Try this one on for a psychoanalytical creep-fest: I had a dream about Nigel Terry last night. Complete with “O Fortuna” soundtrack.
Was it a sexually explicit dream? God, no. That armor looks painful.
We were, in fact, shopping for houseplants at the local garden center.
So what does it mean when your average middle-class housewife shops for plants with King Arthur? Especially considering I am generally considered to have a black thumb? I am bewildered. Perhaps that’s why I remember it so clearly.
I cannot fathom what my subconscious is trying to tell me with this. I haven’t seen ‘Excalibur’ in ten years. Though I consider it to be the best Arthur movie ever made, I don’t spend any time thinking about it. So why now? And why houseplants?
*** Because I’m anal about crap like this (or maybe just obsessive), I researched the lyrics to ‘Carmina Burana’:
Sors salutis Fate is against me
et virtutis in health
michi nunc contraria, and virtue,
est affectus driven on
et defectus and weighted down,
semper in angaria. always enslaved.
Hac in hora So at this hour
sine mora without delay
corde pulsum tangite; pluck the vibrating strings;
quod per sortem since Fate
sternit fortem, strikes down the string man,
mecum omnes plangite! everyone weep with me!
Sounds like I’m pretty screwed. With houseplants.