I'd been dreaming about school every night, and everything was going wonderfully. The screaming teacher held her tongue. Hot food miraculously appeared in the cafeteria, with proper utensils available to all. The restroom didn't drift into the horizon, and once I was in there, the toilets seemed to be in working order. Homework was passed up; tests were aced; grades were made.
Yet.
And there's always a yet, because I can't have a normal dream for once. I can't have a happy-go-lucky, sun-shiney, butterflies and rainbows dream. No sir, not me. Something's always got to be twisted as fuck and somebody is always ripped away or chased away or devoured completely. Elevators open to flaming pits of fire and lava. Blood flows down window panes. Missiles whistle as they fly overhead.
A couple of days ago, I had lunch with ole Green Eyes. It was one of those rare days when nobody else was around to shift the conversation. Somehow we drifted into a more macabre topic-- the exes. Ole Green Eyes has custody of his two boys. His ex has been described to me as "a little on the trashy side," though it wasn't him who told me that. My ex has issues as well. We all have our stories.
I didn't intend to go into that topic. I didn't mean to reveal so much about my past or the things I'd been through, but I sat there with that glued on smile I usually reserve for irritating customers, and I told ole Green Eyes some things I have only ever revealed to my therapy group way back when I needed therapy. He said he'd never heard such things. I could tell he didn't want to believe me, but I have no reason to lie.
Later I went home and sat under the shower, crying until all the hot water was used up, and maybe a little bit longer.
When I slept that night, I dreamed about school. I'm getting all A's, you know. I settle for nothing less than a four point oh, not because it's easy, but because I want it so badly. The teachers were all smiles. My papers were covered with check pluses and happy faces. My classmates were all patting me on the back for all my hard work. I was content with my lot in life.
Until I tried to leave. I had forgotten I wasn't allowed to go outside. Dirty diapers were piling up in the corners of stairwells. The choking stench of neglect pushed us back into the hallway.I would have thrown the nasty things in the trashcan, but a trash can was a luxury we just couldn't afford. I tried to scoop them into my backpack, so the others wouldn't have to see them or smell them, but my backpack was already overflowing with the limp bodies of dead kittens.
He told me it was my fault. I shouldn't have ever fed that stray. I should have known she was pregnant. I should have known what would come of it. She had four little ones, just like me. They were delightful little balls of soft, clumsy fluff.
I guess it was my fault about the dog, too.
Yet.
And there's always a yet, because I can't have a normal dream for once. I can't have a happy-go-lucky, sun-shiney, butterflies and rainbows dream. No sir, not me. Something's always got to be twisted as fuck and somebody is always ripped away or chased away or devoured completely. Elevators open to flaming pits of fire and lava. Blood flows down window panes. Missiles whistle as they fly overhead.
A couple of days ago, I had lunch with ole Green Eyes. It was one of those rare days when nobody else was around to shift the conversation. Somehow we drifted into a more macabre topic-- the exes. Ole Green Eyes has custody of his two boys. His ex has been described to me as "a little on the trashy side," though it wasn't him who told me that. My ex has issues as well. We all have our stories.
I didn't intend to go into that topic. I didn't mean to reveal so much about my past or the things I'd been through, but I sat there with that glued on smile I usually reserve for irritating customers, and I told ole Green Eyes some things I have only ever revealed to my therapy group way back when I needed therapy. He said he'd never heard such things. I could tell he didn't want to believe me, but I have no reason to lie.
Later I went home and sat under the shower, crying until all the hot water was used up, and maybe a little bit longer.
When I slept that night, I dreamed about school. I'm getting all A's, you know. I settle for nothing less than a four point oh, not because it's easy, but because I want it so badly. The teachers were all smiles. My papers were covered with check pluses and happy faces. My classmates were all patting me on the back for all my hard work. I was content with my lot in life.
Until I tried to leave. I had forgotten I wasn't allowed to go outside. Dirty diapers were piling up in the corners of stairwells. The choking stench of neglect pushed us back into the hallway.I would have thrown the nasty things in the trashcan, but a trash can was a luxury we just couldn't afford. I tried to scoop them into my backpack, so the others wouldn't have to see them or smell them, but my backpack was already overflowing with the limp bodies of dead kittens.
He told me it was my fault. I shouldn't have ever fed that stray. I should have known she was pregnant. I should have known what would come of it. She had four little ones, just like me. They were delightful little balls of soft, clumsy fluff.
I guess it was my fault about the dog, too.
I don't know what's worse, being unable to leave, the corpses, or the smell. Ickieyukienastybad.
ReplyDeleteThere are many more ickieryukiernastierbadder things about that time I spent with the ex. My nightmares are nothing in comparison.
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