Mercy! Mercy! That Dang Nabed PERCY!

I Hate it When You do That

Some came walking and some came lame
And some of them bones are mine
Some came hobbling on a hickory cane
And some of them bones are mine.
Bones…

These are lyrics, stuck in my mind that I can no longer attribute. Most of what we write is attributable to something we saw, read or heard at one time or another. We ingest inputs from the world of life that gets stored by our brain. In the case of food it gets digested in our stomachs, converted into energy or stored as fat. (I won't go there today) With our experiences however, the data gets fed into some huge bio-storage memory bin. When we dream at night, I suppose, that’s why all those strange visions bubble up in the form of strangely familiar vignettes. Maybe our CPU is trying to give some order to all the clutter and catch up on the filing.

Then again it might be a spirit or a muse that happens by and starts reading some of the e-mails of past experiences… you know, watching them on the video player of our imagination. Who knows? What I do know is that most of my dreams are not pleasant to watch and tend to cast me in a rather bad light. It's not that I’m a saint or anything but there have been moments in life when the dark side of my character was not in charge.

If it were only at night that I have to contend with these vapor like visions (that take great liberties with the facts) and portray me as a bad person, well… that would be one thing. However, when they happen during the day, and my recollection gets presented with a vivid moment I’d rather forget… well that ‘s another matter entirely.

“Shucks!” I mutter spontaneously, sometimes in a rather loud voice. When I do, Linda looks up and inquires...,

“What is it?”

“Only a Flashback,” I reply.”

“I hate it when you do that.”