I am neck-deep in a local political campaign. Suffice to say, my stress level is over the moon. I generally do not write personal diaries; however, this is an exception.
When I am under stress, my body alerts me by awakening me in the wee hours with severe pain which it did last night. After that resolved, I fell asleep and my unconscious mind took me on a sea voyage.
I am a sailor, not just any polliwog but a crusty old salt who has crewed as a foredeckman aboard a 90’ Sparkman Stephens yawl and sailed across the equator with the proper King Neptune ceremony. Many of my best dreams take me to sea once more, and last night’s dream was no exception.
Any sailor worth his salt will tell you that their favorite memories, and resultant sea yarns, are not those of calm anchorages in deep protected bays but the times when water tried to kill them and failed. Spend enough time messing around in boats in any body of water, and she will eventually attempt to drown you. One of my favorite yarns involves the time a violent freak thunderstorm caught us in the middle of a shallow lake, turning it into a blender of brown water with rain so thick we breathed it in. Mercifully, it was as short as it was violent or I would not be able to recount it.
I survived last night’s shipwreck; however, the press conference following it was another matter altogether. At one point, I turned to the television reporter and asked the following question:
Is that a 35 millimeter camera you are pointing at me or a 38?
I take comfort from the fact that my innate sense of humor remains intact even when I sleep. I am going to need it as I ply the troubled waters of local politics if I ever hope to reach my destination. And perhaps last night’s shipwreck dream was meant to remind me of my seamanship skills "when the waves turn the minutes to hours".
This is one crusty old salt who means to survive and reach her desired home port.