Dreams
I've had the strangest assortment of dreams lately, ranging from fucking depressing as all fuck and, well, weird.
There's this house, what kinda looks like my house. But it's not, it's my dad's house. He's invited me and the whole family over to celebrate his new home, and for some bizarro reason we've all accepted. Happy family day. Even though my little brother Yusef is still a fucking terror, in this dream he's still little. I think he's about 12 now; I wonder about the extent to which he is fucked up. If when he was young is any indication, he's already committed several murders throughout New Jersey and is in charge of a crack ring.
He was small, though, although not really small, he was actually mordibly obese. He looked sort of like one of the characters from Nightmare Before Christmas, the small wide boy on a leash. Leash...not a bad idea.
My little sister, though (I forget her name) is not so bad...I kind of liked her. Tanta Susan and Opa are there; they're who I most notably remember, both seem uncomfortable and angry. I'm happy for my dad; he seems not depressed and disenchanted with life. He's glad that I'm there too. Everything seems...good. Even his pyscho wife seems stable and happy, good lord. That's where I should have caught on it was a dream.
I was sitting in the kitchen, and this is where the dream seems to split. There's this doll I have at home, and it looks just like me--this little brown pudgy doll that I've had forever. My dad's holding this doll, and I remember it two ways--in one version, my little sister has ripped the arm off the doll and my dad is showing it to me. In the other, he rips the doll's arm off in front of me. My heart instantly breaks, and I can't take it anymore. My aunt's watching this. I start screaming, "WHY DO YOU ALWAYS DO THIS TO ME?" (why do you always rip my arm off?) I just keep sobbing and screaming why, and my aunt's bawling, and my dad's crying, and I'm doubled over, can't even move I'm sobbing so hard.
I woke up, thinking, oh no, my doll! Then I thought, wait, I can have the arm sewed back on. Phew. WAIT. None of that happened. Well, that saves some trouble.
Then there was the truly bizarre dream in which I met Simone at this mall--it looked sort of like Dunne's. She had this boy with her, a boy about 5, maybe 6...I can never tell these things. APPARENTLY, this was the son she'd been watching while I was away in Ireland. According to my memory in the dream, I'd had a son before I left for Ireland, like, just before I left. How this boy aged 5 years in 5 months is beyond me. In my mind, I could picture what his father looked like, but I couldn't remember his name. But somehow, that embarassing, horrible knowledge didn't really bother me. I picked up my kid and he hugged me and I never, ever ever wanted to let go of him. I loved him so, so much and I had just met him. It was as though the time we were apart didn't matter at all, until he called me by name (here's the Leyla you're warped twist--when he called me by my name, I think he said Carmen), and I stopped for a moment. "No, I'm your mother. You call me mommy or mom." That's when I woke up.
For some reason, this dream really really affected me. It makes me think that from this point on, if I get pregnant somehow, I really think I'd opt to have it. I'll not be able to keep that boy out of my mind, and even if he was only a dream, I can't imagine killing the possibility of having him.
God, I'm nuts.
The other dream I had (I had a bunch more, but this is the only other one I can remember at the moment)involved the letter Ariane wrote to Elijah Wood for me two years ago. He had sent a letter back, asking all sorts of questions and stuff. Then there was a video he'd made of him just goofing off, but he had somehow made this movie like interactive so the movie him could give me a kiss and oooooo my god the movie him was breathing on my neck AHHHH and then the movie stopped and I was sad. But then, he was there in person and we were in Leisa's house talking and laughing and we were so close to kissing for real (it all seemed very real)and then in my dream I thought, oh gosh, what time is it? I'm going to be late for class. And I woke up. I looked at the clock, and saw that I had another hour before I had to get up. I settled back down on my pillow, realized what I had been dreaming about and nearly screamed. Mother fucker, man...
I tried to go back to the dream, as we've all done before, and instead of sweet lovin with Elijah Wood, I was having sex on a chair with Billy Joel on the side of a desert road.
Not exactly what I'd been hoping for, god damn it.
Sleeping has become a simply fascinating activity.
There's this house, what kinda looks like my house. But it's not, it's my dad's house. He's invited me and the whole family over to celebrate his new home, and for some bizarro reason we've all accepted. Happy family day. Even though my little brother Yusef is still a fucking terror, in this dream he's still little. I think he's about 12 now; I wonder about the extent to which he is fucked up. If when he was young is any indication, he's already committed several murders throughout New Jersey and is in charge of a crack ring.
He was small, though, although not really small, he was actually mordibly obese. He looked sort of like one of the characters from Nightmare Before Christmas, the small wide boy on a leash. Leash...not a bad idea.
My little sister, though (I forget her name) is not so bad...I kind of liked her. Tanta Susan and Opa are there; they're who I most notably remember, both seem uncomfortable and angry. I'm happy for my dad; he seems not depressed and disenchanted with life. He's glad that I'm there too. Everything seems...good. Even his pyscho wife seems stable and happy, good lord. That's where I should have caught on it was a dream.
I was sitting in the kitchen, and this is where the dream seems to split. There's this doll I have at home, and it looks just like me--this little brown pudgy doll that I've had forever. My dad's holding this doll, and I remember it two ways--in one version, my little sister has ripped the arm off the doll and my dad is showing it to me. In the other, he rips the doll's arm off in front of me. My heart instantly breaks, and I can't take it anymore. My aunt's watching this. I start screaming, "WHY DO YOU ALWAYS DO THIS TO ME?" (why do you always rip my arm off?) I just keep sobbing and screaming why, and my aunt's bawling, and my dad's crying, and I'm doubled over, can't even move I'm sobbing so hard.
I woke up, thinking, oh no, my doll! Then I thought, wait, I can have the arm sewed back on. Phew. WAIT. None of that happened. Well, that saves some trouble.
Then there was the truly bizarre dream in which I met Simone at this mall--it looked sort of like Dunne's. She had this boy with her, a boy about 5, maybe 6...I can never tell these things. APPARENTLY, this was the son she'd been watching while I was away in Ireland. According to my memory in the dream, I'd had a son before I left for Ireland, like, just before I left. How this boy aged 5 years in 5 months is beyond me. In my mind, I could picture what his father looked like, but I couldn't remember his name. But somehow, that embarassing, horrible knowledge didn't really bother me. I picked up my kid and he hugged me and I never, ever ever wanted to let go of him. I loved him so, so much and I had just met him. It was as though the time we were apart didn't matter at all, until he called me by name (here's the Leyla you're warped twist--when he called me by my name, I think he said Carmen), and I stopped for a moment. "No, I'm your mother. You call me mommy or mom." That's when I woke up.
For some reason, this dream really really affected me. It makes me think that from this point on, if I get pregnant somehow, I really think I'd opt to have it. I'll not be able to keep that boy out of my mind, and even if he was only a dream, I can't imagine killing the possibility of having him.
God, I'm nuts.
The other dream I had (I had a bunch more, but this is the only other one I can remember at the moment)involved the letter Ariane wrote to Elijah Wood for me two years ago. He had sent a letter back, asking all sorts of questions and stuff. Then there was a video he'd made of him just goofing off, but he had somehow made this movie like interactive so the movie him could give me a kiss and oooooo my god the movie him was breathing on my neck AHHHH and then the movie stopped and I was sad. But then, he was there in person and we were in Leisa's house talking and laughing and we were so close to kissing for real (it all seemed very real)and then in my dream I thought, oh gosh, what time is it? I'm going to be late for class. And I woke up. I looked at the clock, and saw that I had another hour before I had to get up. I settled back down on my pillow, realized what I had been dreaming about and nearly screamed. Mother fucker, man...
I tried to go back to the dream, as we've all done before, and instead of sweet lovin with Elijah Wood, I was having sex on a chair with Billy Joel on the side of a desert road.
Not exactly what I'd been hoping for, god damn it.
Sleeping has become a simply fascinating activity.