I dreamed I was a cleric. (Yes, alright, a halfling cleric, are you happy? I’m a geek! I admit it! The fundamental mythology of my existence is the D&D core rules. Joseph Campbell would have a fit.) I was, in fact, a cleric of Apollo, although His Shininess had rather come down in the world, since he mostly demanded things made of gopherwood, and then wrote me checks that bounced. (At one point I was wandering around looking at all these checks signed by Apollo and thinking “Man, none of these are gonna clear…”) And gopherwood! Always with the gopherwood! Do you know how expensive gopherwood is? (I don’t either, but in the dream I did.) “Noah had it easy,” I grumbled to my only other fellow cleric, who was a well-meaning but deliberately helpless Valley girl type. “He just had to get everything on loan and wait for his creditors to drown.”
Disgusted by my station in life as deity-babysitter, I attempted to get work as a nurse on a caravan leaving town, only to be told that I wasn’t qualified because my one-room-apartment-that-for-some-reason-was-a-ceramics-studio wasn’t neat enough. I was moping around when one of the gods of death showed up and handed me a goblet. Hmm. What do I do with a goblet? Well, if I put it on one of the tables, the death gods will come and party, and nobody in the room, however mortally wounded, will die because the death gods are getting hammered. Useful if one is in the nursing profession, I suppose, although a table surrounded by drunken semi-translucent death gods that resemble something from the Haunted House ride at Disneyland is a little difficult to have in the house.
I woke up muttering something about the price of a cubit of gopherwood. I don’t know either, excepct that now I’m a little curious about what the heck gopherwood actually IS.
And tonight, my stepmom is fixing a turducken. I almost don’t care how it tastes, I just wanna see one of these things.