Archive for June, 2002

June 23rd, 2002

» blossom by blossom

I am writing this down over a week after I dreamt it, which never bodes well for the accuracy of my details, but some of it is still quite clear.

I was with a party of men who were travelling with Angel (from Buffy). We were all wearing large hooded brown cloaks which shadowed our faces, and we were moving in stealth up a mountainous path. We were headed somewhere, though our way was fraught with peril. Indeed, we were ambushed along our way by the people who were after us. I remember in particular one man wielding a sharp axe — the sharp glint as it arced toward a rider’s back. It hit as though striking stone, not sinking past the cloak, thanks to the spells of protection that were woven around us. We fled.

We came at last to a sacred grove where no one could harm us, where we could rest. There were low, white houses with thatched roofs on impossibly green lawn among hundreds of cherry trees. Pink and white blossoms fell everywhere, and we dismounted and walked among them. I gathered an enormous basketful and went up high, toss handful after handful of blossoms into the wind so they fluttered down on a wedding that was taking place there.

Later we journeyed past the grove and at last gained our destination, a rocky cave full of gold and treasures. I remember last stepping in amongst the piles of gold, being surrounded by the glitter of riches.

June 22nd, 2002

» ‘hasta la muerte’

I was to go down to the floor of the arena for my trial and execution. I was standing just off to one side with my friends — this part is hazy because I both was and was not a dancer with them, getting ready to perform for the crowd. I confessed to Willow that I was to go dance my case, and before I could stop her she went out in my place.

Somehow my life was won very easily, and we gathered in another room to celebrate. Later it was her turn to come to me, terrified. For some reason she was to be on trial now. I said nothing, turning to walk out into the arena as the music began. Amid whispers about Swan Lake I stepped into the spotlight knowing I would die. Graceful Willow at least knew how to dance and knew this dance in particular. I knew nothing.

The leading man faced me and began to dance, looking annoyed when I did not follow suit. I wasn’t afraid anymore; I stood with my head up, waiting for the dance to finish. Well, there were other parts and other dancers, and they seemed determined to dance the entire piece, with or without their leading lady. At the end the lead man was just twirling circles and leaping around the perimeter, and the villain asked him if they were finished then. He, annoyed, replied that he had just made up an ending a while ago and was quite done. A half-assed way to dance my death if you ask me.

So they left and a moment later a scary guy — the executioner — rolled out in a crude sort of wheelchair. I was to fight him, if I could, and if I won I went free. Otherwise, death. But I couldn’t fight him if I didn’t have a chair.

Suddenly about half a dozen dwarves in smaller chairs rolled out into the arena. The crowd went wild. I was stunned and hopeful for the first time. The leader turned to me with a smile and explained that they were friends of Willow’s, and since I had stood by her they were returning the favor. Surely six against one… A moment later a voice came over the intercom, declaring a new rule had been put into effect and only people with cedar wheels could compete. I looked sadly at the metal wheels on the dwarves’ chairs. They apologized, crestfallen, and were forced to leave.

It was just me and the executioner and a dead silent crowd. The executioner stood up, facing them. There was an uncertain moment and then the crowd broke into bloodthirsty cheers. He grinned menacingly and began.

He told the story of himself. In rhyme. It was quite a long and neat story, and apparently I can rhyme much better in my sleep than I ever have awake, but I can’t remember any of it. It was the story of how his daughter had gone missing from her grave and how others had thought if they only found her his heart would be healed, but they were wrong. On the side of the stage had appeared a bank of all manner of disgusting things — jars with pale hearts in them, trays with sections of brain waiting to be sliced open.

Everything had gone dark and the executioner was pattering on. I wanted a chance to say goodbye, so I slipped out a side door into my rooms, which were just off the arena. No one knew where Willow had gone, but I found my mom in the second room, amid stacks of boxes full of my possessions. They had wated no time starting to pack them up, though I was not dead yet. I hugged her tightly.

“Don’t throw all of my stuff away too quickly,” I begged, suddenly very attached to it. Silence. Finally I continued.

“Mommy, will it hurt? Will it hurt when I die?”

“I don’t know. I think of it this way: it will only be a moment and then nothing.” She meant to be reassuring, and I was reassured.

I cried anyway.

June 15th, 2002

» ‘he moved like the sunset’

Two words: Spike. Kilt.


There was a lot of other stuff too, including me doing a lot of running around with the Scoobies (Buffytalk) and a bit with me and a bike. It was all quite interesting, but when I woke up my only thought was Spike, kilt, must remember. And so I let all of the other details go.

I can remember it perfectly, though. He was driving, and I was lying down in the passenger’s seat, my head pillowed quite comfortably against the dash, and we were having some nice banter. His kilt was red plaid, and I could see both of his perfect white knees. We also went into a store after that and he made a huge mess throwing things over the card aisle into the next one, but I can’t now remember why he was doing it.

June 14th, 2002

» ‘revving yes revving’

My uncle visited us, and I borrowed his motorcycle, even though I don’t know how to ride one. I figured It’s a dream, I can do it. And since it was a dream, it didn’t matter that I couldn’t actually see the motorcycle; I would just pretend it was there. So I gave myself a little running start, put my hands out as if they were gripping handles, pulled my legs up, and I was off.

It was fantastic fun. So much fun, in fact, that I ended up in Litchfield (about an hour’s drive away, although it didn’t take me nearly so long to get there in the dream). I decided it was time to turn back, and thought how spectacular it would be to tell my parents I’d been having so much fun that I’d gone all the way to Litchfield and back. When I turned right onto the road that would take me home, however, the notbike I had been riding became even less of a bike. Now I was just running along with my hands around imaginary handles. I was playing make-believe and it was no longer working the way it had. I made a few attempts to pull my legs up and glide along again, but I went as slowly as if I were merely jogging, and lost my nerve for it. I thought it would be okay if in my dream world I walked there, but I would like to skip that boring part and be in the next segment of the dream.

Things shifted subtly here; I was suddenly wearing my backpack, and knew I had my cell phone in it. I could call my parents and ask for a ride back, though it would be a big embarrassing to make them come all the way to Litchfield to get me. I could just as well walk, though it would take me a long time. It was already late afternoon, but just as I was weighing my choices I ran into Abby and Jill M—, two kids I used to babysit for. They had just gotten off school and were walking home. (In real life they live in my neighborhood, but in my dream they did not have the long walk home that I did.) So I walked and talked with them for a bit. I can’t remember what we said, but when I next looked up we were in Delano (just one town away). It was also full dark. They left and the dream shifted again.

This piece was much less light-hearted. I was no longer on my way home, because I was on campus. Not my campus, but one I’ve dreamt before, one full of torn-up blocks and unfinished construction projects and abandoned buildings. I was with two other students, and we were inside a fence we should not have been in, though we were outside of the run-down building. The ground outside was all torn up, uneven and full of rusted beams. We were skirting the large crater dug out of it, though it was treacherous going, especially since we were also trying to avoid being seen. It is here the dream disintigrates somewhat; I remember going into another building and meeting other students, but I don’t remember the conversation we had or what happened afterwards.

June 14th, 2002

» nothing but whining

Eleven days. Eleven days my ear has hurt, off and on. I should have gone to the doctor right away, I know, but it would stop hurting and then begin again, and then stop and then resume. I was afraid it might be my jaw acting up, because the pain and stiffness has settled there as well. Saturday I finally went and got two prescriptions. The doctor said to fill the one for amoxicillin and not the one for the ear drops. If the pills hadn’t helped in a few days, do the drops too.

Well, the pills did help. Until I forgot one dose. I don’t know if it’s a coincidence that my ear began hurting again the next day, or if I was going to need the drops all along. At any rate, I began the drops last night. They don’t work instantly. They don’t even bring any sort of relief, and so I wonder if I am doing them right. You can be damned sure I’m not forgetting another dose of pills. I crawled in bed around ten thirty with Potter, and read until around one. I was tired and my ear had been hurting for hours, so I finally put the book down and decided I would get to sleep at a decent time for once. I was going to be good and take care of myself and sleep lots so I would feel better in the morning, right?

Wrong. I spent over two hours in agony, unable to sleep; I was sweating and freezing at the same time and I could not find a way to lie that alleviated the pain and pressure in my ear. I finally put more drops in (I figured it wouldn’t hurt, since I’d done them first around nine and wouldn’t be up until eleven or noon, most likely) and took two Advil and cried myself slowly to sleep.