I slept for so long, after not sleeping for so long.
I feel like I don’t even care if I love the boy any more or not, he’s annoying. Why am I listening to a playlist he gave me yesterday.
I had dreams last night, so many… let’s see if I can get at any of them, in not particular order.
I was set to take the train to TX. It was a local train, and it was going to take several days. I don’t know why I was going, or what I was going to do when I got there, though I assume – work.
At first I was alone on the train, not sure how far I could venture out, not sure where it was going. The train had started in a place that I was familiar with, I recognized several stops from NYC and the outer boroughs, then just stops of that style, and then, the long empty platforms with no art or decoration as we see in NJ. Then, nothing. The horizon stretched out forever.
I was both alone and not – there were a handful of people on the train, spread out between many cars. They seemed comfortable moving between car, I do not, I never do. I don’t remember them, although one girl, thin, with reddish brown hair and an oval shaped face covered in reddish brown freckles, wearing high white tube top socks.
There was a killer on the train. He had a screw going right through his forehead, with blood (not as much blood as there should have been) collecting around the wound. At first we gathered, and then we found him.
We shoved him off at an empty stop.
Some people had to get off to change trains to Colorado.I feel like this was one of the first dreams of the night.
The narrative loosens as I try to pick it up, like the ropes that the boy and I took out of an abandoned church at the start of the weekend. I’m not sure that I want that property, the land is so dry. I don’t think I’d be able to properly use it, nothing good can grow.
I had a good weekend otherwise, though. I don’t want to talk about my weekend. I want to talk about my dreams, I fell asleep at midnight and slept for 12 hours and so something good has to come out of it, right?
I was collected with a bunch of fellow travelers, in the back porch of a camp – vacation style cabin, which we were all presumably stopping at on our way to somewhere, probably back on the same train. One man was a client, he is hugely fat, but otherwise a very nice guy (there are a few that fit that description). And he was there, sitting outside in a folding chair (is that even possible), saying that it was such a shame that I had already worn my best outfit and no one had noticed.
In my mind, I was wearing a gold denim skirt, and a turquoise tank top with gold sandals.
He was also wearing a turquoise t-shirt. Was he also wearing gold shorts? I couldn’t even tell.
There was a cat, I was half chasing and half following it, round cement blocks of raised picnic areas and other half buried structures. It was going after butterflies, and had a scar shaped like a butterfly across it’s face. There was something so strange about it’s face, I couldn’t tell if it could even see out of it’s eyes anymore.The boy was there, but I don’t feel like he did anything of importance.
As I hold on to the beginning of the dream, and fish for the end, I remember this scene that happened in the middle.
I was upstairs in the tiny loft of a cabin on campus, in the caricature dreamscape that is growing to hold all of my memories of college. I was upstairs, where there was a tiny kitchen and sleeping area1. I was pacing around with a non-descript, doughy looking boy that I can almost remember, wearing a faded black t-shirt and black shorts. He had a round head with brown hair, probably the semblance of a 5 oclock shadow.
Thinking of it, he had the same face as the man who was trying to steal my purse in another dream.
In this dream I knew him, and was sleeping with him, even though it was clear that he was sleeping with someone else, a blonde girl who was his primary lover. But he was agitated, leaning on the railing of the loft, pacing around as best one an in such a small area.
“You’re so wonderful, and talented, you shouldn’t let that talent go to waste. You have to write something. You’re going to look back on this and regret it if you don’t.”
A writing coach2 was on her way over, I knew it was raining outside. I don’t know how she was going to find my place. In the end she didn’t – I heard her knock on someone else’s door, but I didn’t go down to correct her.
By the time I did, she was gone, and I was looking around the pavement cul-de-sac alone, in the rain.1. This is the tiny version of the living spaces that were available in Upper campus, where all of my cool friends lived. 2. The writing coach was actually my 5th grade English teacher, I’ll google her up.
My coffee’s done, let’s go.