Of Heaven and Mars

As a rule, I don’t like dreams. Or sleep. Just doesn’t sit right with me, the concept of letting your body go entirely unconscious, no idea what could happen to it, no idea what’s going on around you – and you have no control regarding this. I guess I’m not a very trusting person. As for the dreams, gah. I typically say that I don’t dream, because it seems that way to me; never remember anything, don’t wake up with cold sweats in the middle of the night, never arise with a sense of foreboding DOOM in the morning – I don’t dream. Of course, there are exceptions; I know this, because sometimes I do dream. Take last night, for example. While it has almost been an hour since I woke, I necessarily don’t remember all too much of it. What I do remember is that I was at a fictional college (though I’ve seen it many times) that also went by the name of the college attached to where I go now – I remember thinking ‘Crazy coincidence, I actually go to the college with the same name as the one the writer’s chose for this,’ – which isn’t true, because that fictional college has a different name. Which means that I remember something I -thought- inside a dream. Strange. I also remember befriending somebody, in this nonexistant dreamworld, and becoming rather good friends with them, with the potential for ‘more.’ I remember, there was some… college basketball game, I dare say, or some sort of pep rally thing, but there were chairs and tables set up (as in, small circular ones for small number, or larger ones for a bunch of friends to sit at) to watch whatever was going on – I don’t remember the details. The aforementioned person was sitting at a table near the front and by the left wall, a small one meant for one or two people. I remember that I was standing near the right of the room, just off centre and looking her way; I didn’t want to just walk over there, I’d rather have her ask me over (because, you know, manipulatory techniques and all. This is actually a pretty good way to see what somebody thinks of you – do they like you enough to actively want you to sit with them?). I remember she was looking around, for me, saw me and beckoned me over. Not to say anything kinky happened, this isn’t that kind of story. Don’t remember what happened then. Later, entered her dorm room with her and who I can now only assume to be a roommate – I don’t remember who it was, if anybody from the same fictional world as the school and the ‘primary’ person came from. We were just hanging out, talking; I remember that I said “It’s strange; I go to ____, [they interrupted at this point to ask what I was studying, but I continued] which shares a campus with a college, called _____________, which is what the college here is called.” They asked again what I was studying, so I told them. It’s just, think of the implications of this. In the dream-world, I was at a college in California, a rather non-existant one becoming rather close friends with a non-existant character from a work of fiction, yet the ‘me’ in that world still went to the same school, was doing the same program. Thus, the whole becoming friends thing would imply I had been there for extended amounts of time, which is rather nonsensical if I still attended school in Southern Ontario. Of course, that’s not why I’m recounting this. The thing is, (“and, when I awoke, I was alone – this bird had flown” – Sorry, just popped into my mind), when I awoke I realized it was a dream, and as insane and psychotic as it sounds I was rather disheartened at that. The thought that in this whole fantasy dreamworld, I had made a friend, a rather good friend, had gotten to know each other pretty well – and it didn’t exist. All that time, all the things that have been through and said and done together, the entire friendship that had been built didn’t exist anymore. It vanished with the dream. But it never existed, and never will. It’s the feeling that you’ll never see your best friend again, but to a lesser extent because I’m a cold, heartless wretch. (Kerouac quote: “I’m a wretch. But I love, love.”) Oh well. I’m very deliberately not saying who the character was, or what fictional piece this was from, or the college name, et cetera. It does strike me as strange that I remember something I thought within the dream. And that there was actually some feel of loss when I arose and found it never existed. But so it goes, dear reader; that’s just the way things work.