Weird dreams last night. Probably a combination of
ill-advised social media browsing, almost completing Lev Grossman’s “The
Magicians” which in itself is an exercise in bitterness and hatred of the world,
some sad texts from friends and a touch of Bulleit to boot… it was one of those
dreams that put you in a whole different Life and you forget who and what you
are and the reality behind it all and then you wake up bereft because – I’m
just me.
There was a dance that I was setting up, but not dancing.
There was beautiful clothing that I was uncomfortable in. There was an old
English manor with a vast hall and an attic room with a long, arched roof that
I slept in. I left notes on the window air conditioner, writing in tiny, tiny
manuscript on the plastic webbing. I remember the sunlight showing through my
writing, but I don’t remember what I wrote. I can’t see it. I remember the fireplace
and I remember the stark temperature extremes. The visit and the interruption.
The wait and the weight and the waking.
It’s all vague, but dreams often are, especially when they’re
close to the heart.
I woke, fed the cat, eventually went back to sleep. I dreamt
I was in Ellicott City but the Main Street hill was much steeper, cars parked
tightly, with my Saturn in among them. A runaway crane on heavy treads slammed
into the line of cars up at the top of the hill crushing one into the next and
the next and the next. My Saturn was obliterated somewhere in amongst the mess
along with the sound system and instruments. Crushed. I look at all this out
the window, somehow the same window I could’ve looked through in the previous
dream. I think it was a continuation, and a continuation of just heavy,
horrible loss.
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