Strange Dreams and Great Expectations

Had a dream last night where I kissed an older woman in the middle of a camp soccer game, then later confessed so to my mother.  Other details slipped my mind that now seem more relevant;  All that's left is that particular Freudian field day.  

I tend not to believe in dream analysis on any literal basis (ie: flying represents lack of control, carrots represent the phallus, cupcakes represent childhood), but it's easy to see why people are fascinated by the unintentional creations of their brains.  People have a difficult time believing that dreams have no meaning; thoughout history, we have demanded meaning of anything complex and strange.  The visions or oracles, astrology, the dialectic between coincidence and fate, all good examples.  Dreams are another deep pool in which we fish for reason.  

More on this later, maybe, if the dreams are weird enough to report.

I am playing a show tonight, opening for a band called The Accident That Led Me to The World, a dreamy title if I do say so.  I have come in recent times to become a little superstitious about shows:  If the last was particularly good, I naturally repeat everything from that day in similar fashion.  In the past I've found this habit disgusting in the sports world, which ought to have everything to do with skill (besides, superstition has a way of being unhygienic) but I suppose music is no different.  The instinct stems from the life truth that no matter how hard you try at something, how hard you practice or prepare, there is an element of chaos in whether or not you succeed.  Copying the formula from a previous success is an attempt to re-create the biological and psychological conditions that led to it.  The accident that led me to the good show, so to speak.  The real bummer is what a lark it feels like while you're doing it, and how important it feels if it works.  If I have a bad show tonight, I can abandon the routine, but if it's good the cycle continues.  How silly.