I always want to write down my dreams so I can remember them more clearly and decipher what I want out of them.
I even checked out a load of Freud books at the New York Public Library last semester without reading a single one. Well, I cracked open ‘The Interpretation of Dreams” the day it was due back (after multiple renewals). And it basically said that what we remember from our dreams is probably constructed by our minds after we wake up anyway. It being the very short passage I decided to read out of the entire book. Slightly deflating news, that was.
On another even more unrelated to the actual dream I started this entry with the intention of detailing… I left an indelible mark on the city, and it returned the favor. I now, and until the end of time will, have a 75¢ fine on my New York Public Library card. And then I fell up an escalator that wasn’t moving and ripped up my left knee a little. Even tradesies, yeah?
Ok now to the real intentional business. My dream. I have a lot of dreams per night usually, but rarely remember any. I always have that feeling of eerie notquitethere-knowledge, like the words and images I’m trying to form are right outside of my body in that hazy cloud of almost, but I never can get to them. It’s a little more than slightly aggravating. Any. Way. The Point!
I dreamt last night about going back to an old summer job, the one at the camp with the videographers and the dinosaur and the VHS late nights and the crush. I dreamt that I went back in present time (but it was summer) and everyone I saw there from my summer had aged a little, as I have, but were quite happy to see me. One was an Alabaman that worked at my camp as well. He had gotten a comb-over, and wouldn’t stop smiling at me. And then that nuisance of a crush was there as well, but not engaged and wanting to hug me. I was getting shown back to my old computer, Colossus, by my only bearable authority figure of that summer (oh I guess I had one more, but I wanted to jump his bones… so different category of relationship), but I don’t remember if he was happy I was back or not. I’d think in reality he probably would be ambivalent to my return, but in my superhappyfuntime dream, he should have been ecstatic. Ah well, can’t win them all. Except for, in dreams, you should be able to coddammit.
So, let’s Freudian this bitch up. I obviously am dealing with some emotional acceptance issues. No shit, Sherlock. But why that guy? I mean, nondream “reality” me knows this dude is engaged to a ginger/not really my type at all, and nondream me is pretty much ok with it. Why does dream me want him to want me… besides my obvious natural human inclination towards wanting everyone to want me? I mean, I think I was attracted mostly to his cool tshirts, sarcasm, height, beard-growing abilities, and his slight attention towards me. Hey, I’m not too picky. But, since then, I have obviously found another Narcissus to my Echo (not in his character, but in my pathetic yearning for him… edit: how would i know his character, I DON’T EVEN FUCKING KNOW HIM. just one friggin night, a few hours, of genuine, intelligent conversation about deep shit, and i am head over fucking heels…. i am ridiculous. i am a fool.), and my nondream me pleads with God, the fates, or plain neurological chemistry to make me dream of him, since most likely my dreams are the only places I will ever see him again (SADNESS.) AND, as an added parenthetical notation above introduced, I had another guy (more like man, because… gah, he was a man) that summer getting my ladyfeelings all in a tither, and I didn’t dream about him. He’s engaged too, but Still So Attractive. Why did my dream have to be, of all the yearnable options of main dream characters, about freaking Champer Damper?! Do not want.
But it seems my subconscious does, in fact, want. So… why?
Gahhhh I should have read more of that book!
Fuck fuck a fuckity fuck I said a fuck fuck fuckity fuck! Afuckfuckfuck.
Addendum – Maybe he’s just supposed to be a generalized person that I wanted but could definitely more than probably never have. Sure, there was some interaction, and some genuinely positive, nice, and enjoyable interaction at that. But nothing of substance. And certainly nothing detected in the attraction levels (despite my off the charts active imagination supposing otherwise). So, yeah, such a generalization could sum up quite nicely 93% of my interactions with the males of my species. One façade of a taste, and I want to eat the whole thing. Such is my life.