Last Sunday was the start of my vacation in Myrtle Beach. After spending the day on the beach, including time in the surf, and the night eating an extensive meal, I decided to skip my blog post. Part of me now regrets the decision. Yes, letting go of my weekly goal made my eight-thirty bedtime possible, something I needed after the twelve-hour drive from the day before. However, some times, doing something important, even when your exhausted, can be rewarding. It can strengthen your connection to that particular goal, and reinforce future commitment.
And some times failure can be inspiring. It can help you to refocus. Remind you of what you are seeking to accomplish. More importantly, it can give you a writing prompt from which to launch a new post.
I am not above cheap tricks to move things along.
Such as resorting to a post about dreams in order to get back on track.
Sorry.
A trio of dreams descended upon me all in one night while I was on vacation. Perhaps it was the BBQ laden meal, followed by a heavy serving of dessert. Or maybe it was hours bobbing among the waves. Then again, it may be all that and the unresolved emotional issues tucked away in some shadowy corner of my brain.
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The first dream opens in a ski resort, minus the snow. A group of people and I are standing about talking. Suddenly, an announcement is made. The Apocalypse will descend upon us by nightfall. The news causes us to leave the building, and wander about for some time. I may not be remembering the details, but it felt like an aimless journey through the outside world. As evening arrives, I find myself in a room within a large house. It feels like the third floor of the old Victorian where I spent part of my childhood. Through one of the doors that leads into another large room, I notice a portal open up, and demons step out. A line of people forms between the portal and me. They are clearly determined to fight off the demons. Unfortunately, they begin to die off, one by one. Worse, I decide to run away.
Fleeing into another room, I find a place to hide. However, as I struggle to go unnoticed, I realize it is futile. Noticing a window, I make for it. It is old and shut tight. As I begin to open it, it makes noise. So, I stop. But waiting causes my fear of being discovered to rise. Therefore, I go ahead and push open the window. It creates a lot of noise. Quickly I step through it out onto a narrow roof. Covered in patches of snow and ice. In order to make my way across the roof, I need to break the ice. That will cause more noise. But fear drives me to act, and push forward, knocking aside the obstacles.
Eventually, I pass another window. Looking through it, I notice a line of superheroes making their way down a hallway towards the portal. Feeling a bit inspired, I reenter the house, and follow them. As we march forward, myself last in line, I feel an urge to explain my earlier actions to this group. I start rattling of excuses for running away. But soon I realize no one is listening. In fact, they do not bother to acknowledge my existence.
I stop, letting them march on without me. Soon they disappear around a corner in the hall. I am alone. The world turns black. I wake up.
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The second dream opens we me as an adult standing in a classroom. On one of the chalkboards is written a mathematical proof. I do not understand it. Other people are in the room. They clearly grasp what is on the board. I feel inferior.
The scene shifts. It is another classroom. A group people stand in a line along the back wall. I am at the end of it, near the door. The room is filled with other adults hanging out. Opposite my wall is a chalkboard. It contains a mathematical problem. A man points to it while he discusses its meaning. I cannot comprehend any of it, despite it looking so simple. Soon, within the dream, I am daydreaming about being able to solve it, and impressing everyone in the room (apparently, I can "dream within a dream"--take that Inception!). However, I soon snap out of this deeper level, and return to the original dream. Everyone is silent, waiting for me to answer. I struggle. Then a female voice rises from further down the line of people standing next to me. I recognize it. She is walking me through the problem. But she is using her teacher voice, speaking to me as if I was one of her third grade students. Within in the dream, I know she is not being condescending, but is genuinely trying to help. Yet, I am still unable to understand what is on the board. She changes her words, but not her tone. Now I feel stupid. She is patient and persistent. As I continue to remain silent, she changes her approach again. Her voice trails off, and I wake up.
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Third and final dream. Small, decrepit classroom. A tired daylight streams through a multi-paned window and an empty doorway. Outside, a bleak, winter landscape. Inside, dirty white walls, peeling and cracked. A large, dusty chalkboard hangs behind a stout desk. Sitting at it, wearing a fedora low on his head, a scarf tight around his neck, and buried in a heavy coat, arms tightly crossed against his chest, is an old man. He is cold, and the heat is not working. I explain that it is no different from all the previous times when he has complained about the heat. We are at the mercy of the landlord. But I do not want to repeat this conversation; it has been said many times before. So, I turn to leave.
The back of the classroom is a wall with a door. But at the moment, both are covered by a large, long single sheet of brown bulletin board paper. It appears thick, but I am afraid to pull it aside. From experience, I know that I will end up ripping it, and the paper will tear from the wall, revealing what is underneath. Yet, I need to leave. Just as I build up the will to try, the old man calls to me. I turn, take a few steps toward the desk, and face him. He sits there, stewing in a quiet, fuming anger.
"Why are YOU angry." It is low, steady, stern, and directed at me.
Except for a clear "fuck you", the rest of my reply is incomprehensible, and in a whisper.
"Why are YOU angry." His tone does not change.
"I am done with you." My response is still quiet, but the words are intelligible now. "It is time for me to go." That last part comes out loud and clear.
Standing there, I brace myself for a rant filled with rage.
But he says nothing.
I look away, out through the window that hangs behind him. There is a field. Drifts of snow are cut sharply by jagged swaths of green grass shooting up beneath the overcast sky.
The snow is receding, the season changing, and I have made up my mind. I turn my back on the old man, the solitary desk, and the dilapidated classroom. Arriving at the back wall covered in brown bulletin paper, I reach for it, resolved to tear it away.
However, last dream fades away. I find myself lying in a dark room, on a hard bed, with the muffled sound of ocean waves crashing on a shore filling the emptiness.
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