In these next two dreams, I felt like an asshole. Deeply regretful that I wasn’t paying attention, when I should’ve, and I found out too late.
I dreamed that I invited my old childhood pal, George, to come over and visit me and the family. I hadn’t seen him, or spoken to him in years. His wife and kids couldn’t join him, for some reason, but we made plans to make sure they would come, next visit. In the dream, my house had this dark, depressing looking den type of room downstairs, which is not my parents’ taste in home decor, in real life. Dad wasn’t around, but mom was. So George and I hung out with mom, in the den. Then I went off to get a drink, and promised to bring them one.
This promise never happened. I drank a soda in the kitchen, and then remembered that I left my TV on. Before George came over, I was watching a marathon of some dream-made-up show that I was really into. The moment I was back in my bedroom, I decided to not turn the TV off just yet. An episode of my show was on, that I hadn’t seen before. So I stayed there, and watched it. Watching one never-before seen episode lead to watching a few more. Then I remembered, “Oh, crap. George is here. I got to tend to my guest.”, but I got distracted again, by hunger.
I went back to the kitchen, and got a snack and another soda. George and mom were still blabbing in the den. “Tia, what are you doing? George has been waiting for you.” I heard mom say, in a slightly shaming tone. Now I felt bad.
Sorry about that. “I’ll be there, in a minute.” I said, but then broke my promise, a minute later. My brain was unusually ADD, and I remembered that I meant to turn the damn TV off, before coming back downstairs. So back to my bedroom I went.
Once there, I got sidetracked by the show again. The marathon was almost over. So I thought one or two more episodes wouldn’t take long. I heard dad come home, and figured that he could blab George’s ear off, while I finish my last little hour of binge watching. It turned out to be much longer than that, but I got so sucked in, that I lost track of time. It was 11:00 at night, when the marathon finally ended, and I remembered, “Oh, no! I totally forgot about George!
I felt so awful, and so guilty about this, it got me depressed. Poor George. He drove from North Carolina to Florida, to visit with me, and I ditched him for a stupid TV show.
When I went downstairs, mom and dad had gone to bed, and the house was dark and quiet. I found George, all by himself in the den. He was getting his things together, and getting ready to leave. I broke down into a million desperate apologies, and lame excuses, and pathetic attempts to suggest he come over again. Promising him that we would hang out, next time. No matter what I said, and how remorseful I was, George had this cold, “whatever” type of attitude. I didn’t blame him. I had a sinking feeling that it was too late, and there wasn’t going to be a next time. I had my chance to catch up with George, but I threw that chance away, over a show that I could’ve binge-watched on NetFlicks, any old day. I felt like the stupidest, biggest asshole in the universe.
In another dream, Carlos and Gina adopted a dog. He was this cute little part Doxin type of mutt, with lopped ears, and soft brown fur, and a long tail that was always wagging. He was the sweetest, happiest little dog, but he was a complete moron. Trying to house break him, or discipline him didn’t sink in. Gina, Carlos, and Jaden had to remember to never leave their front door open, or else their dog would run away for no reason, and not listen. However, Gina really loved this dog. His sweet, happy-go-lucky personality made her overlook his lack of intelligence. The parents and I were staying at our Time Share vacation resort, and Gina and her dog came over to our suite to visit. I was sitting on the living room floor, for no apparent reason, while Gina and the parents conversed in the kitchen. The living room was right by the front door, which was left ajar. I watched Gina’s dog walking towards it, but I just didn’t feel like getting up, and moving the few feet distance it would’ve taken me, to close the door. Then I watched him quietly slip through the narrow crack, and then he was gone. Once he was out, I absent-mindedly shut the door. Then I regretted what I had done.
Even though the dog was really Gina’s responsibility, I knew that I should’ve caught him, before it was too late. When I told my parents and sister about what had just happened, I felt like a complete idiot, because I had no reason for why I let Gina’s dog loose.
Then the four of us got in the car, and drove all around the resort, looking for the dog. I kept apologizing to gina, for my screw-up, but she wasn’t all that forgiving. Her attitude wasn’t cold, like George’s, but it was unreassuring enough to make me feel like the stupidest, biggest asshole in the universe.
I don’t know exactly what these dreams were forewarning me about, but I think it might’ve had something to do with my blogging. Several posts ago, I talked about how I quit blogging twice, and why. I didn’t think it would be any help to my pursuit at becoming a kick-ass writer. Then when I started blogging again, and posting more consistently, I hadn’t had anymore dreams where I felt guilt and regret over not paying attention when I should’ve been.
A few weeks ago, I had dreams that told me that Christa was going to bail me out of some sort of technical problems.
I dreamed that I had somehow screwed up all my social media apps, on my phone. I could open them, but I was blocked from being able to use them. Mom let me borrow her What’s App, to call Christa, and tell her my latest technical fiasco. But there wasn’t much to tell, when I had no idea how I glitched up my phone in the first place. Shortly after we got off the phone, Christa made the glitches disappear like magic. She knew all my passwords and account information. So she was able to get into all my social media accounts, and fix whatever was preventing me from using them. Lucky for her, and lucky for my guilty streak over needing people’s help, all the time, the de-glitching was quick and easy. Something I would be able to take care of, if I foolishly messed up my apps again.
Then I dreamed about a blast from the past, named E J. Fourteen years ago, I passionately love/hated him. I used to want to fuck his brains out, and then use his blood to make a tie-die T-shirt, that I would ware to bed every night. Back in the days, when he and I used to attend the same classes, at the Orientation and Adjustment Center for the Blind, he was intimidated by me. He used to avoid walking past me, in the facility’s hallways. I used to think this was hilarious, because he was the one with temper issues. My love/hate toward E J drove me to drink, and nearly made me lose my damn mind. One night, several years ago, I had a few too many, and blasted him on FaceBook. My actions caused problems in his marriage, and brought shame to his reputation. Fortunately, this damage was not permanent.
By now, I’m completely over it all, and everything that went down, fourteen years ago, seems like it happened in a distant past life.
In the dream, I was taking classes at Lighthouse Central Florida, and E J worked there. We didn’t run into each other there, because of our separate busy schedules. I wanted to talk to him, only because he had a book that I was interested in borrowing. I don’t remember what the book was about, but I remember that it was a paperback. And the design on its cover looked like the blue and turquoise water illustration on the little paper cups from my high school cafeteria. A friend of a friend of a friend of E J’s got the book from him, and left it on the front desk for me.
When I finished the book, I intended to give it back to E J, but the Lighthouse was closed for renovation, and nobody knew when it would be back open. I somehow knew where E J lived. So I took an Uber there, but I didn’t realize how far his house was.
As the Uber driver pulled up his driveway, she didn’t stop until the nose of the car bumped into the front of his house. Then I was suddenly outside, sitting on the car’s hood. As the car idled for a minute, I was horrified to notice that, from where I was sitting, my face was right in E J’s front window. I looked like a total psycho. I quickly got down from the hood of the car, hoping to God he didn’t see me.
Another horror was finding out that the cab fare was $40. I had enough cash to pay it, but I didn’t have another $40 to get back home. I figured I could pay the driver, once we get there. Then I realized how psycho I would look to others, when it was found out that I spent $80 just to see E J. People would think I still have it in for him. They wouldn’t believe that I only went to E J’s house, to drop off a book, and that I didn’t know the commute there would cost me $80. I pictured them saying things like, “You need to get over it.” and “You need to see a therapist.” along with the dreaded critical preachings on how I should fix myself. Then things only got worse.
I asked the Uber driver if she’d wait there for me, while I make a quick knock at the door, to give back the book. I also told her that I didn’t have another $40 on me, but I have the money at my house. And would it be all right if I paid her, when we got there. The driver refused to wait for me, no matter how short the wait was. And she wasn’t going to give me a ride home, if I didn’t have the money, right then and there. Then she sped away.
I was on the verge of panicking. This looked bad. I was sure E J remembered the FaceBook thing. Now here I was, standing outside his house, like I’m still out to get him, after all these years. This was beyond embarrassing. I wondered, would he believe me, if I explained that I honestly didn’t intend to take a one-way Uber trip here? I had no better choice, but to brave it out, and tell the truth, as sincerely and apologetically as I could. Then Hopefully, E J would know someone who could give me a ride home.
When I rang the doorbell, I was shocked to be greeted by Christa. E J followed close behind her. I was even more surprised to know that my sister and my old blood-crush had developed a platonic friendship through Twitter. I told them the truth, apologizing after every other word. They were cool about it, and said that it was no problem. E J was glad to get his book back. I was relieved how casual and friendly he acted toward me. As though no such toxic psycho drama had ever happened between us. Then Christa made my day, by reassuring me that she would drive me back home. It was a mericle.
A few months ago, me and Christa’s author/editor friend, Jo, had e-mailed both of us a copy of the final draft of the first novel in my Hecctrossipy series, after he re-edited it. Recently, I had decided to divide my one humungous novel into two just-slightly-chunky books, HECCTROSSIPY 1: The Legend of the Land and HECCTROSSIPY 2: The Legend of the Land Lives Again. I also wanted to divide my long-ass chapters into shorter ones, and change most of the original chapter titles. I re-wrote a whole section of the first chapter in book 1 too. I had already made all these changes, on my rough draft document that I keep, on Pages. I wanted the same changes to be made, on Jo’s re-edited version, but I don’t know how to separate attachments, and then send them out again, after making changes. I’ll learn this, someday. Christa was going back to Panama, the next day. So she didn’t have time to teach me. The best way we could work this out, was for her to save her copy of the re-edited document on her computer. Then I guided her along with where I wanted to make which change. Everything was going along smoothly, but we were limited with time. Christa had a guest pass at the gym I go to. We wanted to hurry up and get there, before her pass expired. I saved the trickiest change for last. I told her the last sentence of one paragraph, and the first sentence of another, which marked the big chunk of chapter in between, that I wanted removed. Then she got on my computer, selected and copied the re-written part of the chapter, e-mailed it to her computer, and then cut and pasted it into the now re-re-edited document. After that, she even divided the document into two separate ones, since I’m only querying for the first book. Then she sent both re-re-edited books to Jo. I had planned, later on, to re-write the blurb for book 1, study the website for Curiosity Quills, write my query letter, and then set up a Skipe appointment with Jo, so he could help me fill out the submission form. I felt confident that the final copies were as perfect as they could get. Jo was happy with them—at first.
Come to find out, Christa’s computer had glitched things up. I felt panicked. After all the hard work I had done, and after all the hard work Jo had done, my documents were a mess. I dreaded how pain-staking it was going to be, for us to fix it. Even though I saved up enough money to pay for another editing, I hated the thought of having Jo trudge through the story for a third time.
He told me that words were replaced, all throughout the document. I blamed this on that damn auto correct. I always despised auto correct. It’s the worst, most freaking annoying thing ever added to digital devices. I had it turned off, on my phone, and my computer. I don’t know how people could stand it. It almost always corrects words, the wrong way, and makes the wrong assumptions of what your about to write. Using it is like being hounded by one of those obnoxious, overly talkative people who never let you get a word in, and who insistently try to finish your sentences for you, so they could keep taking over the conversation. Ugh. Christa is an excellent writer, but she doesn’t want to give up on using auto correct. I came to the conclusion that, once the document was saved into her computer, her pesky auto correct immediately attacked it. I was wrong. It was worse than I thought.
After Christa had left the states, she started a three-way e-mail thread with me, Jo, and herself. When I read the latest messages between her and Jo, one morning, I just about had a heart attack. Not only were words replaced, but there were words where their first letter was replaced by a number.
But then I read further.
The glitch didn’t effect the second book. Christa had cleaned up the mess, and saved my manuscript, and then sent the re-re-re-edited first book back to Jo. PHEW!
It wasn’t Christa’s auto correct that was the problem. The problem was caused by my book being passed around among three different softwares. I write my books on Pages, but then change them to a Word format, before sending them to Jo. He edits them, using Libra, and then sends them back to me and Christa’s Apple devices. When Christa pasted the re-written chunk of chapter from my Pages document, into the Pages-to-Word-to-Libra document, her computer just got a little confused. She got me out of trouble, just like that. Just like in the dreams.
Lately, I’ve been having extremely realistic dreams about getting out of bed in the morning, right before I actually get out of bed in the morning. These dreams are so life-like that I really think that I’m awake, and out of bed, even when the nonsense starts kicking in. My senses are fully alert, in these dreams. I could clearly feel my bamboo bedroom floor beneath my socked feet. I could feel the air conditioner and the ceiling fan blowing on me. I could smell my room’s slightly sweet stale air. And I could clearly see the daylight softly shining through my closed dark blue curtains, and closed blinds. It’s all so real. These getting-out-of-bed dreams also come with some form of anxiety.
I dreamed that I was getting out of bed, in the morning. Then I checked the time on my talking calculator. “It’s 9:54 A.M.” said the old fashioned synthesized voice. I wasn’t happy about this. I hate waking up late. It makes me feel like a lazy shmuck. I pressed the TIME button again, hoping that I heard wrong. The calculator responded with a bunch of radio static noises. Usually, when my calculator acts weird, in my dreams, I figure out that I’m dreaming. But this all felt too much like real life. I’ve had my trusty old Sharp talking calculator, since 1988, and thought that maybe it was finally ready to quit. I was going to sadly miss my calculator. It had been with me through nine moves, countless family vacations, and overnight visits at people’s houses. I had done thousands of math problems on it, and used its timer for baking hundreds of different baked goods. And I woke up to its alarm, that always gave me a ten minute, and then five minute warning, before it broke into a bad 1980s-style digital version of a classic opera melody.
I pushed the TIME button again, hoping to hear my beloved Sharp’s out-dated voice, one last time. Instead of saying the time, it said an algebra equation, in a low pitched, demonic voice. When I pushed other buttons, it spoke in many different voices. Some said more weird math equations, and others gave nonsensical answers. This made me realize that my calculator was not really in my hand, but lying on my entertainment unit, where it was functioning just fine. And I was really in my bed, having a lucid dream. Now that I knew this was a lucid dream, I felt free to dance around my room, like an idiot.
As I did, the vibrations of the floor under my bouncing and kicking feet, felt much too real to be part of a lucid dream. The loudness of the racket I was making seemed real too. I abruptly stopped, not wanting the parents to get concerned about what was going on in my room.
I dreamed that I was getting out of bed, in the morning. It was late, but I didn’t check the time. I heard my parents talking downstairs, along with a third voice. Their friend, Valery, was over. So I decided to change into some decent clothes, before coming downstairs to join them.
I was wearing my turquoise robe that mom had gotten for me, from a catalog. When I tried to change out of it, its zipper refused to budge. So I started pulling it over my head, but the long sleeves constricted around my arms. They were so tight, it impaired my arm coordination, and I was trapped in my robe. I found a pair of scissors lying on my bookshelf. So I grabbed them, and began cutting off the robe. As I did, I heard Valery coming up the stairs, and then going into my bathroom. I was still cutting, when she came out. Then I noticed that my door was open. I was afraid that Valery might come in, and see me trashing a perfectly good piece of clothing, like I was losing my mind. To my relief, she didn’t notice the frantic cutting sounds coming from my room, and went back downstairs.
The robe was off of me. It was reduced to two piles of turquoise shreds on the floor, in front of the bookshelf. I planned to carefully put the mess in a bag, and hide it somewhere among the clutter in my closet. I didn’t want mom to find out what I had done to my robe, because she would be very hurt. That robe was expensive. Even though the robe was off, I still wasn’t free.
Another one of my robes materialized in its place. It was a cranberry colored one that I had, like, forever. It’s larger and more bulky than the turquoise robe, but it’s very roomy. So I thought that changing out of it would take a second. Then suddenly, my whole body got all sweaty. The sweat made the heavy robe stick to me, like cling wrap. Then the motor skills in all my limbs became slowed down and weak. I could barely bend or lift my arms. I was more trapped in this robe, than the turquoise one. It constricted around me until I thought I was going to suffocate. I was about to call out for help, but was distracted by the sound of running water.
It sounded like a shower was turned on, but the shower was somehow in my room. A second closet appeared, opposite of my closet. It was like a mirrored image of it. It even had the same crappy old slatted folding doors. There was a shower in that closet, for some odd reason, and it had turned on by itself. In the dream, I was familiar with this second closet, and I remembered that I moved my filing case full of important paperwork in there. The filing case is made of sturdy plastic, but the shower water was pouring right over it. I was afraid that some water might sneak in, and ruin my paperwork. So I struggled against my restraints, and moved over to the second closet. The shower jumped out, on its own, like it was looking for confrontation. It was a lame, flimsy looking little shower. The shower’s head was only an inch or two above my height, and it was held up by a skinny, cheap quality metal pole. I reached over and tugged at a rickety faucet handle behind the shower head, and the water turned off. The slight force from my tug made it collapse across my bed, as though I killed it.
AGAIN, I was getting out of bed, in the morning. I checked the time, on my talking calculator, and it was almost noon. By this time, I didn’t believe that I was really awake, even though it clearly seemed like I was. I threw my calculator on the floor, and it landed on the bamboo, with a realistic Bang! This made me unsure again, about whether or not I was truly awake in real life. I tested the truth, by allowing myself to fall flat on my face. Then I chickened out, in mid fall. The sensation of gravity felt too real. I through my calculator again, and it twirled through the air, in slow motion, before gracefully landing on the floor. That answered the question. This was yet another lucid dream. So I decided it was time to have some fun with it. I flung my curtains open, and time fastforewarded. By the looks of the sunlight behind my closed blinds, I could tell that it was now around 3:00. I heard my dad mowing the front yard. The white blinds were blotched with shade from the trees in front of my room. I knew that there isn’t really any trees that shade my bedroom window. I was going to pull up the blinds, open the window, climb out onto the roof, and see what would happen if I jumped off. But I woke up, before anything exciting could happen.
What are you trying to tell me now, oh great sub conscience?