..

...and then there are those dreams that blindside you with guilt for what you did years ago. Or maybe not what you did, precisely, but what happened because of you and what you feel like shit for.

I don't know if I've grown more responsible/aware/careful of and with others, or if being with Dan has just significantly lowered the instances in which I can be a terrible person, simply because I'm no longer trolling for boys to make mine. Hmmph.

Regardless, waking up this morning felt like swimming from the bottom of a very deep lake.

post.apoca

It was hot and humid and unbearably sunny*; strong southern weather. I** saw him walking down the road. He was wearing a dusty brown sun hat with a wide floppy brim and denim coveralls. He had short brown-red hair and a short beard. There was dirt smudged on his face and arms. He didn't have a shirt or shoes. He was pushing a rusty shopping cart filled with all sorts of dirty fabrics and god-knows-what. I was wary; you always had to be wary of who you met those days.

I invited him over. He parked his cart on the peeling sky blue painted porch of my farmhouse, sat next to me on the bench and we ate. He only had two fingers on his right hand -- his middle and index finger. He put them together and used them like a spoon to scrape out chunks of canned peaches in syrup from a dirty can with no label and a jaggedly-cut lid. He offered me the last suck of juice from the can, with one small square piece of peach left in it. I let him scrape his fingers around the sides of the can of my own lunch -- one can of tomato paste.

He followed me inside the house. My house had a huge, fairly modern kitchen. I went rifling through the refrigerator in search of something to offer my guest. "I'm sorry," I said. The electricity has been out for a long time so most everything is spoiled. I haven't had the heart to throw it all out." I pushed past half-open packages of hot dogs and old cheese. There was one white plastic package -- it felt like half a pair in syrup -- that I held for a moment, but then I put it back. I thought mom might be angry if the man and I ate it. I stood up, shut the door to the fridge, and turned around. The strange man had been busy at the stove. He had cooked a giant omelette and a plate of pancakes. "We had eggs?" I thought to myself, surprised.

Then the electricity flickered once. It flickered again, and we heard a huge rumbling noise throughout the house. "Oh, that's just the air conditioner turning on." I said. It took a minute for the implications of this to hit me. Electricity! I ran to the huge stainless steel unit on the wall and franticly pressed the buttons. I pressed a large round power button. The unit had a giant tv attached to it, and it roared to life, showing only static. I pressed the button again, and suddenly we were being shown a professional football game.

"WHAT??" the man roared, enraged. He pushed me back against the refridgerator. "You didn't tell me what it was still like out there!"*** He put his hands around my throat. He was wide-eyed and savage. I was confused. I looked at the screen; most of the stadium was empty, but there were some people there, in the stands, and the game was happening. "I didn't know!" I cried. I managed to escape his grasp and ran out the door of the house. I ran alongside the porch and started into the pine forest behind it.

"You'll be back," shouted the man. "You'll come in through the window or something. You have to. And I'll be here waiting." I knew he was right.

--------------------

NOTES ABOUT THIS DREAM

* This is remarkable in that I very rarely have dreams in which there is strong sunlight. This might be because this was a midday nap dream and therefore my nap environment was sunnier than my usual sleep environment.

** The "I" in my dream was me, but it was not me in my actual, physical body. The "I" I identified with in the dream was a young caucasian male, late 20's to early 30's, living in the country. There's no "evidence" in the dream to prove this other than my own strong feeling that that is who I was.

***something to this effect. what he was referring to was the relatively 'normalcy' of people going to see a professional sporting event while we were essentially living as if society itself had completely crumbled

........

This weekend I went to the Boryeong Mud Festival. Korea has a "spring break," and this is it. It's the only time and place I have been since I moved here almost a year ago where so much flesh was so willingly shown without so much as a single eyelash batted. There was mud, there was the beach, there was drinking (oh was there drinking).

I met up with some people -- good people -- who live further south, in Changwon. I had a (relatively) good time. I think what outings like this just do for me, though, is reinforce the knowledge that I am, in fact, different. I can't nor do I want to go all night every night. It's hard for me to make light conversation out of nothing; I kept listening to what people were saying and found myself being able to predict what would come next. Everything -- the people, the words, what they did -- seemed contrived and self-aware. I had the uncanny feeling that I was surrounded by puppets, mere shadows acting out the ways in which they felt they were supposed to act. But I also felt like a shadow; my body felt loose and empty, as if everything that was "me" had been wrapped up tightly in a tiny black ball in my chest. I was seeing but not seeing.

I am ashamed at the disdain I have for my fellow human beings. But I'm also ashamed of their actions, though I feel I am no better. I pose and posture because it's easy. What I want, who I am -- I don't know these things, how to be these things, and I'm plagued by it. It goes away, sometimes, for twenty minutes or an hour or maybe several hours, but inevitably the feeling comes back -- that everything you say and do, and everything those around you say and do, is a lie, and we are all face-down choking in a puddle of our own mediocrity, gasping for air but too lazy to lift our heads.

meetings

It's close to one o clock but I cannot sleep. Tomorrow is the last day of the semester. I have no classes, but I will have to attend a "teacher's meeting." In Korea, a "meeting" means meeting but not a meeting. We will be meeting, but no business will be discussed. We will gather around tables, sit on floors and cook pieces of pork fat over hot grills until the grease pops and slaps our wrists and faces. Mr. Chae, the head teacher whose long wrinkled face is like a mix of Bogart and my grandfather, will call me his Audrey Hepburn and pour tasteless beer for me. I will drink and pass him the cup. I will fill it with two hands, and he will sip, the oil imprints of my lips opaque against the glass.

I will look at the faces around me. Some are kind, most smile when I smile, but still remain as politely mysterious as when I (or they) arrived. I have to always be careful what I say. Their English surprises me. It creeps up slowly and unexpected like an errant crocus in January; a surprise, but always a delight. I will sit next to the music teacher and crack jokes in simple Korean to keep those at my table laughing. Then, when everyone has been drinking, I will fall silent, as no longer does anyone have the knowledge or patience to whisper translations in a foreign tongue. I will eat, and smile, and wait until it is time to go home. My school is one of commuters and mothers, and we never stay past eight.

epiphany

when I was walking home from school yesterday, I passed the same tumble-down wall covered in bushes I always pass, and there was nothing noticeably different about the day or my surroundings, but for the first time in my life I thought about the possibility of my self-induced non-existence and I felt my mind violently buck against it. I'm not sure what this means, or what is causing me to change, or how to keep changing, or how to stop from going back.

post-a

First part of last night's dream:

I had been arrested and I was going to jail. I had on handcuffs and I was being led into a "reception area" where they were going to check me in. It must not have been a very bad offense because everyone was really calm about it. This room, which was all white and very bright, also doubled as the prison library. There were small waist-high shelves running along the left walls. They let me choose a book before they went to lock me up. I chose a large book by a Russian writer. It was a book by an author I've heard of, but now I can remember.

Part 2 of the the dream. It was a post-apocoplytic future. Something had happened, and people were rioting. I was in an apartment in a ridiculously tall building in some sort of gated apartment communiuty. I was sitting/standing on the couch and looked at the window. I saw a crowd of rioters yelling and running through the gates. They were coming to loot the apartments. We were concerned but not scared. I was going to leave the apartment. So was Lee Byong-il's (my third grade co-teacher's) wife. She said she was still going to work. She wrapped herself in a shiny light blue trench coat. We left the apartment just as a group of rioters were rounding a corner in the hallway. "Can you believe some people actually aren't locking their doors?" he said. As the words escaped my lips, I realized I hadn't locked the door. But my hand was still on the door handle. "The door is unlocked" I called to the inside. I felt the handle jiggle, and my brother's voice said "No it's not." "Yes it is," I said. "That's just my hand holding it back." I heard the lock click into place.

Part 3 of the dream. I was at a Hollywood Video rental store. It was packed; people were everywhere. There was a really long line of people waiting to rent movies; they had huge stacks of movies in there arms. I thought it was because they knew they would never have to return them because the world was ending and the store wouldn't exist anymore. I was browsing through the movies. I went to look at a table that had movies and candy on it. I saw some girls try and shoplift some twizzlers. I told them they should be ashamed of themselves. Then I counted how many there were and decided I would just buy them the twizzlers. "Is it ok?" I asked their caretaker. Their caretaker (not their mother) told me not to, that they had the opportunity to get jobs and they turned them down. I put the twizzlers down and was torn. I felt guilty because I told the girls I would buy it for them. I wondered if Stephan (my brother) would want any and I started to get some for him. Then I remember that my mother's favorite popcorn is the kind they sell that comes in the tub you can cook in your microwave -- movie theater butter popcorn. I looked over all the shelves but I couldn't find it.

themes

Most of my dreams in the last week have involved several of the same people. As in, there are several people who have shown up several times. It's important to note that these people always look like themselves (or perhaps I just fill in the details later).

I dream about Dan very, very rarely, and every time I do he looks completely different than what he actually looks like.

Lately there's been themes of loss, searching, and also overwhelming sexual themes (which I'm interpreting as my body's way of telling me I need to get laid. Sorry, kid; it's gonna be three or four more months before THAT happens).

-----

snippet from last night's dream

We were sitting in a large classroom. There were small desks which were placed facing each other in small groups of about six desks. I was sitting in a desk in the back right group; she (a person I recently met in real life) was sitting in a desk towards the front middle. I looked up and locked eyes with her. I felt frisson in the glance.

Later in the dream we were riding in the back of a car. The backseat was large enough so that I could lie down on my back. My head was resting on my arm. She said something about how she wished she had a pillow. I motioned to her, and she came and laid beside me, resting her head on my arm.

snippets

We were at a party or something. It was dark. I was walking around the house. My brother was laying down on a couch on his side. His eyes were wide open. I was concerned. I came over to him. "Are you on something?" I asked. He nodded. He was on shrooms. He was scared. I promised to stay with him because I knew how scary being on drugs could be.

mirror

Last night is the only time I've ever dreamed about seeing myself in a mirror. I had long brown hair and half of it was down but have of it was up in a "bump" style. I knew it was me, but only in the face really, and I was reminded of someone else but I don't know who. I was sitting in a tiny bathroom, more of a closet really, and it was dark and lit only by candles. There was steam all around me. I was in an old-fashioned bathtub (curved edges and clawed feet), and the mirror was sitting on a ledge right next to me.

Everything about last night's dream was really weird but I don't want to go into detail about it.

-----

Also! This was part 1 of the dreams from last night. This is what I dreamed before I woke up at 4:49 this morning.

I was on top of a mountain. It was very steep, and the top of the mountain was flat and only about as wide around as two times the floor space of my current apartment. I looked out and surrounding me were other mountains with sharp peaks, pearly blue-gray in color, covered in patches of green moss-or-flora, peaking out from a cloud of mist. I walked back to the center of the mountain top, where there was a circular stone pool of water. Behind the pool, facing the direction opposite to the one I had previously been looking, was a large stone statue of Jesus. He was wearing a robe and had his arms outspread -- very much like O Christo Redentor, but significantly smaller. I walked up to the pool and looked in but saw nothing, just the color blue. I was going to do something (I don't know what), when two young men -- military guys -- came up and started walking around. Whatever I was going to do had to be done in private, and I thought to myself that because it was a "public" place, I couldn't ask them to leave. I walked over to the edge of the mountain which the statue faced. There was a small pool of water. I heard one of the guys say "there's no fish here," and I looked and saw a big brown one swimming toward me in the pool of water. I said "there's a big one over here," and pointed. All of a sudden, two ferrets come running out of the water and throw themselves at me. One of them attacked my left foot, sinking its claws and teeth deep into the skin around my ankle. In the dream it hurt, I felt my foot hurt and I was surprised and frightened. Then I woke up suddenly, memories of the pain still lingering in my ankle.

This dream had the same sort of feel and misty, muted color scheme as the dream with Gary.

trippin

Last night I went to bed with a little bit of a headache. As a result, I dreamed that Meg had "tricked" me into ingesting a couple hits of LSD. I was tripping and it started getting worse and worse and I wasn't sure what was going on until I finally figured out what had happened and I got mad at Meg and told her she shouldn't have made me take it because I don't like drugs and all I wanted to do was stop feeling like the world was spinning around me.

---

A few nights ago I dreamed about John again. This is the third time he has been in my dreams in the last six months. He always appears as some sort of supportive, older brother type; and in reality, I always respected and thought highly of him (even, I'm willing to admit now, put him on a bit of a pedestal, which I'm sure he didn't appreciate at all), so it seems only natural that my "dream advisor" role is filled by him.

fishing

I was fishing with Gary, of all people, and someone else who I knew at the time but now cannot recall. It was in a small deep pond, an infinitely deep puddle really, and we weren't using fishing line; we were using long strips of reeds that grew along the shore. We were catching catfish. I had one but then my reed ripped; it took the worm with it. 'I'll never be able to get one without a worm,' I thought, but I slowly slipped my reed through the water and I felt it jerk in my hand. I tugged it and then pulled it tightly, and to my surprise out came a fish! Gary caught it and put it in the plastic bucket which sat between us. It looked big at first but when I looked at it again it seemed small. I repeated the process and caught another fish. It flopped around a bit but we managed to get it in the bucket. I did it a third time, struggled a little, then pulled out a big fish (fat, about as long as my forearm) and tried to land it. We tried to put it in the bucket but it flared out its gills and got caught on the lip of the bucket. "That's more like it," said Gary. "That's the size we need. Look how small your first one was." He pulled it out of the bucket and showed it to me. The meat was pink; it had already been descaled, the skin pulled back, and somehow miraculously had been filleted. It was pink and clean like fish in the seafood section of the grocery store, except the head was still intact, unblinking. "Too late to throw it back now though," he said.

OM

It had went from a place relatively near downtown to a place set out in the woods. I left the restaurant, which was owned by some friends of mine, include the person I was seeing who wasn't Dan but was a few years younger and had a beard. It was late afternoon, and the sun shone with a kind of bleak, washed-out daylight when I left the entrance to the restaurant, but by the time I walked from the entrance down the gravel driveway to my car, it had melted into near-twilight. I approached my car with a strange sense of dread. Then, as I turned towards it, I saw that the front driver's door was open. "Oh shit oh shit oh shit," I thought to myself. But, not wanting to make a big deal out of nothing, I decided to be brave and get in the car anyway.

Out of nowhere, I was grabbed. I can't remember the details of the "attack," but I was grabbed by an old bald man with terrifying electric blue eyes and a face covered in wrinkles and dark liver spots. He was smiling a sick sort of smile at me. We wrestled and fell backwards into a deep pool at the side of the restaurant. I remember looking up at his body from very deep; the sun shone through the water and he hung like from wires. He grabbed at me again and I came up and smashed his head against the concrete side of the pool three times, until blood starting flowing from his nose and temples. His eyes half-closed and he still had the same smile on his face.

I got out of the pool and ran into the restaurant. I was not wet. "Did you see him?" I demanded. I shouted at them all. "Did you see him?"

"What are you talking about?" "The old man! My car was open and he came after me!"

One friend. "Well, I thought maybe I saw something, but I don't know..."

**cue waking up feeling like I'm having a heart attack and covered in sweat**

..

Dan doesn't really remember any of his dreams. How come I remember everything?

d

I was at a beach. I had taken the bus and as soon as I got off I knew I wasn't sure where to get it to go back where I came from, but I shrugged it off and thought I would figure it out later. It was about to be dark and about to rain and there was a man in white overalls sweeping in front of the bus stop. There was a little bit of a boardwalk. I walked down the boardwalk, which was just old, thin planks of wood with no railing, and looked down at the beach. I was on a dune or cliff that fell away sharply to the beach several feet below. The sand was dark and gray, as if it had recently rained, and the sky was still full of thick dark clouds, and the tide was in so the ocean lapped right up to the edge of the shore, leaving only a meter or two of actual beach to stand on. Someone was getting married on the beach. I didn't see a bride, but I knew it was a wedding. The bridal party was scattered about and a few men (young men, one with blonde chin-length hair) in gray suits with cerulean ties were trying to gather everyone together. I called Will on my cell phone. I don't know why I called, but I told him I was at the beach and felt kind of proud of that; for some reason it was important to me that he knew I was at the beach when it was dusk and about to storm.

I walked further and the boardwalk stopped but came up a small tank that had a baby seal in it. A small crowd of people was gathered around the tank watching the seal. I stood in the back and looked at the tank. All of a sudden the seal rushed up to a sliding window that was in the side of the tank and stuck his head out of it. He had an excited, smiling face and made a barking/squeaky noise at me, and the other people laughed and looked at me in amazement. I was embarrassed so I covered my face with my hands and left. I was angry and confused that the seal had made me stand out.

After taking a few feet back down the old boardwalk there was an open doorway and an old and impossibly tall asian/oceanic woman with a long face and her grey hair in a bun leaning over to pick something up. She invited me in and wanted me to drink tea with her. I stepped through the doorway and went to the right where the sink and the kitchen area was. She was fiddling around with something on the floor as I made the tea. Her daughter (her daughter but still older than me) came up to me and I tried to ask how many cups I should pour. I put out three small beige tea cups with a red sort of paisley or floral pattern on them but I leaned in and looked closer and they seemed too small, then when I tried to poor the tea in them I realized they weren't tea cups at all but little plastic things (almost like buttons or those tiny patio tables that used to come in the middle of pizza hut pizzas) and I couldn't use them at all.