I've been recovering from surgery, a totally worthless zombie sleeping in restless 45 minute bursts. That's apparently just enough time to get some REM sleep in.
A reoccurring figure in my dreams is George Clooney. Which is very odd.
While I'm a Celebrity Whore, Clooney has never been on my Main Men List. Not that he's done anything wrong. In actuality, he's about as cool as a star can be without becoming annoying. He comes across as a remarkably intelligent celebrity, probably even an intelligent man, period. He makes only the movies he wants, small box office be damned. PR be damned, he sticks up for what he believes in and speaks out against bullshit. His attractiveness is apparent in that Old-Hollywood way, his sense of humor legendary, his stomach ulcers and drinking problem proves he's just a normal guy with real problems, despite the great life he's made.
I've never seen ER.
Movie-wise, I've seen "Oh Brother...", "Intolerable Cruelty," "One Fine Day," "Ocean's Eleven" and one of THE greatest movies of all time, "Out of Sight."
That's my run down on George Clooney.
Yet he's been an avenging angel and nursemaid in my post-surgery dreams.
If I were up to speed, I'd be all over the analysis. Instead, I'm dependent upon Vicodin every 2 hours, and hoping some day to once again breathe through my nose and stay awake for 8 hours or so.
While I'm physically incapable of bright thoughts, George Clooney is here to see me through this ordeal, to bring me back to the other side. I did not go looking for him. He came to me. Thank you, George.