I woke up in the predawn of yesterday with a scream on my lips and a dog pawing my face. From what I remember, I'd been dreaming about chasing a burgler out of my house. On my way to the porch to smoke a cigarette I noticed that the front door was open and a man was making a quick exit with an armful of loot. My dream reaction was to attempt a scream, but it wouldn't come out, stuck in my fear-idled throat. That's when I woke up to what I believed to be the sound of my own scream echoing in the bedroom and the neurotic dog Homer scratching at my face, telling me in his canine language that I was having a bad dream.
Of course, I had a difficult time falling asleep again. I lay in bed asking myself if I had really just screamed in my sleep. After all, Elaine hadn't stirred. She didn't turn to me and ask why I had just screamed. This is the person who is often driven to the spare bedroom by Homer's snoring (always blame the dog). Anyway, I listened to the last hour of a late night/early morning A.M. talkshow and then the news, hearing that Sly Stallone is planning on reviving Rambo, that an airplane capable of carrying 800 passengers will soon be taking to the skies, that the FCC has scared the networks to the point of absurdity. Still, I couldn't shake the dream.
When morning finally came and Elaine was fully awake I asked her if she'd heard it.
So I spent the day wondering if it happened. Why else would Homer have pawed me in the face? Why else would I have the memory of hearing a scream when I awoke? Could it have been the 7/11 burrito I had for lunch?
I'll never know. But that's why I don't have much to offer today.