Freudian Sleep?

Dear dearest,

Oh what a dream! Wanna hear about? Well, if you insist. It was a two parter. In both parts I was being introduced all around some campus by a friend of mine from my physics days as his new boyfriend. Thankfully there was no sex involved in the sleepy script. In real-land, of course, I am not gay. In fact in dream-land I wasn't gay either but merely getting caught up in everyone else's happiness for us.

This friend of mine, who in fact also isn't gay, is the slightest apostrophe of a man, not topping 5 foot 5 and 100 lbs soaking wet with pockets fulla pennies. He's Indian and speaks the Queen's English with the diction of a machine gun but rarely much above a whisper and his language is so bloody perfectly that I had a hard time understanding a word that came out of his mouth.

In fact, if I were to invent a beginning to this dream I'd say that's how I got roped into the whole gay confusion in the first place; he said something I didn't understand but readily and heartily agreed to nevertheless. This happened often in real-land since one can only utter, “Pardon?” some many times.

Anyway, by Act II he had mercifully morphed into various women. For a brief, but glorious car trip she was the gorgeous woman with the cascading coffee hair (whom I want, whom I really, really want). In the dream she was sitting shotgun and I was sitting behind her, which incidentally used to be my most common view of her in real-land. Not in a car mind you, just the back of her head, hence the emphasis on her hair I suppose. Which is gorgeous, by the way. And cascading.

The short of it is that we were picking her up after a time away (my sister was driving). I was in back eating candy for some reason and my conversation with Gorgeous Hair devolved into her commenting on how unusual it was for me to be eating candy, which is true, and me insinuating back at her that she has hardly known me long enough to establish whether it is unusual for me to be eating candy or not, which as I said she was right about. Apparently I'm a great big asshole in dream-land. In fact I wonder what my little Indian boyfriend even saw in me?

Anyway, the resultant argument would have been a doozy because not only did Gorgeous Hair turn all the way around in her seat to look me in the eyes while she spoke, but she removed the headrest from the top of the seat-back in order to get an unobstructed view of me! Or maybe an unobstructed swing at me! I'm can't remember which. And I don't even care. My dreams are the only chance I get to see her these days so I always wake up happy after them regardless of the character of their content.

Long story short, by the end “she” was back to a “he” after assuming the visage of a number of real-land hotties and the alarm clock ripped the record needle just after I was realizing that this whole relationship was doomed from the start because I, in fact, am not gay.

So if I believed dreams were anything but useless garbage, which I don't, this one could definitely be tied in some way to anxiety over being set up, I guess. Maybe.

It was really, really nice that Gorgeous Hair made a dream-land appearance though. I'd toss and turn my way through any number of cold-sweat inducing gay relationship dreams to see her again.

Sleepily,
Zzzzzz