Day 117: Pip Blammer

Last night I could not sleep.  I was tired when I turned the light off and settled down, but annoyingly after ten minutes it became apparent that I wasn't going to drift off effortlessly.  Can't bear waiting restlessly for sleep, so I bailed and snuck down to the sitting room.  Read for a couple of hours.  Made myself a makeshift nest on the sofa, and eventually dozed off at an improbable twisted angle. 

Goldfrapp - 'Stuff' happened

Woke with pins and needles, and the memory shard of a dream.  A cameo appearance from a university friend, who I've not seen in about a decade.  He was on edge, wild-eyed, pacing and twitching.  Wearing underpants and a blanket draped over his shoulders (natch).  When I asked whether everything was OK, he looked me in the eye and said. 'It's Pip Blammer, and that stuff with the Goldfrapp album'. 

Hooray!  I love that my mind, when left to its own devices and with the logic button switched off, comes up with something so incredibly specific.  I don't know anyone called Pip.  Or Blammer, for that matter.  Not been listening to Goldfrapp.  Not thought about that particular friend.  But my mind has happily and effortlessly rung up that obscure combination, like a glorious mental fruit machine.

Although it's a fragment and very little actually happens, this dream intrigues me, way beyond those more apparently-meaningful ones.  The sort in which I do terrible Freudian things.  Like starve horses (accidentally).  Dispose of bodies (deliberately).  Get chased round cathedrals by tall figures wearing bells round their ankles (gothically).  Go on stage and realise that I'm naked from the waist down (predictably).  The usual.

Never got to meet Pip Blammer, or find out what the 'stuff' was.  Maybe tonight.  Might be worth another night's cramped contortions on the sofa to find out.