Tuesday, November 19, 2002

i dreamt of you last night.

what in all the world were you doing there, in my head, at night?

it was a strange dream i had there, you visited me at my parents house, and we talked and i tried to impress you, like i've always tried, tried to get you to tell me what you've been up to, but alas, you didn't react to the prompts i gave you, like you've ignored them in the past, too.

strangely enough, you went into the garden to meet some people i've never met, but who i knew to be (you know how it is in dreams, there are some things one just knows) your new writing fellows, who i know you all secretly thought to be a bunch of thinking too much, taking themselves too serious idiots.

the earth began to shake as i was in a light filled room facing the garden, watching you and your new mates, all wearing "we're all such literary genius" 1970's style clothing, standing around an old alfa romeo, talking, and i crouched on the floor, trying to protect myself from falling wall parts, and i worried about being injured and thought you'd all be safe outside.

and then i slowly woke up, all the while wishing the dream would continue so that i could go out into the garden to talk to you further, because i knew you'd be leaving with them, soon.

but i woke up.
and for a moment i was indeed happy to have seen you again.

so tell me, what the hell was that about?