Just a Dream / That's what it seems / Finally back to Writing! / Writing Blog / Horror Blog

I dreamt feverishly last night. This wasn’t a typical “fever” as in a high temperature from COVID, it was a time of the past, mixed with my adult years, and slightly disturbing. Like many dreams that have occurred during my much treasured R.E.M., it was quick, but detailed, detailed, but blurred the lines of reality, and the very detail that I want muddied at every turn. The blur was enough to make me question the names, the faces, the dates in history, but I still got enough to wake up and understand that maybe my dreams do not have meaning, that would be the rational explanation. I couldn’t resist towing the line, and nudging the dream further than what I should have.

It’s just like me to skip over that blurred detail, so I will para-guide (a made up word, I think, for the occasion) you through what I remember.

I saw coffin and a face at a funeral  home, all detail including the face in the coffin, was muddied, except I thought it was J.H or T.A, two people that I hung with on a stint as a fourteen year old. I was then yanked to a murmured conversation with Maria that I was going to hang out with Chris to go fishing, and she handed me some marijuana and said, maybe you could use this. I said okay. I was in my childhood home, in the back room by washer/dryer, looking down under some hanging coats to a bunch of shoes, the shoes were mismatched and confusing, I couldn’t find a match to the one I had on. My parents were there, enter the teenage me? They helped find a match for my fat foot and Chris, a good friend to this day, albeit once and awhile, showed up, for our fishing trip. I put my shoes on and we walked, I asked him, “Do you want me to grab my fishing stuff?” He said, “No, I just needed some rest and relaxation.” He said, “We are just going to hang out and drink.”  I said, “do you smoke pot,” he said, “yes that he has a roach.” I said, “I have a joint, a full one.” He smiled, we walked through puddles that had formed in the yard, unusually deep ponds of water, and I woke up.

Okay, no analysis needed? For the record, and sake of argument, I don’t smoke pot.  I think I could break it down, but it would take me a long time. I will say, even though the dream was vague, weird and a blur that I was inspired to write. Back to the grind, after another couple of weeks off from the routine that I had once said I was going to establish, but hey, better late than never. I doubt I die a known author anyway, my life was to be lived slightly unknown, and distant from people, a “third wheel” so to speak. I’ve become used to that, sometimes it’s great to be the observer in the room, the outspoken one in the room, and the person sometimes shied away from because I’m askew from the “norm”. Sometimes it’s good to smell the room from a different corner, apart from the herd, step away, and become the wheel not begging for oil. Maybe, just maybe, I was the squeak, and needed a little oil to rid the noise? In the dream, for a change, I was something else.