain properly, and I remember the distinct feeling of dismay at having to clean it out again (nasty, nasty job).  It was only when I tried to resolve this confusion that I realized I had dreamed the incident—it was a vague memory, barely distinguishable from other memories that I take as fact, as personal history.

I was annoyed for about two seconds.  Then I laughed, wondering how many more of those types of dreams I’ve had, how many false memories I have swimming around in my head.  That would be an uncomfortable thought if I let it, if it weren’t so fascinating.  This dream—this careless dream—I had “caught in a lie” only because the proof was in front of my eyes (and so soon after waking).

I have thought about this all morning, driven by the urge to share it with someone. 

Hell, the very first piece of erotica I ever wrote was from a powerful dream in ’88 or ’89 (sadly, I lost my original, dated notes).  I had awoken with the completed story in my head, having dreamed it all: the accident, the discovery, the strange and philosophical underpinnings, and even the ending.  I skipped classes that day to make certain it was all recorded, and I remember clinging to each detail as I ignored my cramping hand in the feverish drive write it down before I forgot important pieces.

I’ve had several important plots unfold in my dreams, especially in the past several years that I’ve been serious about my (non-serious) writing.  I always keep a small voice recorder by my bed, and my computer is just four urgent steps away. 

In fact, I learned that I can condition myself to be more receptive to dreams, and have used that technique to mine whatever place those dreams come from.  Though, after a few days of that, I become so tired that I have to turn it off (it’s a conscious willing before one sleeps to remember or not remember the dream details).

Do you guys pay attention to your dreams, or shrug them off?  Do you have the luxury of hunting for the real thrill- or joyrides?  Have you made your peace with the nearly uncontrollable nature of dreams?

Sweet dreams,

Kev