Dull and Depressing

I think it was Aristotle who once said that throughout human history blogging arose only after the basic necessities of life (food, shelter, etc.) had been secured. Huh? It couldn't have been Aristotle? Well, whoever said it knew what he was talking about because these days, between family and work commitments, I haven't had a spare moment to give any thought to this blog aside from throwing up a few pictures now and then. It's gotten so bad that even my dreams are dull and depressing. How dull and depressing? So dull and depressing that I'd advise you to stop reading right now. Last night I had what might conceivably be the dullest, most depressing dream in all of recorded history. Last night I dreamed that my armpits were smelly. Yeah, that's right, and that's all there was to the dream. I was working in my office and, for some reason, I lifted up my right arm and took a whiff and discovered that I had BO. End of dream. Now I ask you, with dreams like that who the fuck needs sleep? How I long for those days, so long ago now, when I would dream of flying over vast oceans (even if it inevitably meant that I had wet the bed). Even a good nightmare would be welcome: I once woke up with the realization that, in my dream, I had made love with Barbara Streisand. While it seemed pretty good in the dream, it's difficult to convey the sheer horror I felt when I woke up. (There are a lot of good reasons for ignoring Freud, and not all of them are "scientific." That is, there are some things better left un-contemplated!) Anyway, the fantastic, the horrible, anything is better than the dull and depressing dream of the mundane. Tonight I'll probably dream that I have a hole in one of my socks or something...