Dreams

Last summer I had a dream that was really similar to this. Seeing this video yesterday reminded me of it. What are the odds?   What does it mean?

2) I was teaching a class at a college. There were people staring in the windows, and I felt it was a privacy violation, so I rushed over to shut the shades and shoo the people away. The class ended, and I realized I was dilly dallying and had places to be. 

I had my own classes to attend... what were they again? 

My transcript had the class names but not their location, I was late already and I knew if I was too late they would drop me from the class and allow an alternate to take my spot. The next class 1:00pm was the only class I was excited about: Creative Writing. I rushed across the unknown campus, a maze of hallways and buildings that felt more like an airport than a university. 

I was pretty sure I knew which area of campus the class was in, but I needed the room number. I was looking for the information desk *this is a theme in all of my school/college related dreams - I never know where I am supposed to be and arrive late. There was no one at the info desk, so I ran up and down the hallways increasingly panicking, sweaty, uncomfortable. Finally I got ahold of someone at the information desk, and got the room numbers. They seemed frustrated with me for not knowing where I was going or what I was doing. Suddenly I realized I didn't have my computer bag. Where in the last 20 minutes had I let it drop? I scanned the crowded building and with increasing panic, disappointment and a touch of anger, realized I had lost my computer and would never see it again. It dragged on me... I got the information and tried to think clearly about where to go. 

I started walking towards a building, following the numbers. The building was poorly designed, so that the stair wells required leaps from each level. It was ridiculous, and all the students going up and down were international students. I realized this was a poorly designed and decaying building that was the advisory for international students who wouldn't complain about the infrastructure. I was still hounded by the fact that I had lost my computer. It was in a red bag, it would stand out. But amongst the crowds of thousands, I would probably never see it. 

I headed back towards the main hub where the information desk was, scanning for my bag as I went, and began asking around about the direction of the English department. It had been 30-40 minutes, I would be lucky to make it to the last 5 minutes of class and explain that my computer was stolen. 

I headed down the right hallway, but never found the class, instead, the crowds began to get larger, something was going on in the world, people crowded around the tvs. I didn't have time for that. Instead, I navigated through the halls, and started thinking about my next class. Something about the biology of potatoes. This class was in a completely different section of the campus that would require going outside and passing through a small forest to the agriculture center. It seemed odd to me that I would have classes without passing time, and I started to realize that I would have to drop out of every other class just to make the few I could attend. 

3) I was in a vehicle with three other people. It was like we were in a van and all the seats had been changed to make it so that the passengers faced each other. I don't know who two of the people were, maybe cousins? The third was an aunt I never really got along with. Someone who I always thought had it out for me, eyed me with suspicion. 

I was reading from my newly published poetry book. I liked the feel of it in my hands. Liked the weight, which felt like it had substance. Liked the imagery on the pages, which felt like the writing was just one of the offerings. But the words were all wrong. The poems, even the ones I knew were backwards, out of place, words were scraped along from one line to the next, massacred across the page. 

My little collections of thoughts were zombified. They were just not right. 

I read from the selections, trying my best to fill in the gaps, get the pacing right, read the muddled words that were mirrored, upside down, all misprinted horror.  

I knew there was something underneath worth sharing, something of mine, but I felt that panic creeping, that paranoia, that sweat of stage fright. 

The audience of 3 were indifferent. No signs of enjoying or hating it, but I wanted to share something of me. 

After reading 3 or 4, stumbling to read, mumbling out the mangled, I stopped, and told them what had happened. A misprint. I can't read this, but I do remember a few... I remember a few that I used to perform at open mics, and yes, I would stumble, but people would applaud. People liked my words. And if you can be patient, I can find one that feels right...