In Which I Have A Shake-Up About Smooth-Skinned Andy
I had a horrifically uncomfortable dream about Andy last night. Shook me right up.
I can't remember ever having had a dream in which Andy and I were having a conversation. Until last night.
I mean, it figures, considering the morning before was totally golden, with a dream about a beach. What a charmed existence I lead. So last night I had a dream in which we were all at some kind of camp, or some kind of family gathering place like in Dirty Dancing where you can't escape seeing people you don't want to see no matter how hard you try. We were all there, lots of people (luckily I always have a lot of people around me in these dreams--I think if it were just he and me, I would probably have a full-blown sleeping panic attack) and we're just doing camp-like activities, and up walks Andy. He looks different--probably the way my subconscious pictures him, not quite so clear, though I can remember exactly what he looks like. I especially have a very crystal clear picture in my mind of his teeth--don't ask me why.
This dream was probably the longest I have thought about Andy in probably 10 days.
My subconscious sees him a bit younger, the seventeen or eighteen-year-old Andy I've seen pictures of out of a box in his parents' upstairs. Skinny. And his teeth and mouth aren't quite right, a little funny. This subconscious Andy is smoother-skinned, beardless, with floppy hair and a much more nervous disposition. He's happier. He seems to have not quite lost all hope for his own humanity. He's got all his soul in there, still. But he's still pigheaded. And while he does seem soulful, more so than in real life, he also somehow seems empty. Like a shell. So that's not creepy.
So I am cornered by Andy, yes, cornered, there's an uncomfortable dream situation for you, and we end up in some late 80s-decorated dining room, complete with dark wood paneling and forest green wallpaper with little pink rosebuds. It's stuffy and I hate it immediately. Andy is standing in front of a chair at the head of the table, and I keep wanting to move the chair, because it repeatedly bumps against his legs whenever he moves. I'm standing at the side of the table with my palms pressed lightly onto it. I'm wearing my red converse. We are talking, and he is sorting papers, moving them from one filing basket to another, busying those hands I remember so well. Just busying them. Just moving paper from basket to basket. I ask him whether or not he is dating Caitie, he affirms that he is, and he begins to treat their relationship exactly as he treated ours--describing to me he and Caitie's interactions just as he described our interactions to other people. It breaks my heart, breaks it right in half--although it is my dream heart, not my real one, so, easily mended. I try to remember this as I am gasping for breath in the dream. He loves Caitie. His hair is blond and ruffly, not at all like what I knew. He is sorting the papers so intensely with those hands, those hands, those hands. I am stuffy and crying a little.
Luckily there was that humongous storm in real life early this morning. The thunder cracked so loud and so close that it rattled my window, which woke me up, and I was relieved. I was relieved that things like thunder exist to rattle my windows, and then I saw my seashell nightlight (yes) and I felt better.
This morning, overall, I am very surprised at how good I am feeling. Regardless of that horrible dream, regardless of my up-in-the-air with William Rubio, regardless of having to walk about sixty miles to campus this morning, regardless of not doing any homework, I am feeling pretty chipper.
Reasons I am happy, besides intrinsically: (Bryant told me to make a list of things I am happy with whenever I am sad)
1. William Rubio pulling out his camera and taking pictures of us last night. You tell me what you think this means. Physical evidence.
2. Getting breadsticks and noodles later in the Wilk.
3. Hot chocolate.
4. Striped socks today.
5. Blogging more often and writing and just letting it pour out like milk.
6. The thunder this morning.
7. Bryant coming to visit and going to LIttle Shop with me.
8. Sewing I did yesterday.
I can't remember ever having had a dream in which Andy and I were having a conversation. Until last night.
I mean, it figures, considering the morning before was totally golden, with a dream about a beach. What a charmed existence I lead. So last night I had a dream in which we were all at some kind of camp, or some kind of family gathering place like in Dirty Dancing where you can't escape seeing people you don't want to see no matter how hard you try. We were all there, lots of people (luckily I always have a lot of people around me in these dreams--I think if it were just he and me, I would probably have a full-blown sleeping panic attack) and we're just doing camp-like activities, and up walks Andy. He looks different--probably the way my subconscious pictures him, not quite so clear, though I can remember exactly what he looks like. I especially have a very crystal clear picture in my mind of his teeth--don't ask me why.
This dream was probably the longest I have thought about Andy in probably 10 days.
My subconscious sees him a bit younger, the seventeen or eighteen-year-old Andy I've seen pictures of out of a box in his parents' upstairs. Skinny. And his teeth and mouth aren't quite right, a little funny. This subconscious Andy is smoother-skinned, beardless, with floppy hair and a much more nervous disposition. He's happier. He seems to have not quite lost all hope for his own humanity. He's got all his soul in there, still. But he's still pigheaded. And while he does seem soulful, more so than in real life, he also somehow seems empty. Like a shell. So that's not creepy.
So I am cornered by Andy, yes, cornered, there's an uncomfortable dream situation for you, and we end up in some late 80s-decorated dining room, complete with dark wood paneling and forest green wallpaper with little pink rosebuds. It's stuffy and I hate it immediately. Andy is standing in front of a chair at the head of the table, and I keep wanting to move the chair, because it repeatedly bumps against his legs whenever he moves. I'm standing at the side of the table with my palms pressed lightly onto it. I'm wearing my red converse. We are talking, and he is sorting papers, moving them from one filing basket to another, busying those hands I remember so well. Just busying them. Just moving paper from basket to basket. I ask him whether or not he is dating Caitie, he affirms that he is, and he begins to treat their relationship exactly as he treated ours--describing to me he and Caitie's interactions just as he described our interactions to other people. It breaks my heart, breaks it right in half--although it is my dream heart, not my real one, so, easily mended. I try to remember this as I am gasping for breath in the dream. He loves Caitie. His hair is blond and ruffly, not at all like what I knew. He is sorting the papers so intensely with those hands, those hands, those hands. I am stuffy and crying a little.
Luckily there was that humongous storm in real life early this morning. The thunder cracked so loud and so close that it rattled my window, which woke me up, and I was relieved. I was relieved that things like thunder exist to rattle my windows, and then I saw my seashell nightlight (yes) and I felt better.
This morning, overall, I am very surprised at how good I am feeling. Regardless of that horrible dream, regardless of my up-in-the-air with William Rubio, regardless of having to walk about sixty miles to campus this morning, regardless of not doing any homework, I am feeling pretty chipper.
Reasons I am happy, besides intrinsically: (Bryant told me to make a list of things I am happy with whenever I am sad)
1. William Rubio pulling out his camera and taking pictures of us last night. You tell me what you think this means. Physical evidence.
2. Getting breadsticks and noodles later in the Wilk.
3. Hot chocolate.
4. Striped socks today.
5. Blogging more often and writing and just letting it pour out like milk.
6. The thunder this morning.
7. Bryant coming to visit and going to LIttle Shop with me.
8. Sewing I did yesterday.