Category Archives: Diary of a Dreaming Girl

26 April 2010 @ 02:46 am

We meet someday, as friends. Perhaps we are roommates. I value my space, so I never intrude upon your own. We get along. I feel as I do now, and then someday…

Perhaps someday…

And then, I wake up.

26 February 2010 @ 08:29 pm

I remembered another dream I had last night: I wanted to return to high school and earn a diploma from the school I attended for nearly three and a half years. (I transferred to a private high school in November 1998, and I graduated from there.) When I enrolled in the school for a short summer session, I was told the session would be like study hall, or an adult G.E.D. course, in that I would simply study for senior finals and take them. However, the principal also told me he had decided to conduct an experiment. He refused to divulge the details, but I discovered what he meant soon enough. One class was essentially a yoga class and an obstacle course, which was fun, but in another class, we were treated like first-graders, in order to “get in touch with [our] inner children.” The teacher wanted to weigh us before we entered the classroom, but I refused. The teacher tried to bully me into stepping onto the scale, but I simply said, “No. This entire situation makes me uncomfortable. Why do we have to pretend as though we are first-graders?” An eighteen-year-old student said, “Yeah! It’d be like having a thirty year-old in our class.” I sank into my chair, but I did say, “Well, I’m almost thirty.” Everyone seemed fascinated by me: “You don’t look thirty.” and “Wow, if you already have a diploma, why come back?”

So, there was a teacher’s aide in the classroom. She flopped on desks and rolled around like a cat (or like a ghost from a Japanese horror film). It was disturbing. She repeated one phrase in a creepy sing-song voice: “Come on, guys! It’ll be fun!” Then she fell off the desks and broke one of her teeth on the nasty, threadbare carpet (the carpet was blue). She grabbed her tooth and walked out of the room, but before she left, I caught a glimpse of her face. Her eyes looked dead.

Undeterred, the teacher wrote something on the board in super-small handwriting I couldn’t read, then she passed out handouts with shapes on them. She said we were going to play a game, and she passed out another handout. It read:

(1) Look around the room and choose someone who looks like a vampire.
(2) Explain why you think this person would make a good vampire.
(3) Write a three-line story about this vampire.

She told us that the person with the most votes would get to be the class vampire. I don’t even know what that’s about.

26 February 2010 @ 09:37 am

I’ve noticed something strange: my dreams vary from room to room.

Lately, I’ve taken to sleeping in the spare room, because my room is full of fun stuff for Nobi to knock off the shelf and break. (He tends to do that when he’s hungry and I’m asleep.) In the spare room, I dream of fantastic things, like castles with secret passages, or gardens that glow at night.

Five nights ago, I woke to a lightning strike outside the spare room window. I wasn’t afraid–I was half-asleep–but I still possessed the presence of mind to move to my room, which has less windows. (Not that I was afraid lightning would zap me through the window; it was more a matter of less noise in the back of the house.) Come to find out, I don’t sleep well in my room. I dream of monsters, surreal flashes of my childhood home (wherein I’m locked in my house, or I’m alone in my neighborhood), high school, or abandoned hotels. I’m almost always held captive by someone I never see, or I obsess over meaningless details. For instance, last night, I wanted to plant yellow and purple poisonous plants around an invisible pyramid in a college Biology lab. I spent most of the dream scouring the university for seed packets. (As an aside, my dreams were interrupted last night by a train. I haven’t heard a train come through town since I first moved here. Very odd and random. This, of course, led me to move back into the spare room, where I dreamt of a glittering ceiling of stars in an abandoned mansion with an indoor garden.)

Then there are the dreams wherein I have a boyfriend. These dreams are heartbreaking, because I’m aware that I’m asleep. In some way, these dreams are the most realistic dreams I have. If I ever date someone again, I know I’ll feel as though I’m dreaming. I have unrealistic expectations. It’s not that love doesn’t exist, because it does, but it’s more a form of mutual respect and appreciation. I’m too much a true romantic. I’m intense, and I can be moody, detached, or smothering; it depends upon the day. I enjoy being by myself. I love the company of others, but I don’t want someone in my life who will watch me floss my teeth or demand to know where I’m going. I want intensity and passion, and that exists–I know, because I am that way–but I can’t be one person’s world. I’m not the type of girl who can exist as part of a unit. That works in dreams, but it doesn’t work in real life, and it’s strange, because when I like someone, he becomes my world. I show it, not by checking up on him, but instead by making my presence known (through constant chatter, etc.), which is almost as annoying as the behavior of boys I knew in high school who wanted to know why I didn’t want to be with them all day long. I’m a lot like those boys, except I lack the desire for constant “togetherness.” In fact, I loathe it. I very much need my space. So, in dreams, I may want to be someone else’s world, but the reality of it makes me sick.

There is a reason the Depeche Mode song, “Somebody,” sums up my views on love:

“I don’t want to be tied
To anyone’s strings
I’m carefully trying to steer clear
of those things
But when I’m asleep
I want somebody
Who will put their arms around me
And kiss me tenderly
Though things like this
Make me sick
In a case like this
I’ll get away with it
And in a place like this
I’ll get away with it”

(“A place like this” = my dreams.)

My point? I think I’ll move back into the spare room. I don’t want to be haunted by dreams of love.

Also, I have a theory about why my dreams are more “personal” in my room. The spare room is sparsely furnished, whereas my bedroom is cluttered with cool stuff. Everyone knows that stuff = memories. When I fall asleep in the midst of so much to look at (especially since I’ve owned most of this stuff since I was fourteen), of course my dreams are going to be more “personal” (weird biology lab dream aside).

I dreamt the most horrific dreams possible. SHUDDER. My soul, it cries!
about 7 hours ago from web

“Live those dreams, play with them, build altars to them. It is not yet the ideal, but it points in the right direction.”
about 1 hour ago from web

I’ve understood you for some time. The problem lies in my unwillingness to accept truth, but I am aware of it, and changing, ever-changing.
41 minutes ago from web

I could wander the spiraling conch shell, but the phantom sound of waves is no substitute for sitting by the sea.
25 minutes ago from web

What do my words even mean? Pretty images, sadness, a heart hot and cold? Lust, desire–myriad related, unrelated concepts? And yearning…
20 minutes ago from web

Yes, I know yearning.
20 minutes ago from web

I’ve run out of ways to say, “Meet me, like me, fuck me, fill a small void.” I’m frantic, yet sane; it is hope and desire that is maddening.
11 minutes ago from web

And so, I’ll let it all pour out–and/or pretend it isn’t there–and start anew.
5 minutes ago from web

(But oh, how your light moves me.)
2 minutes ago from web

08/08/09