Grandad in Wonderland
Grandad March 2nd, 2008
I woke this morning with a slight head on me.
I had had a very surreal dream - one of those dreams that you’d swear was almost real.
But as I sit here in the quiet of the mountains, with the birds singing outside and Sandy dozing on the window ledge, I know it was just a dream.
In the dream, I was at a huge party, and the party was full of bloggers.
We all know that bloggers don’t exist. They are just names and text that appear on computer screens, but they’re not real people. But in this dream, they had all come to life.
All the people at the party were crazy, and they had all named themselves after bloggers. There was even one very beautiful person who came up to me and whispered in my ear "I don’t exist", and then she vanished! It’s amazing what weirdness the brain can toss up.
In the dream, everyone was extremely friendly [which is another reason I know it was a dream]. There was music too, and George Bush [Dubya himself] was there. There was lots of handshaking and kissing and people calling out my name. I think there was a part in it where I made a short speech into a microphone. There was another part where I got undressed and I had my photograph taken. In another part of the dream I had to strangle someone and be photographed in the act. Was it a snuff-dream?
I hate waking up from dreams like that, because they are fun, and this was one of the best I have had since myself and Sharon Ní Bheoláin were stranded on an island.
I found the cause of the dream. There, on the kitchen table was an empty 1.5 litre whiskey bottle. I suppose one and a half litres of whiskey would induce some kind of reaction? I must cut back on my nightcaps.
But beside it was a strange and lovely piece of glass, that has "Irish Blog Awards, 2008 Best Personal Blog" written on it. I don’t know where it came from. I know it has to somehow be part of the dream, because I could never actually win one of those, no matter how much I wanted to. It is the unattainable and ultimate accolade.
I’m going to sit and watch it all day. I know it will fade slowly and eventually disappear.
The glass will go first, and the last thing I will see will be just the lettering, before that too disappears.
Like the grin on the Cheshire Cat.
