Got a not-insignificant amount of sleep this morning. It was pretty great. Slept long enough to dream (you know how important this is). So, dream log warning:
I was walking around, as I do in dreams, and crossing paths with various random 20-somethings. College town, college dreams, I guess. Sunny but gray, backsides of buildings, urban neighborhoods. Hung out mid-afternoon with some party people; I played DJ with my portable CD player, showing them the old ways, the old tunes, the old gods. Teaching them the majesty and wonder of EinstÃ¼rzende Neubauten, The Cure, Pigface, and Big Black. They were really digging on it.
The party dwindled down to just three of us: a girl, a guy, and me. They went off to be frisky; I dejectedly sat with my music. Then they came back, sat on a couch opposite me. She started stripping and looked at me to gauge my reaction. I looked at him to gauge his. He looked back at me. She said, “So, are you the adventurous type or the thinking type?” I had a long pause.
Before things got interesting, the light hitting my bedroom curtains, which had been casting a daylight glow through a window into my dream’s party room, reached a point where it woke me up. The veil between dreaming mind and dreamingÂ body is paper thin; things such asÂ the light through the curtains, the curve of my pillow, the popping of my ceiling fan, the groan of the A/C compressors above my bedroomÂ â€” those all contributed their essences to my dream. I don’t mind, really; it was fuel to the chaotic rhythms in my brain as I tried to put a pattern on them. What resulted was a bit of what I always wanted in some way or another.
I typically don’t like writing about dreams, because they are so random and baseless that when I hear someone talk about them, I tune out, because I can’t connect. They’re just so meaningless, a string of experiences and observations that could not possibly happen in reality. But then, sometimes, a dreamÂ sticks around long enough to draw some meaning from, and I feel I have to share.