My dreams were tortured again last night, dear reader. Something’s coming. Something’s going to happen or change, but I can’t tell what. I dreamt of love and sex last night. Separately. I dreamt again of pursuit, as well. And of inevitability. I have no idea how to interpret these dreams.
Normally, my dreams fall into one of two categories: muddled and forgotten re-hashings of the recent past, or clear and memorable conundrums that don’t relate in any linear fashion to what’s currently happening in my life. Last night’s dreams were a mix of both.
It took me forever to fall asleep. Before I actually did, I spent some time in that middling area where I’m dreaming but some part of me wakes and becomes cognizant of the fact that I’m dreaming without actually leaving the dream. I dreamt that my ex-wife was lying by my side – in my bed at that very moment. It was very comforting and comfortable. But it wasn’t real, so I woke fully and walked a circle around my apartment to clear my head before it hit the pillow again.
There’s probably something buried there. I’ve dated women since being married, but those relationships did not have the same weight and depth of my relationship with my wife. I suppose I was just dreaming a pleasant memory – but not one in which I’d prefer to get lost. What did Brad Warner say?
Chasing after fantasies is always a bad idea. Stick with reality. Reality’s all you’ve got. But here’s the real secret, the real miracle:
#truth. I’m glad I woke and didn’t allow myself to get too far down that path of fantasy.
Later on, I dreamt of being on an island with a bunch of other people. The water was rising and the island was being flooded – albeit relatively slowly. But there wasn’t much time. We needed to get things together and onto a boat so that we could get off the island before it was too late.
One of my companions had a huge dick – and I mean like fucking GARGANTUAN – and all he wanted to do was f*ck the big-breasted, wide-hipped naked women that somehow seemed to be flooding our little community. I don’t know how many other communities there were on the island, but mine wasn’t the only one.
I mostly wanted to get everyone together, gather supplies, and get the hell off the island, but for whatever reason, I seemed to know that the gesture and my desires were futile: that the dude and the brown-skinned sirens were going to spend their last days effing, instead of doing something to save themselves.
Again, my dreams are painted more in emotions and feelings than actual happenings.
Ha – one of the chicks picked up an STD from the dude (“it burns,” she said, “that’s what you get for being so promiscuous”) – but that didn’t stop her from being next in line to impale herself on him.
In retrospect, I suppose that those voluptuous young ladies were sirens.
I think I just either woke up or slipped into another dream sequence, as much as it might please me to write a happy ending to the story – maybe that I gave up and escaped on my own, or with a single just-right-for-me virgin – but I don’t remember anything like that happening.
So yeah, dreams of love, dreams of sex (with, lol, consequences), dreams of some semi-unnamed relentless, inevitable doom creeping ever closer . . . I’m really not sure what all that means or what I’m supposed to do with it.
I suppose I’ll just try to make it to work on time again tomorrow.