Dream Journal Sixty.

At one point of the dream, I was sitting at the corner of a thin sidewalk that ran out onto the street. Where, in actual life, such a side-road running along the right side of my house would be directly perpendicular to the main street, this path was parallel, and it culminated in a corner only around which I could access the main road by a thin gap. Several of my friends were playing a game of some sort outside. Tyler was definitely a part of this group, as well as Amanda and Aaron. Scott may have been present, although I have my doubts.

I wanted to put a box on my head. It seemed incredibly important that I do so. I found, within a few moments, a tiny cardboard box, as though it were the parcel of a small package that had arrived by post, the size of the basket from King’s Quest VII, whose interior was besotten with the remains of rotten berries and twigs that had been probably constructed as a nest by bugs.

I put the box over my head, delighting despite an uninhibited anxiety regarding my mother, which was promptly justified. Within seconds, she ran up to me and, panicking and angry in her usual demeanour, removed the box from my head and forbid me to wear it again, suggesting, if not explicitly, that I was an idiot. I became exceptionally agitated. I felt that it was a desperate necessity that they see me with the box on my head.

 

At one point, I was in my bedroom. It was near noon, and the Autumn weather, soft and portending, was very much akin to this weather.

Dana had, by this point, all ready appeared as a recurrent figure.

I watched her walk up the street, diligently but with a certain nervous naïvete,as though she were Mrs. Wookey* about to get the mail.

A man in flambouyant clothing of orange interspersed with gray, if not green interspersed with magenta, approached her and began to ‘bother’ her.

Upset and yet not unfrightened-ed, I shouted down to him for him to stop. He looked up , and I was all ready feeling embarrassed and second – guessing myself. Dana assured me that I need not get involved.

Thankfully, within moments, an amiable and friendly young gentleman with a noteworthy, chivalrous demeanour suggesting a genuinely masculine fortitude a dramatic juxtaposition to the other man’s boyish machismo, approached from down the street. He lived in the house that had been inhabited by the Hager family throughout the greater part of my childhood years.

He began to speak with the man in neon clothing. His tone was nonchalant yet authoritative – the ideal balance, wherein it couldn’t possibly be the one and not the other.

The other man was related to Spencer and Connor. It was also revealed, or suggested, that he and Dana were dating. She accompanied him then to his home. On a strictly formal, polite level, it had been as though nothing dramatic had befallen.

I withdrew from the window, relieved. The dream promptly segued. I receded, as though diagonally, into a multicoloured chasm of stark vividness. Like the screenshot of the tavern from the Curse of Monkey Island, it evoked the memory of that island like a room full of bronze pottery illumined by a candle in the midst of a resolute, authoritative Indigo with terrifying tenacity.

It felt like the interior of a shop for old relics, yet it was probably most akin to a trip by train to College. It was almost certainly some great source of Authority commenting upon facebook and its folly.

I met with Dana, this time in a chamber.