Drift Away

 

Though he was never a musician, my dad loved the drums.  He loved a good beat and rhythm and one of my fondest memories (to pop back in my head) was one evening when I was little.  There must have been music playing.  Probably a Saturday night, because if my dad wasn't working, he would be home playing his records and enjoying more than a few spirits.  I can't recall what the exact scenario was, but I remember I was sitting in the chair and my sister was on the sofa across from me.  I must have been tapping away in time with the music, which caught my dad's ear.  Next thing I remember is my dad, with a huge smile across his face, teaching me to keep time as well as using different surfaces around me to make different sounds to better accompany the music playing.  He then turned his attention to my sister, attempting to teach her the same.  All I remember following that was his frustration because my sister just couldn't get the beat down.  

"Look at your brother!" he said loudly, "Keep time like he is."  She never got the hang of it as the song and record had come to an end.  My dad returned to his spot at the kitchen table.

I don't know how old I was then.  Frankly, I'm surprised something so random, like that, would spring back into my head, unless it was because of the documentary I just finished watching on Netflix.

I've watched a couple documentaries on drumming and percussion.  This one just randomly popped up on my Netflix when I was searching for another title.  The description tickled my fancy, so to speak, and I pressed PLAY.

The documentary interviews a wide menagerie of professional drummers who all discuss techniques, practices and inspirations.  It's really a fascinating documentary and I'd recommend it to anyone.  While I was watching the film, though, a tear came to my eye.  The tear fell down my cheek because I realized my dad would have loved to watch this film.  Maybe even sit with me while doing so.  The commentary he might have added to make the doc even more special.

I'm not a religious person.  I wish I was, but I can't.  I'm too logical, but if Heaven does exist, I hope it has Netflix.  I'd love to sit down with my dad.  Catch up and maybe watch a drumming documentary or two. 😊

Dreamscape

Sometimes life just seems more fun and interesting on "the other side".  When I close my eyes at night, I'm whisked away to a distant, yet sometimes familiar place, where I'm everything I ever hoped I'd be and am accepted by all as an equal or better.  Unlike my waking hours when it seems like all I am is a number.  Something, not someone, to be used and abused for all I'm worth, then discarded like a piece of trash or a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of their shoe.

I'm not crying up a storm, here, sobbing "woe is me".  I'm satisfied, somewhat, for my lot in life.  I find my job fulfilling, though unappreciated most days.  It's just everything else that I wish I could have different.

When I dream at night, it seems like all my hopes have come true.  I'm popular with the ladies, even sought after on occasion.  Hell, I'm popular with everyone.  My opinions and ideas matter.  It's freakin' awesome.  Sometimes I think, if I didn't have so many responsibilities here, it'd be nice to slip into a coma.  Life seems more fulfilling and interesting "over there" anyway, and adventurous.

I remember a dream I had a few years ago, where I was white water rafting with the WWE's Undertaker (whom I was referring to by his real name, Mark Callaway), Stephanie McMahon, and Triple H (Paul Levesque).  We'd stopped for lunch at a small cafe along the river, and when I went to use the restroom, I was jumped by three hoodlums who wanted my ball cap. (I guess not all is perfect in this world...)  Mark, or I mean, Undertaker was quick to help a buddy out and stomped their asses into the ground.  Yahoo!

My dreamscape is a wondrous place.  It sort of resembles Heaven in the movie "What Dreams May Come", a far and spacious place, uncluttered by modern amenities, yet there are pockets of familiarities.  City streets that somehow exist but don't clash with the beauty of the landscape.  They're invisible until you look around and see you're surrounded.

Last night, for some reason, I dreamed about work, but it wasn't my workplace that I recognized.  It was completely different, yet my co-workers were all there.  I was working along side one of the blokes I worked with this week, and instead of treating me like a useless f*ck as he was doing yesterday, he treated me as a equal even requesting my opinion on a pending project.  My ideal scenario, wouldn't be to dream of work for the rest of my existence, but there's worse things to be dreaming about.

For instance, there's a recurring dream I have from time to time, where I'm stuck in this house or building.  The structure itself changes ever once in awhile, but the premise remains.  I can run, walk, whatever, there's no getting out.  No matter the route I choose, different every time, there's no escape and I end up back where I began.  Of all my dreams, this one, I fear, is the closest to my real life.

Not to mention the nightmares that I have sometimes.  I'm fast asleep, but an uneasy feeling wakes me up.  I look up and see a small girl clad in a white dress, standing in the doorway of my bedroom.  She's motionless, quietly staring at me as I sleep.  My cat is usually nowhere to be found, which is understandable, as I don't really want to be there either.  I don't do anything and I say nothing.  I close my eyes again and go back to sleep.  Now I'm fairly certain this is a dream and not an actual occurrence.  As far as I know, there's never been a small child who resided in this house.  Plus, I've had this dream on a number of occasions at a number of my residences.

I guess I just view these dreams as a form of escape.  When life gets me too down, here, I can close my eyes and escape to someplace wonderful.  I did the same as a kid, too.  My childhood was not that easy.  Growing up in an alcoholic home, life is rarely easy.  I didn't have it as bad as some kids, but I felt the brunt of a lot of hate and mistreatment.  I guess that's why I fell in love with the cinema, as a young kid.  I saw it as a way to escape from my day-to-day life, and be somewhere or someone else.  I guess that's why as an adult, I continue the practice, watching way too much television and viewing a f*ck-of-a-lot of movies.  At last count, I can't remember how many movies I have in my collection.

That being said, I can see on the wall that I need to get some shit done and bills to pay.  After all is said and done...; Life is but a dream.., sweetheart.