Daydream Believer…

Here at the ole Tin Monkey, I’ve got an obvious affection for primates. When I was a kid, my best friend Jennifer and I would race off of the school bus and head into her fantastic house to watch The Monkees.

Luckily she lived on the corner right at the bus stop. Her home had two driveways. Two! This close proximity to the bus exit allowed for the anxiety that developed while running through the foyer, to the living room, past the kitchen, into the hallway, and at last to the game room to watch our beloved show, to be short and sweet.

I loved Peter. She dug Mike. In retrospect, her choice was the wiser one. Mr. Nesmith sang my favorite Monkees tune of all time, Love is Only Sleeping. Every time I feel a bit down for not having yet found my soul mate I whisper to myself, “sometimes love is only sleeping”. Hmm, maybe whispering to myself isn't the surest sign of sanity.

Yes, I’m a bit of a daydreamer. I'm also an INTJ type personality, you know, a Mastermind! How these two mesh is beyond me. I tend to see signs in little things and think that they hold some deeper meaning. For instance, a certain song came on the radio today (All Classical 89.9). This beautiful symphony was used in the soundtrack of a film that makes me think of someone from my past. We all have one or two of those heightened pulse inducing songs.

Obviously this was more than just some radio producer coming up with a song list. Yes'sir, the cosmos were connecting with me today, reminding me of the occasionally tragic but often beautiful “what weres” and “what ifs”.

And as if that song wasn't enough, I later catalogued this gorgeous handcolored engraved fashion print:

At first glance it is simply a display of the latest fashions of 1890. But I immediately focused on something else. The shy demure seated woman in all white with cropped red hair seems distracted, not by the plunging necklines on the gowns worn by her two female companions but by the young mustached piano player visible through the drawn curtains.

Take a closer look. It’s a romance hidden discretely before our eyes, a showcase of unsettled longing, or perhaps a sweet anticipation of what's to follow once his musical gig has ended. 1890, 1990, 2010…

You know, Mr. Mike Nesmith, if love is truly only sleeping I’m about ready for it to wake the hell up!

She looked at me

And the emptiness in her eyes was cruel to see Then she turned away and said,
"Once I loved, but love is dead"
And I whispered, "Sometimes love is only sleeping"

She said, "I cannot cry
And I cannot give or feel or even try"
And her voice was hard and cold
Then her sweet young face looked old
And I whispered, "Sometimes love is only sleeping"

Through the endless days and nights'
Could not help but wrap herself in sorrow (sorrow)
Through the endless days and nights
She waited for a shiny new tomorrow
Love was sleeping, sleeping...

She looked at me
And her smiling tears were warm and sweet and free
And the moonlight kissed her eyes
As it mingled with our sighs
And she whispered, "Sometimes love is only sleeping"
And she whispered, "Sometimes love is only sleeping"
Only sleeping...