Dreamer

So on this fine morning at 8:27 AM I am struck with the thematic stupidity (or misunderstood genius) that only comes in the groggy parts of the morning. My mind has been filled with dreams.

Wee Hour of the Morning Dreams:

In my night mind, I hosted a party at a large house that apparently belonged to me. Filling this dream house was a cast of characters past:

The Redheaded Vegan– clever, gentle, hilariously funny (although I never got his jokes until much later) he got married and I didn’t mind because I was in love with his roommate then, but I miss him now, particularly after seeing Resurrect Dead: The Mystery of the Toynbee Tiles. Why? The red hair? The anti-establishment mentality? The artist? The sympathetic character? I might name a child after this one, as I loved his name and adore my rose-colored recollection.

The Mad Poet-, tattooed, gin-loving, simultaneously bursting with rage and sentimentality, always writing about some woman (not me) with longing.  He helped me mend from a long-standing relationship and I am eternally grateful, despite his bizarre and erratic behavior.

The Artist Adonis- musician, artist, writer, seeping with natural beauty, never has there been such mutual attraction, I counted myself lucky to be standing next to him as volts of palpable electricity connected us. Deep regret sinks me as I remember I was not ready for him to come back from his long stay away and the opportunity to have him slipped through my frantic fingers.

The Calculating Paradox- precise, impenetrable, contradictory- both hoarding and liberating, kind and cruel, furious and funny–I was never sure what he really was, I don’t think he knew himself.

The Brother and Sister-in-Law– kind, smart, down to earth, darling beyond imagining pair - collateral damage of a disaster. It was devastating to lose them when the tie was severed. 

The Wives– all of the current women in their lives appeared as grey blobs. This may or may not have anything to do with what they are like in real life.

Why I would invite these people to my home and why they would come, I don’t know but there they were, eating from long tables cornucopiating with delectable food as the euphonious sounds of live music flowed through the house. And I was alone in as sea of couples, as they were not the only ones there, just the ones whose faces I remembered from the crowd. The Brother and Sister-in-Law, my sole allies, went to bed early. They were staying with me and decided to retire early. So I was alone, with an army of unwanted guests.

As the night wore on and the band retired, couples went home and I bid them goodbye with all the dignity I could muster. As the last couple left, I looked around and saw what appeared to be a stack of paper. My approach caused curiosity to melt into heartache. Love letters.

All in my handwriting.

Sitting in a pile.

Every affection expressed in ink returned.

Ascending the stairs and approaching the guest/storage room, I interrupted the Brother and Sister in Law in the middle of their evening enjoyment to get a raincoat that was in the spare room closet.

I walked out in a trance, into a night full of stars. The last of the cars’ taillights disappeared down the drive. And then I woke up.

Bright Light of Day Dreams:

This week during the day I have been known to play the, Who Do I Want to Work For Game. It if you are an MFA student in film you make a list of favorite directors, favorite movies, and favorite TV shows. Then you email them to a contact that you have and she says, I know some of these people, let me email them on your behalf. Then you scream, jump around, dance with your dog, then try to breathe and pretend that nothing will come of this (because nothing is that easy) and attempt to not get excited about possibilities. But damn, if daydreams aren’t delightful and renew your zest for all things creative.