Maybe I’m just not good at writing.
things that say a lot about people:
- the way which they treat the waiter/waitress
- how they feel about the weather
- whether they dog ear pages or highlight in books
- and hands in general
- their preferred creative outlet
- how much they dread/enjoy talking on the phone
- whether or not they drink coffee
- if they ever forget to eat
- how honest they are with themselves (and others)
- if they correct your grammar
- and whether or not they get nervous before haircuts
I had an odd array of dreams last night.
In the more prominent one my town was invaded by panthers, but they weren’t just panthers. They had motives, and an evil inside of them. Some of them had skinless faces and stared into me before striking. My aunt frantically drove her silver Escape with me in the passenger seat. She said the only way to pass these panthers was to run over them. Our car barreled over bodies, knocking them in hundreds of directions. I only remember closing my eyes, upset that we were taking the lives of these animals, no matter how much of a threat they posed to us. At one point my aunt jumped out of the car and shuffled into our house, leaving me behind in the vehicle as it slowly became swarmed by these creatures. I cut off the dream there, waking up in a panic.
The second dream involved a boy I still never cease to think of. Although I know more existed to the dream than this, the first thing I can remember is laying across the bed in my room with the knowledge that he is drifting to sleep in my basement. I was enveloped in a sense of urgency, causing me to hop up and rush down the steps, stopping to rest my hands on an arm chair and catch him just as his eyelids were drifting shut. “M,” I began, his eyes fluttering open in response, “It’s been two years of nothing, and I still love you.” He nods and pulls himself up, failing to truly say anything substantial as I attempt to kiss him, missing a few times before finally catching his lips. It felt wrong.
I remember falling asleep to the anxiety that my “demons”, as my aunt calls them, are ripping me apart. My grades aren’t good, and although I tell myself I don’t care, I do. But rather than “defeating” them, as I should be, I’m letting them fester and multiply as I did in Colorado. I think these panthers (I don’t know why my mind chose these to signify my habits) are supposed to be these demons. I felt an attachment to them as the car rolled over them, my heart aching as if I were losing a part of me each time one hit the window. My aunt was fighting for me, and I kept my eyes closed. Finally, she left me alone to fend for myself, and I couldn’t make it.
Of course the second dream is obvious. I miss and love my best friend, but it will never be the same. We don’t speak, and any chance at a relationship, whether romantic or purely sexual, is destined for ruin. I’ve realized this but I can’t seem to let go, no matter how hard I try.
This is more for my personal archives, so I apologize if any of you read the whole thing. I just needed to analyze my unconscious for a few paragraphs.