This morning, I forced myself awake as a result of a terrible dream. Instead of staring at the ceiling to recap the what Mr. Sandman had brought me, I rushed over to the kettle to immediately put the coffee on. Coffee, coffee was good; anything to confirm that I was back in the real world.As someone who has never really believed in the power of dreams and think that they are just a random melange of our subconscience; I couldn't help it, last night's dream really pissed me off!
One minute, I was doing laundry on Long Island with my Mom and bleach scented suds were exploding on to our less-than_thrilled neighbor's lawn to being transported to Paris; sitting on a café terrace with a girlfriend and seeing Monsieur Flâneur across the street with a girl. Blonde. The opposite of me. They were window shopping like we used to do. She was making him laugh, like I used to. He was kissing the top of her head, like he used to do. He was wearing sunglasses. She was wearing stripes. It was awful.
It felt so real. While new and exciting things are on the horizon and with each passing day I am feeling stronger, this dream brought me back to reality. The reality that I still have some more work to do with moving on. I'm strong enough to feel comfortable by myself and not let the loneliness doesn't sting like it used to but being able to brush off the fact that I have been replaced with a vanilla version of me would not sit well, not quite yet. Unfortunately, this very well could be the current state of affairs (grrr) that I'd have to accept (double grrr).
In all fairness, I also went back to 11th grade Algebra in this nightmare, so this should sort of put things into perspective. Dreams don't exactly mean reality.
