Unfortunate Unfortunate Dreams

My dreams are realities. They’re random, they’re painful, they’re rare manifestations of my imagination… and they come true. Like, seriously. This is what makes this so weirdly sad and irksome.

I remember pieces of my dreams and they always tend to kick me. Hard. In my face. There’s this one recurring dream that makes me shiver when I wake. Other times there’s a cliché tear in my eye. I’m dizzy upon waking.

It’s my wedding day. I am wearing this mystic white gown, ghostly and old-fashioned. I can feel myself, but I’m not actually there and everyone is a complete blur. I can sense who is in attendance from my immediate family, but the others I can’t see. The dream catches in that stupid second where the door opens up and the wife is supposed to walk down the aisle prettily, but what do I do?

-Pause like I’m dying, and one of two things happen; every single time this dream dreams. I faint. Done. On the floor. Whoops. Or two; have you seen Julia Roberts in Runaway Bride? I take to my Skechers Shape-Ups and dash down the cobblestone. Why in the middle of the most pressured time of my life am I having this slow motion nightmare? I mean yes, these dreams could be worse, I know. As they recur and I can foreshadow the dejavuish feeling in them- I can feel that I know (even in the dreams) that there won’t be anything I can do to change the fate of what is going to happen.

When I woke up this morning I said aloud to myself that there’s no point in dreaming anymore. My dreams belong in a circus.


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