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I don't have a title
Dec. 18th, 2008 08:33 amI dreamed my father right before waking this morning.
I can never decide how I feel about these dreams. He was helping me ship boxes of books from my press to a show in Dubai. The custom forms were killing me. And as usual, in the dream, it made perfect sense that he was there, filling out forms in his strong handwriting, and I was wrestling with boxes and thanking him for the help, while MM got other things together for the shipping.
A really unremarkable dream, all around.
Until the alarm went off, and as usual...I had to remember that he's not around to help me pack books for anywhere.
I feel comforted and grieved at the same time. The number of times that we worked together on things, me at his shop, helping him pack probes for a customer or a show... Copying his papers for a presentation at an IEEE symposium... Hell, soldering circuit boards or running the drill press... I spent every summer between the ages of 10 and 17, working in his shop. It was how I earned money to go to the conventions.
It was like old times. Except he was helping me in *my* "shop" this time. In life, it's not something that ever happened.
Today, is hard. I want my father back.
I can never decide how I feel about these dreams. He was helping me ship boxes of books from my press to a show in Dubai. The custom forms were killing me. And as usual, in the dream, it made perfect sense that he was there, filling out forms in his strong handwriting, and I was wrestling with boxes and thanking him for the help, while MM got other things together for the shipping.
A really unremarkable dream, all around.
Until the alarm went off, and as usual...I had to remember that he's not around to help me pack books for anywhere.
I feel comforted and grieved at the same time. The number of times that we worked together on things, me at his shop, helping him pack probes for a customer or a show... Copying his papers for a presentation at an IEEE symposium... Hell, soldering circuit boards or running the drill press... I spent every summer between the ages of 10 and 17, working in his shop. It was how I earned money to go to the conventions.
It was like old times. Except he was helping me in *my* "shop" this time. In life, it's not something that ever happened.
Today, is hard. I want my father back.
