Sandman, memories, friends, horror flicks

It is 12:30 AM and I cannot sleep. I have committed the crime of mind wanderings. A crime to the sleep fairy waiting to coat my eyes with the magical dust that will induce dreams. I think not on sleep. I think of old friends. Friends from when I was two or later. Friends entrusted with secretes and musings. Friends I can no longer remember their faces or laugh, but sometimes I glimpse the lilt of their voice in whispers. How many friends have I had? Many. Faded photos which I forgot to label with names and dates. Seeing their faces, I remember. A time in Mexico with “her” family. Sneaking up to K-mart with “him.” Playing truth or dare with “them.” Whispering brilliant ideas to “that one” or “another.” It’s amazing how many “hers,” “hims,” and “themes” come and go out of your live. I may have forgotten your names, I am bad like that, but I remember the moments, the scenes and actions, I am good in that way. Sand(wo)man is calling. (S)he has his(ers) rounds to attend to. After the movie which made her(im) out to be a monster, well business has dwindled. Not the movie (s)he envisioned. Somehow lower executives got hold of the treatment and demanded significant editor changes which, to sand(wo)man’s horror, twisted the job into some type of an excuse for mass murder and deceptive dreams. Once again the messenger was blamed for the message. Poor wo(man). Caught in the role of the middle (wo)man. Life is a bitch. Some loyal customers still request sand wo(man)’s services and, grateful for the job after the movie disaster where (s)he didn’t even get paid what was promised, sand(wo)man is kind enough now to wait for those of us who procrastinate before closing our eyes for the night. But s(he) is getting impatient as I stumble over memories and words and typos. Goodnight then. –a booga-booga