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And seriously.... his motherfucking hand? I was bored, too. I remember my mind wandering something fierce. He had my boyfriend’s cock, too. So... on that one level, I was faithful. Because yes, in dreams I feel terribly ashamed if I happen to give a celebrity pity blowjobs. I am such an idiot sometimes.
Another fucking dream. Asshole disappeared from my life, from his own life, over a year ago. I waited patiently for a long time, but a year.. that's enough. Now I just hope he doesn't un-disappear, because I'm weak.
Large portion of the dream is forgotten. I think there was trekking of some kind. Lots of trekking. To a couple of tiny cabins. There was some weird doubleness throughout. Two cabins, two beds in each. Of course our party had to go into the other one first, because I dream-logic knew he was in the second.
Finally, second cabin. We of course have to go to the other bed. I'm sneaking looks at the one he's in. Some kind of illness, or.. I don't know. It didn't feel like the present. Medicine was still at that stage where stuffing someone in bed was the best you could do if you couldn't deliver a baby or cut something off and then stick them in bed. So it could have been anything. Near-death or a headache.
People surrounding his bed. I couldn't see. Something, I'm assuming social boundaries, kept me from yelling "FUCK ALL Y'ALL" and just walking over there. Possibly we were discussing saving the world. Or just telling the nurses about soap and hot water.
I don't remember dreaming walking over to him. I don't remember dreaming any words. All I remember is dreaming the fulfillment and joy I felt when we pressed our foreheads together. Skull to skull, brain to brain. World to world. Closed eyes, happy to be close.
Then I woke up. Slit my throat without grace. Ashes. Pain and longing replacing fulfillment and joy. Such a stupid, small thing, but absence makes ash of nearly everything. Ash in my mouth, ash in my heart. Sludge pumping through my veins. I mostly feel okay, not great but okay, these days. Somehow this makes seriously dark moments worse than when they were the norm.
Me and him, the new him, (the him that, if I'm lucky, will make peace with his own mental issues and be willing to date me at some point, years from now) somehow in what seemed to be the 19th century. Chaperones everywhere, in a large house in a not-city, not-town.
Hours of tortured looks, thwarted plans. Finally, we hang back as the ceremony begins. It's so hot that the women are permitted to be somewhat stripped down, as are the men, this was definitely a local event. Probably a marriage. So I'm wearing a corset of some sort, and it's hell in the heat.
He loosens the laces, me sitting on the floor in front of him sitting in a chair. Air on my skin, relief from the tightlacing. My flesh angry-red from the pressure. He rubs it, trying to sooth. There is desire and passion and need flowing between us, a pure form of chemistry I hadn't believe in before I met him, before we began.. helping each other with basic needs.
And that's it. We don't fuck, we don't make love, we don't do the hybrid of those two, with no name. He just scoots to the floor and presses himself against my back, and I'm happy. Because it's a signal. A signal that he's ready.
I had a dream like a couple weeks to a month ago or so, and Phantom was in it. I don't remember much, partially because it was a little while ago now, except for that part. It was one of those dreams that skips around of course, as in you're with some people somewhere and then sometime later you're somewhere else with different people. Of course the part with Phantom would be the part that I remember but I'm not going into detail because he could possibly see this or someone else will and they may tell him so too bad. Besides, it's my dream so I can do what I want with it and decide what to share and not to share about it. Also it'd be a little awkward/weird to say it on here even if this is anonymous. I will say that I liked it, quite a bit actually. I was a little surprised by it but I liked it.
I dreamt for the first time in weeks last night and of course you were in it. We were talking about a mentally handicapped individual who wanted to be in a D/s relationship under this woman for whom he had fallen. There was an upcoming court case about it and we were in a coffee shop discussing the ethical implications of the couple's predicament. I remember most my dream self forming some sort of argument to counter yours but the whole time just recalling how beautiful you looked in the sunlight. I woke up remembering just how much I missed the long-winded and often drunken moral debates we used to share and how attracted I was to what your arguments always revealed about your heart and mind. Even when I vehemently opposed a position of yours, I held such great respect for you.
I hate how dreams do that...reveal to us the longings or desires we're much more capable of ignoring or pretending away when we're sober and wide awake. The worst part is dreams reveal not only the secret longings that touch you the deepest but I always wake up worth this strong urge to act on them, even though I'm all the more convinced they're indicative of the want to live in the past or in a dream.
But then the day we stop dreaming is the day we grow old...and what if one of these times a dream will reveal to us a longing worth pursuing at all costs? Sometimes it seems that the incredible risk is worth it if only because facing it means you have to confront your deepest fears and be honest with yourself in a way so few seem even capable of. Even if it ends such that the worst of your fears are realized, it's hard to find regret in having acted with courage you were unaware you could even muster.
I was at my grandparents house, making dinner with my mamaw. Some of my aunts and uncles were there, and when we were all ready to eat, I realized that I couldn't find the chicken casserole that I had prepared with my grandma. I was asking everyone where it went, but no one would help me. I was so upset, because all I wanted to eat was the food I had made with my mamaw, and I couldn't find it. And suddenly, in my dream, it struck me... There was no chicken casserole. There was no family at my grandparent's house. My grandparents are dead. I woke up crying, and for a half hour, I couldn't stop. Sometimes it feels like this will never stop hurting.
it starts with me wandering some oddly large hallway, almost like a street inside some futuristic building. Not an interesting futuristic, though. I see you and her as you see me. I come up to talk to you, and you look disgusted. Flashes of you calling me the names I deserve, and me holding my hands up in supplication, begging you to just listen. I have to assure her I just want to apologize for mistakes past. She's very protective of you. I'm sure she's seen the damage I left.
We sit. You're beautiful. I will always love you, but I don't tell you that. Instead I explain, and apologize. Apologize for taking you for granted. Apologize for being so thoughtlessly cruel. Youth is the reason, but no excuse. I apologize, and cry, and explain I know how badly I fucked up. How large and often the mistakes were. I spill verbal guilt and drip liquid melancholy.
You listen with a serious look. When I finish with "That's is I guess," you smile. I get to see you smile. I used to make you smile fifty times a day, for eight hundred some days in a row. You lean over and hug me, and your touch, after six years, feels like home. Your voice, after four years, is pure joy to hear. I no longer carry the guilt, it disappears. Perhaps going into a large reserve, ready to be doled out to the next person who treats someone like shit and then breaks their heart without even knowing what they've done until years later.
Then, because it's a dream and my brain is nothing if selfish, foolish, and self-indulgent, your girl disappears and we're trying to escape the Borg cube or whatever we're in together. Us against them again.
I had the strangest ones last night, or I should say this morning and afternoon since my body decided to sleep until 4pm. That's usually how I know my mind was truly happy, when it will just let go and stay asleep for half of the day. Everything I knew was mixed up in the dreams. It all made sense in a way, but it was all still slightly off. I don't feel like going into too much detail about the personal parts of my dream, but I will say it ended with me watching a show on TV that had the Progressive chick Flo doing a cooking show on the Food Network. Weirdness. Surely, the mixed nature of my realities inside of the dreams must mean something for my subconscious mind...
But, just like every single day, I woke up right when it was getting good and found that once again my reality is still here and it is still as bland and pathetic as I left it. Why must my dreams be so much better than my reality?
My turn! I had a dream the other night that I was back in Florida, walking with two male friends. It was a bright, sunny day, which is important because of how that relates to time in the waking world. We turned a corner, and the Joker was following us. I noticed him and said nothing. We turned another corner, and he was still following us. Soon he had a corkscrew to my friend's back. I said "Joker wait! Robert Pattinson is downtown, we'll get him to kill me and I can take over his body," because apparently that was a power I had in this dream, "and it will be way more hilarious!" The Joker agreed that this would, in fact, be way more hilarious. We three went downtown; the Joker, my friend (who had not gotten the corkscrew in his back, though he hadn't died) and I. As we approached the building where Robert Pattinson was supposed to be, I discovered he couldn't be inside, because it was not his tie that was rolled up outside the door. His was plain gray, this one was gray and black with little Batman symbols. I told this to the Joker and my friend, and we went next door to a bar. The Joker went to the back and started telling jokes. I remember talking to a man in a green shirt, but he didn't laugh. No one did except for me and my friend; I remember the jokes being vaguely funny, but nothing else about them. The Joker and I walked to the front of the bar, next to my friend. His skin got tight and he grew claws. The next thing I knew he was ripping my friend to shreds. I calmly walked out of the bar and to my car, which was parked outside of the previous building.
I couldn't decide to put this under 'dream' or 'whatthehell.' Something about a lot of flooding. Not a Noah's ark kind of flood, just... flooded fields and overgrown rivers. I was stepping carefully around the deep parts, somehow reminiscent of skirting puddles as a kindergartner. I love water. It makes me uncomfortable to be in the middle of the country. I may be closer to the Pacific or the Atlantic, but they're both so far away, what does it matter? There's a lake within a quarter mile of here, and that helps, but I still feel cut off, somehow. Anyway, this flooding was treated by the people I interacted with as a regular thing, as expected as the yearly rise of the Nile. I reached a point where a naturally raised piece of land ran along deep water, and these giant, fuckoff, severely creepy leechlike things were everywhere. These people, goodnatured slight rednecks, were trying to strain them from the water. I don't know if it was a safety issue or they were hungry or what. That's one of the things I hate about even the most complex dreams, the brain still leaves so many gaps. I watched them catch these wiggly little black tubes with mouths for what felt like an hour, eventually helping, grabbing them around what passed for their neck and throwing them in a bucket. There's something in between here, something about searching through a house for something direly important. I don't remember what it was. I then received a package from someone whom I've lusted after, physically and mentally, on and off for years. It contained four quarters wrapped in a parchment-type paper, his expired Indiana driver's license, which I was thrilled to have due to the picture, three unmarked keys on a keyring and a long letter explaining why he trusted me and was so glad to have me as a friend, no matter what the distance. I don't even know what the hell. I can't explain the giant fuckoff leeches, but I'm assuming the floods were due to me missing large amounts of water, and the package, well, I don't have friends like that. I have friends who need me when the asshole they've been dumped by before dumps me again. I have friends who want magical answers. I don't have any friends with whom I have any kind of real understanding. -shrug-
When I have a facefull of opiates, I dream these silly, long, self-indulgent dreams. I am the queen, the rockstar, the savior, the hot girl. Everyone loves my brain, my hair, my keen wit, my eyes, my observations, my tits. I'm eating Bai Ling's pussy while being awarded the Nobel Prize for fabulousness. I'm escorting Helena Bonham-Carter(-Burton?) down the red carpet. My hair, my clothes, the expensive duds of an alternative peacock. My petty little revenges are so sweet. I'm the blinding angel, here to give you food medicine water wisdom protection comfort absolution love a sense of purpose a broken nose a coy smile and a glimpse of celestial ass on the way out. When I'm detoxing, my mind comes up with these elaborate, hours-long dope runs. I fall so far when I close my eyes each night. I'm ripping off cancer patients, the elderly, simple trusting souls who have undergone major surgery. I'm sneaking in the hospital to stuff Oxy Contin up my nose. Running a truck full of Percocet off of the road, knocking out the driver, and gulping down handful after bloodstained handful. I do things I would never do in real life, sober or floating out of my mind on a rising pile of white/blue/pink powder. Now that I've got a bit of sobriety under my belt, my dreams are stressed, hassled, and the seem to be slowly scraping the paint off of my soul. I'm in the circus, but it's not fun. I'm moving to another place, but I'm not excited. Clinical fucking, staying in bed all day, hiding from the wonders my subconscious insists are out there. I'm so sick of dreaming. I'm choking on these stupid dreams, they're in my bloodstream like a virus, like cholesterol, lumpy gravy blocking my arteries. Balls.
In the last one, I remember opening up a calendar that you had sent me for 2010. It was a custom wall calendar full of pictures of you. The pictures were a mix of you posing sexually and what seemed like documentation of violent abuse in your life. You were underwater in many of the pictures. Sometimes in a bathing suit, sometimes in all of your clothes. Sometimes in swimming pools, sometimes in indistinct bodies of water.
Someone had done something to your legs when you were a little girl. They had deep lacerations all over them, which in the picture had been closed with sutures. There was still blood on you from whatever happened. There were more pictures of you with bruises, cuts... crying, running... I didn't know what to make of it all.
In another one of the dreams I was in the middle of some sort of civil unrest in an old city at night. Possibly a European city. Police were beating and shooting people indiscriminately and there was the sense that absolutely any of the people nearby could try to take our lives at any moment. There were bodies scattered on the roads and the occasional streetlights would illuminate the blood on the ground.
In another dream I was setting up a living area in a basement apartment that I had apparently just rented. Suddenly I heard the footsteps of approaching attackers and I fled through a series of maintenance corridors, then into a long network of underground utility rooms for the building's plumbing, ventilation, boiler, electrical systems, etc. It seemed to go on forever, and the attackers were following me the whole time. There were so many places to hide, but I couldn't stop running.
I insisted to myself that I was calm, despite what my racing heart and sweaty forehead suggested. After I had lain on the bed, assistants began readying leather straps for my wrists. I indicated that that wouldn't be necessary, but the doctor replied, "You might involuntarily move around and injure yourself. This is just a safeguard."
The staff took an agonizingly long time preparing the equipment, leaving me to try to center myself and try not to complain in my head about how they didn't do all of these preparations before I even showed up. My heart jumped slightly when I caught glimpse of one of the syringes, and I reassured myself that, like always, there's no reason to worry.
The room was dead silent when someone started slowly putting a needle into the side of my neck, gradually, methodically, as if painting a tiny picture or playing a high-stakes game of Operation. I felt pressure, that unmistakable feeling of metal penetrating skin, then traveling through flesh, then after a long moment, the needle's unsettling arrival at some structure in my throat that I couldn't identify. I unsuccessfully tried to stifle a noise of discomfort, like an audible grimace. The sound broke the silence and echoed through my mind for the next minute as the doctor manipulated my throat and fiddled with the needle.
The doctor's body language abruptly changed to indicate that he had finished, and he unceremoniously pulled the needle and another tool that he was using out of the side of my throat. In the split-second that followed, I felt as if he were suddenly grasping my throat with his hand, though he had already walked away. I felt something lightly touch my throat, like a fingertip, tracing a line down to my chest from the spot where the needle had been. I gave a worried look to the staff nearby, but they focused their attention on my neck and suddenly grew panicked.
My vision blurred and ears crackled and rang with a high-pitched tone, but I could still feel the hot blood pouring down my chest and splashing onto my face. I tried to reach up to stop the flow, but my wrists were still bound and my attempts to lean over and force my hand to connect to my throat only seemed to make the fountain of blood burst out of me with more force.
Helpless, I wordlessly pleaded in the direction of the blurry shape of the doctor. I could faintly see more and more of my surroundings getting splashed with red. The nurses nervously shifted their feet and murmured something I couldn't understand to the doctor, who was hurriedly manipulating something on a nearby table. The blood was still washing over me and making my clothes heavy, and my shirt stick to my chest.
The doctor finally approached me with a handful of gauze and pressed it firmly against my throat. He barked an order at his staff. I remember thinking to myself that it was strange that they were dimming the lights at a time like that. I felt the pressure on my wrists caused by me tugging at the restraints gradually ease, ending with my arms coming to rest on the cold metal bars underneath.
We were all walking through a field late at night. We couldn't see much of anything, except the glow of distant cities creeping over the horizon. We began to become aware of an approaching rumbling sound. What seemed like a single plane approaching soon grew into three, then ten, then dozens. Through the thick clouds above us, fully blotting out the moon and the stars, we could see the outline of countless small planes racing overhead and hear nothing but an overwhelming chorus of angry engines. We all felt that some distant war had finally caught up with us.
It doesn't usually bother me when I dream about guys other than my partner, because usually they're either fictional characters or celebrities, and even if they are real people it's always just a grand old sex dream with not all that much emotion involved. But when it is someone I know, and it's not even sex at all, just dreamed love and comfort and closeness... I don't know, should I worry?
In last night's dream, I was outside, on the street, in the downtown area of some city I didn't recognize. Up in the western sky, the moon started swaying back and forth, then one of the stars suddenly grew as large as the sun, but dim enough to only illuminate the night as much as fireworks or an aging, amber streetlight. This star grew to encompass the majority of the sky as the moon continued moving in a jerking, unpredictable path, noticeably growing and shrinking as it did so. When the star grew especially large, a texture was barely visible on it, then disappeared in a haze as the object would shrink again. Either the nature of this event or its effects on one's sanity distorted each witness's sense of scale and had a strange effect of distorting the eye's natural blind spots, which would increase or decrease in prominence erratically.
The people around me were panicking, running, screaming in confusion and religious terror. As the exotic heavenly bodies grew larger, a faint buzz filled the air that could be felt as well as heard, like the sizzling of oil on a pan coming nearer and nearer to you. Sight of this scene was traumatizing to the minds of all witnesses, whose brains tried desperately to augment the viewers' sense of scale and understanding of the world to reconcile seeing something so impossible and terrifying, as a beetle might try to discern what it was experiencing in the moment between crawling peacefully across a blade of grass and being tossed violently around the innards of a lawn mower. Indeed, the sheer scale of the incomprehensible display in the sky invoked a primal terror known by any small animals in the presence of a massive object, the inherent malice and danger of which is instinctively assumed.
People nearby fell to the ground, paralyzed by their minds' inability to grasp what was being perceived. Those that hadn't already started running tried unsuccessfully to form words and speak, either to elicit some sort of catharsis for their growing insanity or as an external manifestation of wanting desperately to hear a voice explain to them what was happening.
Driving around the gritty, industrial part of a city looking for her. I accidentally drove into a junkyard and passed by the confused and violent-looking owners on my way back out. I slowed down and said something to them, and one of them reached into my car and pushed the odometer knob in, setting it back to zero and inexplicably making my car turn off and refuse to start again. I yelled something at him as he walked away, and he and the group that he was with started running after me. Cue an extended chase through the buildings and neighborhoods surrounding this junkyard.
I went on a vacation to a small tropical island. I brought a bunch of stuff with me; it seemed like far more than I actually own (which isn't much). All of this stuff was scattered in boxes and crates all over the beach. After a bit of exploration, I started swimming and realized that there were a half-dozen sea lions swimming in the area too, and approaching me. I quickly discovered that they could speak English (though I don't remember what they were saying), and that they had malicious intent. They tried biting at me and pulling me underwater, but I fought them off and got back onto the beach. In the dream, I owned a revolver and a semiautomatic pistol. I had the semiauto on me, but the revolver was being fished out of a crate by one of those tricksy and increasingly anthropomorphic sea lions. I rushed up to stop him, but he managed to get the loaded revolver out and aim it at me. It was then that I remembered that I never purchased ammunition for the semiauto, so it was definitely empty. The sea lion said something to me that convinced me that he was about to shoot me, so I dove in to wrestle the gun out of his flipperhands. In the struggle, he fired all of its five shots, and two went through my right shoulder. Realizing that the gun was now empty and that those were the only five bullets that I brought with me (the rest having been expended at a firing range a week earlier), I punched the sea lion in his whiskery face and walked away, knowing that those fuckers couldn't cause me any more significant trouble.
I had infiltrated a cult, either for the purposes of bringing it down or just for investigation. I found myself in the middle of a crowd seated in a large auditorium. Everyone except for me was following the cult's procedure of wearing a bright yellow shirt, putting a picture of a particular man (presumably the cult's leader) on one's forehead, and securing the picture with a rubber band wrapped around one's head. The crowd started chanting and swaying and the people around me noticed that I wasn't wearing the proper color or wearing that dude's picture on my face. Knowing that I needed to keep the security guards patrolling through the aisles from noticing me in the middle of the crowd, not following along, I tried to fake it. I grabbed a bright yellow piece of cloth on the floor and draped it across my chest. I cut a picture out of a brochure that I was holding onto, licked it, and stuck it on my forehead. That did the trick. After the ceremony ended, I ninja-ed out of the building (into back kitchen, through maintenance corridor, up ladder, across roof, over to adjacent building, down tree, then into my car) and informed a group of confidants about what I observed.
Sometimes my subconscious really likes to mess with me. It acted like an ordinary dream at first, being confusing, and full of weird imagery. Then, at the end, it decides to hit me like a ton of bricks.
As I stood with a handful of decapitated stems that used to be roses and tulips, and I mourned the loss of my tiara, I started to cry because my brother was leaving. Then he just hugged me and said, "Sometimes I forget you're just a kid in the world."
Sometimes I think that the past three years of my life have been a very elaborate dream with all the fixings : turmoil, strife, heart ache, happiness, love, hate, depression, joy, longing, et cetera. I often wonder this because it is hard for me to see how I got to this place in the first place. I'm in a HUGE city, so far away from my old abode that I can hardly remember its features. The friends I make are all so exotic in such different ways. I have friends from all over the world now, not because I have traveled there but because they have come here for schooling. Their lives are so very interesting.
I used to worry that my years were an illusion, I used to seriously think that I would wake up and all of the things that had happened, all the people I love, would all just be figments of my imagination.
I had a dream last night that people were after me for this can of gold flakes that I kept snorting like cocaine. they were chasing me so I decided to go into this sports car and ask the family to drive. They were driving, but the others were in a car too. I hid in the trunk when they passed. I somehow fell out of the trunk and they got me. They took me to my own home and trashed it. eating eggs and peppers. I hate eggs. And trying to get me to eat it.
That's when I make my escape. I ran out to the car where my grandfather must have luckily left his keys in and where I knew that it had a full tank of gas. I escaped and suddenly Donnie was with me. He was saying how it was our anniversary and that we should celebrate, but I'm like "My house is being ransacked I'm going to the police first." He grudgingly says fine.
We stood behind the fence staring into the mob like crowd hundreds of feet away. We held bows, and without a thought, I let an arrow fly into the crowd. Contact. Again and again I shot the bow and then I hit a friend.
Anxiety swept over me as I walked through the quad. The silver camero with the crazy driver was right behind me. Why weren't they on the road? Suddenly very scared, (was I a target?), I ran toward my dorm. But it wasn't my dorm. It was my high school, and the doors were closing, not inward or outward as a door normally would, but downward like those of an ancient castle, and at the last moment I dove below the closing door, and everything was dark. I wasn't alone. And come to find out, the driver of the silver camero was dead.
I had a dream last night about this guy that I've only known for roughly a month. At the most, you could say I have a crush on the guy, but it's not to the point where I should be dreaming about him. Although, I'll be the first to admit that it was a nice dream. We didn't do anything, but there was a lot of flirting involved.
I had a really good dream last night. It was strange. I know exactly who the guy in my dream was, but I don't think I've ever talked to him, except maybe when I was 4 or something. And it is not even like it is one of those "admire him from afar" kind of things. The fact that he was in my dream was just so random!
But like I said, it was a really good dream. I don't remember exactly what happened, but I feel like my dream went through a period of a week or something. At first the guy and I just talked a bit, hung out in a group maybe, then I remember holding his hand. And that alone was enough to make me feel giddy. And then we were cuddling (one of my FAVORITE things to do btw...). And then for some reason we were running away, like we were being chased by someone. I don't know why, but we ended up in this really old ruins or something. I don't know where we were, but the place was beautiful! And then I kissed him. Right in the middle of being chased, we hid and I kissed him. It was just a peck, and then I pulled away...but then it was more. I grabbed him by the neck and pulled him into me, kissing him more passionately.
I was wandering the streets of that exciting distant city that I was once lost in, alone, for days. I was lost again, with a vague idea of a place where I could find some rest and comfort, and the vague idea of being in danger on the streets.
I walked until I found one of those narrow corridors between buildings that hid tiny, neglected apartments like a network of caves. I squeezed inside and descended a barely-lit set of stairs covered in the flakes of paint that had fallen off of the walls like leaves in autumn. Everything was covered in a layer of decay and neglect that grew thicker as I climbed down.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I found only a small landing with two doors boarded up and covered in dirt. Thinking that it was a dead end, I turn back, only to be whispered to by a girl peeking through a thin crack in one of the doors. She urged me to hurry in before anyone saw me.
Inside, it was a warm apartment, furnished modestly and inviting. She gave me a long, loving hug before quickly preparing food for me and running a bath. She told me that I was going to be safe and cared for. I'm not sure how to adequately describe the feeling of a person bringing me from a place of fear, insecurity, hunger, and discomfort into a warm, safe, caring, loving environment. I was near to tears in the dream, it was so wonderful.
The girl in the dream didn't have a name and didn't look familiar, but she represented the girls in my life. Really, I'm so lucky to have them. I really feel like they'd do anything for me, and I'd do anything for them. Just like this stranger that I found in her hidden home, they make my life so much easier to handle. They're wonderful.
It's rare that 48 hours go by without me spending time with them, but I still find myself missing them dearly. I'm going to give them both big hugs and tell them how much they're loved the moment I get the chance.
I had a dream about him last night. I had forgotten about it until just a few minutes ago. It was really random, but I liked it. We didn't really do anything. He just laid on me while I played in his hair. i think there was something else going on in the dream; like some type of fight or war or something. I don't remember though. Once again, really random, but whatever.
Do you ever have those dreams, usually bad ones in my experience, that no matter how many times you wake up you always go right back to the dream the minute you fall back asleep? That happened to me last night, and it wasn't even like the dream was that horrible, just kind of a bad experience. And every time that I fell back asleep I started dreaming about it again. It was really annoying, and finally I just got up even though I was still tired because it was the only way to make it stop.
the most important thing we share as a race in this life is our combined perception of this dream called reality. if all our attentions were diverted, if nobody paid any attention to this great flawed cage we have built for ourselves, it would vanish, and once more we would live solely at the whim and pleasure of our own intention.
As I was walking to band class (forgive me for being geeky, it's the class I have immediately following my nap.) I noticed that it was starting to storm. This wouldn't have been much of a problem, except that my sister was coming to visit me, and I didn't want her to get caught in the storm.
I got to band and after an extremely short rehearsal, the band director decided that we were better off having a party. So he broke out some snow cones and drumsticks. I left. I wanted to find my sister and make sure that she was okay. But I couldn't find her. So I went back to the band room to find my roommate, but some kids who weren't even in band had set up a table in the doorway and they wouldn't let me in. I started to climb under like it was common practice, but one of the guys was hitting on me. Super creepy.
My boyfriend left me naked in bed and alone this morning to leave town for work....I twisted around in my sheets attempting to sleep despite my lustful state....and eventually fell barely asleep, only to begin dreaming of sex,
Then my first girlfriend was there with me, and there was that same awkward tension as when she and I went to dinner together to catch up long after we had broken up. To kind of make amends, and answer lingering questions, and try to end lingering animosity. It didn't really work.
She appeared and it was awkward for a time, then she just collapsed into my arms and started crying. It was the most cathartic, fulfilling, intense moment that I've had in a dream for a long time. We would cry in each others' arms on a regular basis when we were together, because that was just the nature of a tragic relationship between two chronically depressed and suicidal young adults. It never felt more real and more worthwhile for me than when I could be there for her to cry with. I don't think I can describe in words how it made me feel, but I desperately wanted to hold on to that feeling of being someone she could run to to make everything hurt a little less, if even just for a moment.
For that moment I forgot about everything else. Once again, I could be there for her. Not just her, I could be there for somebody, genuinely. I could be a positive component of a beautiful, tragic piece of art. Maybe she was supposed to represent some part of me that I never allow to break down and cry. Maybe the dream meant that my steadfast assertion that I'm no longer attracted to her was wrong. Maybe the dream came from me missing the feeling of my heart being torn by a tragic, self-destructive relationship. Maybe the dream came from me feeling like it's been a long time since anyone's needed me.
I said that I'd take her somewhere less public where we could talk, and I drove her in silence across the city. We got out in front of the highschool that we attended when we were together, and we started walking to its entrance. Suddenly, cars started pulling up and teenagers with molotov cocktails and guns started piling out and shooting at the school and random people. I yelled for her to get back in the car and started running to intercept three guys that were trying to grab her. One of them threw a lit molotov cocktail at her feet, but the flame went out in the air before the bottle shattered. I was able to knock over two of the guys chasing her, but was having trouble holding onto the third. I felt a very real, visceral fear that she was going to get hurt and began to fly into a frenzy to get a growing crowd of attackers away from her.
I woke up when my bed was kicked and S- announced to me that the people running the guest house where we were staying had prepared breakfast for us. For the rest of the day, I was really fucked up by the dream, as if I had just escaped from the actual events happening to me and her. I still don't know what to make of it.