two dreams

Last night I dreamed I attended an informal reunion for the National Academy of something-or-other (i.e., for people who get good grades). I was in the National Academy of Something-Or-Other’s souvenir store, where the clothing was red, white, and blue, stars and stripes. An outfit much like a drum major wears—short skirt, shirt, vest, funny hat in these colors and shapes—hung on the wall. "I’m glad my mom never bought that for me," I said. "I’d have had to kill her."

I chatted with the guy who seemed to have been a leader of the group, with whom I didn’t interact back in the day—he was up the hierarchy from me. His name may have been Tim or Andrew. His hair was light brown and sort of feathered, and he wore a light-colored long-sleeved button-down shirt. He made a cup of hot tea for me, making extra effort to be friendly with me, almost courting-like, which surprised me.

A couple people frolicked in the back yard. Red and orange leaves the size of baseball gloves and bigger were in piles across the whole yard, which appeared to be my grandma’s waking-life back yard. The leaves were impossibly beautiful.

As I pulled the tea-cup away from my mouth I felt a hair in my mouth, and another, which, when I held them out, looked like pubic hair. I wasn’t as grossed out in the dream as I was as the dreamer (or now as I write). I spoke to TimAndrew about a friend who had been in the Academy, who had become stagnant in recent years, negligent, mopily self-centered. I’d begun to lose my patience with said friend.

I woke and visited the bathroom. Upon return, I dreamed I was in a passenger rocketship.

Rocketships were becoming the new airplanes, and I was rushing to catch my flight. Obstacles diverted me, but finally I sat. Seating was much like that in a movie theater, many rows and in the red-dark. I may have begun having a dream within a dream, recalling to someone either inside or outside this dream how the last time I was on a rocketship, Juliette Binoche was found masturbating, crouched in a corner of the laundry room. What bright white walls. She was wearing a tiny white shirt with tiny yellow flowers and green stretch pants (pulled down a bit for action). Two girls wearing long blonde ponytails and no regard for pleasure found and mocked her. I felt alien on this ship. People were impersonal, concerned with their own business, and acted like a ride on a rocketship was commonplace. It felt like quick bustle on a city sidewalk.

I woke to jazz music on the radio, and sunshine.