it is 3:40 am right now.
i had a dream earlier in the night. it was pretty nondescript and unmemorable at first... but as i was talking to my wife in her sleep (i was actually asleep in the other room, and crawled into bed, mumbling to her), for some reason, fragments trickled back into my consciousness...
i recall... catching the bus to some part of the city. i'm not sure what city, but like all cities, there were the empty dingy places. that's kind of where i was going. and for some reason, as i got off the bus, there was some sense of obligation or something. like someone was watching me. in fact, i kind of accompanied this old mexican guy who traveled in some powered wheelchair. he never spoke to me, but he kind of watched me... maybe i was a flight risk or something. in any case, i remember the horribly buckled sidewalks... and storefronts (mostly closed, as it was approaching dark) that had shuttered themselves in with rusty metal bars... it was about seven (in fact, it was seven) and i finally got to where i had intended: a bike store. only, just as i was walking up to the door, the worker- a young chinese man- said, "it's seven. we're closed. it's seven." and so, the whole point of my walk through the crappy city was gone. for some reason, after that, i was pushing some sort of shopping cart. i wanted to ditch the mexican guy, who was still waiting for me somewhere near the entrance. so i crossed the empty street and tried to go back on the other sidewalk. it was no less buckled and bumpy... in fact, i recall it being coned off or something, so i had to navigate my shopping cart carefully, weaving through these cones. i think the mexican guy saw me anyway, but it turned out to be too difficult to give me chase...
at some other phase of the dream, i passed a more important part of town. there were some cones, and some news people packed in some entrance. there were cameras there, the works. it looked like some press conference or something. and i saw these youngish people, some flighty people like i had met in college, with nothing better to do, all dressed up- seemed halloweenish, in fact. and they were excited because they were witnessing this press conference, which had something to do with some big event, some big announcement (it seemed related to the 'rona). but i ignored them, and plodded on through this empty night time city.
i arrived at a parking lot of some mcdonalds, where this woman sat. and then my old friend kendall appeared, and it turned out they were boyfriend-girlfriend. for some reason, i wasn't entirely happy to see kendall, even though i hadn't seen him (in real life, and in the dream) for many many years... i don't know if i was expecting him. but the city just seemed so dead, like a hollow dessicated version of itself- no life, no people, just empty rumors of things, and stores closing, and broken sidewalks... that it all seemed unhappy. and maybe for that reason, i, as part of this city, was unhappy too...
i think i have dim recollections of meeting some older woman, who was somehow a "kindred spirit." and the implication was that she wanted more from me, wanted something physical. but i couldn't oblige her, not only because i didn't feel particularly attracted to her, but because i knew i was tied to someone else. there was this sense within myself, this reproach or regret, that, again, there was something wrong with me. there were others- maybe most others- who would have taken this opportunity, and made, so to speak, the barren unhappy ground something fertile and life-giving. basically, this idea that intimacy could bring people to life. and by denying her this, i was making both of our lives a little bit emptier. but- as before- as always before- if "the stars weren't just right," then i wasn't going to do it... it's funny, but in real life, in my real relationship, there are compromises on my part (and no doubt my wife's) where we give beyond ourselves, and there is little "perfection." but it always seemed that the initial ground-breaking, so to speak, of any relationship, well, it required a ton of funding and planning, and a nice big ribbon, and a shiny pair of shears- the whole gamut, the whole works, before anyone even remotely thought of impacting the hardened soil with the tip of a spade...
... i must say, there is a kind of happiness to recounting dreams. it's not that the dreams themselves are happy. but it feels as though i am acknowledging the story of some piece of me. i don't know if it makes sense, or even if it is supposed to. but it's similar to when i listen to some student prattle on about some amusing detail in their life. i am impatient at times to get to work and make things productive, but i try not to cut them off, because i understand how vital it is for students to develop their voice, and to feel as though their feelings and lives are worth it... well, anyway, maybe recounting dreams is like that. like student stories, they probably don't make much sense, and don't amount to much, but that's not really the point. the point is to listen. and speak them out.
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