I have violent dreams. I dream about Sean kicking Brad's ass and writing insults on him in his own blood. I dream about my brother trying to murder me. I dream about breaking people's arms with a metal rod. I dream about stalking people through the woods. I dream about shooting out the gas tank of a car to make it explode in the face of my pursuers.
When I wake up, I'm still tired. Sometimes it entertains me to think that these images aren't dreams at all, but a secret secondary life that even I am not fully aware of.
I fell asleep on the couch with Simon yesterday afternoon. Dreamed of crazy things. I woke up with his fingers clutching mine and his eyelashes two fine black slashes across his sleeping face. I figure nothing but that is real. And I mean nothing.
I fell asleep last night in my bed with my arm around the stuffed pig that my grandmother gave me. When I woke up at 5am the pig was on the floor and I was caught in a twisted web of blanket. Twice recently I have fallen out of bed, waking up to the sudden impact of my face against the floor.
What does all of it mean? It means nothing. I already told you what is real. Everything else, it means nothing.
I feel good today.
posted by Anonymous @ 9:14 AM
