So, as I am drunk, and perhaps more willing to share real things than usual, if you want to read it Ill tell you all about the single recurring dream I used to have. It went for several years, and it went like this. I was in a garden, back of a big old house. It was high summer, the kind of summer you only get below the Mason-Dixon Line: heavy, wet. There was a storm brewing and I could hear thunder over the fat moist clouds. The garden was neglected and weedy and there were fake Roman Remains and busted up statuary all over. Each time I dreamt, I got a bit closer to the big old house until at last I was inside. It too was neglected and there was nobody there, just sheets over all of the furniture and dust everywhere. I knew somehow that it was my house but didnt know why it was like that. Eventually people arrived and took the sheets off and dusted. I knew then that my family had finally arrived, and I was delighted. They didnt really seem familiar but again, I somehow knew that they were my family. I approached them, but they didnt seem to be able to see me. Each time I tried to interact it was the same: they saw each other but not me. I tried EVERYTHING. Tugging on their clothing, tapping them on the shoulder, and finally screaming and yelling, but nobody noticed. The one day, I passed one of them on the stairs and realized that theyd passed clean through me, and then I knew that I wasnt really there. They were in my house, but I was not actually there, not anymore, maybe not ever. It was like Id dreamt I was there to begin with, I guess. Anyhow, after that one, I never had that dream again.
Posted on: Sun, 28 Dec 2014 18:31:56 +0000