I woke up from a weird, red-wine inspired dream about people I think I used to know. It was strange, and disturbing, and I think vaguely sexual, though it faded away all too quickly before I could digest who or what I was dreaming about.

I woke feeling spacey, though, and not only because of the cold from which I’m recoovering, and last night’s bottle of saddleback merlot.

I woke, though, with with Gillian Welch’s Time (The Revelator) stuck in my head; not Welch’s own version, but my friend Ken’s brilliant cover (about which I’ve written before, though alas, he’s never recorded it, so I can’t link to it), a song of soaring beauty and intensity, at least the way Ken does it, and a song which winds up seeming to mean so much more when sung than the lyrics seem to say when read. Funny how music can do that to words.

I wanted to go back to bed and seek the dream, figure out who or what or where was in my head, but coffee called me and the need to get to work made a return to bed impossible.

Now, nine hours later, I’ve still got Revalator going thought my head, and I still want to go back to bed and chase that dream.