Dream a little Dream

Dream a Little Dream

“Say nighty-night and kiss me, Just hold me tight and tell me you’ll miss me, While I’m alone and blue as can be, Dream a little dream of me.”

I dreamed an interesting dream last night. From first to final rem I lived this story until the alarm beckoned my rising. It started with my role as the token black character on Will & Grace, the scene opening in a bedroom with bunk beds. Jack was on the bottom, and I was on the top of one set, and Karen was lying on the bottom of another. It was late, and our very cute, very drunk black next-door-neighbor walked in and lied down next to Karen. Though I was crushing on Mr. Dude, Karen’s willing body was ready to win him for the night. Jack and I roll over on our adjacent bunk beds, feigning sleep. Grace walks in and looks at the make-out scene with Mr. Dude and Karen then yells: I thought JL declared Mr. Dude a “no-fly zone”? My pretense of sleep in shambles as I pop up declaring that it’s fine for Mr. Dude to sleep with whoever he wants especially since he didn’t know I like him. Of course, Mr. Dude sits up all drunkenly confused, now that his conquest is out of reach. I gather my things and walk off in a huff.

Not sure if he follows me out, but we somehow end up at a lake house or on a lake shore where we talk… and talk… and talk some more. We talked our way through the weekend and into bed. Waking up Sunday morning in his bed, I find out he lives in a dorm-style row house with hordes of other D-9 Greek women flocking about. We are all getting ready for a frat-type BBQ. I lay on the couch, while he bustles about on the phone, watching the procession of sorors in their various degrees of summer BBQ attire. In a very me-like fashion, I become self-conscious of this array of beautiful women filing around an equally gorgeous man. I look down into my hands only to mutter helplessly about how I won’t get too attached, how I won’t smother him, how I’ll figure out my place and try to be content with it.

Mr. Dude catches on to the despondent ramblings in the midst of his phone call, hand over speaker he asks me if I’m ok. Sheepishly, I look up and state boldly I don’t know why I am here. He gets it, ends his call, sits next to me on the couch to say: JL, I like you, I want to spend more time with you. Like a child who chases the ice cream truck on a hot day, I couldn’t contain my excitement. I leap into his arms.

Next image is us getting out of the car at the party. On the sidewalk I reach over and hug him, mumbling how I want to be affectionate. Instead of his lips, he tilts his chin allowing me to nuzzle the underside of his jaw and kiss on his neck. I leave his embrace to walk in the house, glance over my shoulder at his puzzled expression.

I wake up.

I’ve spent the whole morning trying to analyze this dream. I’m still not sure of its meaning. The intriguing part, is that I was very ME in this dream. Normally I’m a cross between the girl I desire to be and the representative I pretend to be. But here my subconscious was telling me that this notion of ‘hating to love myself, and loving to hate myself’ is impossible to escape even in sleep. It’s weird to see your internal insecurities dramatized in your dreams.

Then I started thinking about how the men in my life fell into the role of lover, instead of auditioning for the part. Somehow or another I grew on them and they gave me a try. But I was never chosen or sought out or pursued.

Then I remembered how I dreamed of MYD, his arrival and his departure. I dreamed of C, his presence and his purpose. Now as the remnants of my love for C are stuffed into a black hole at the back of my closet, I dream of this new man. Low cut Caesar, NY accent, resembles one of my Twitter followers who I met briefly at a Happy Hour.

Though I meet Mr. Dude, and have him for a weekend: I wonder now if he will follow me into the house.

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