Dreaming is irrationally insane. The dreams my head has conjured over the course of my twenty-six and a half years are sometimes appallingly grotesque, strange, unmerited, psychic, and altogether fascinating. Two nights ago, I dreamt that my most recent ex-lover died in my arms. I later found out (in the dream) that he had ingested a lot of pills and had committed suicide. When I woke up, I was so utterly tainted by this dream that despite the fact that we hadn’t spoken in a few months (on account of my ending relations after his bullshit), I was nearly prompted to write him and ask if he was okay. The dream shook me hard and despite the fact that I don’t think he would or could commit suicide, I wanted to check in. The last thing I wished for was to hear through mutual friends that he had off-ed himself; and I had had a premonition and had done nothing to stop it.
…After consulting with my sister and good buddy Anna, who acted as sounding boards for my many problems with him, the prognosis became: no don’t contact him, it was only a dream. Anna added her Dream Dictionary’s explanation of the dream which was: “To see others commit suicide foretells that the failure of others will affect your interests. For a young woman to dream that her lover commits suicide, her disappointment by the faithlessness of the lover is accentuated. ”
Okay then…. last night I had a wild dream involving a labyrinthine building with tall ceiling, stadium seating, and a complex maze of ceiling ducts that I crawled through between rooms. I don’t remember much else, but I do know that there was a puppy and gymnastics. I had to perform gymnastics moves and had to crawl into those ducts with others. I think we might have been trapped in there, yet remained lackadaisical about it.
I dream in color. Whomever claimed we don’t is silly.