'Ff'lo (fflo) wrote,
'Ff'lo
fflo

dreamy

lots of dreams last night. remember 'em probably most cuz i woke up with a start, at the end of the first set, after in it my father was apparently having another fatal heart attack in front of me.

this time was different, of course. he looked more like my brother than himself, with a beard like robbie's. but no glasses. (toward the end of his life he had contacts he wore sometimes.) he'd just finished doing some tight doughnuts with a miniaturized baby-blue stepside pick-up, to entertain the onlooking me and friends, and then i remembered i wanted to tell him something, i forget what, and said so, but then he fell out. looked to be having a seizure at first. i went to him, there on the ground---shirt light blue, too, like he had on in one of the last pictures taken of him. i spoke to him. felt his forearm, as it seized; can still see that, just as i can still see his arms, and see them on my brother. he couldn't speak but gestured to his chest, and then to his shirt pocket. i asked whether there were some pills in there, as i started to reach for them. (he used to have these little nitroglycerine pills, a source of joking around. explosive---more darkly funny, in metaphor for him, than i'd thought, until now.) right about then he went still, and that's when i woke up, wide awake, knowing he was dead again.

i tried to follow the dream backwards & got quite a way's. the first part i remembered was when, on a 20-minute intermission between movies in a double-feature, i ran home for something. i lived in a weirdly arranged place with lots of panelling, and a carpeted (walls & floor) raised tunnel sort of thing you had to go up to & through to get in and out of the domestic space. i was on the way back out with a couple of people in tow--- ltm among them--- and then wanted to double back again for something else, but kjc showed up to go with us & i changed my mind about the doubling back. off we all went, l with p from hot yoga, silly & arm-in-arm. there was another guy, a short stocky fella named hugo, whom i liked, and i think dm (also of takky park, and otherwise associated w/l) might have been there. we were all giddily goofy, having fun traipsing off.

at the theater the seats were arranged bizarrely. i'll skip the details. but i was thinking some guy had taken my seat, as the water bottle i had left there after the first show was where he was, but then k noticed the seat numbers and compared them with our tickets, discovering that actually some other guy had stolen my spot by claiming it with his briefcase.

i think there was some small confrontation, but i don't know how it went from that to later, with the crowd outside, watching my father with his pickup at the end of some long driveway. p from yoga & some other woman were all arms-around-each-other, up on top of a fencepost---here he was clearly being straight. and the rest of us were still there, looking on, finding my dad amusing, up until he did that dying thing.

the next set of dreams, when i went back to sleep, involved a guy in a suit like outta some 40s noir. in black and white. all i recall is that he was called king edward. when i woke from that one i thought maybe he was the guy who had given up the crown for love.

the final set of dreams was in some hospital e.r. situation. i was bringing a woman in, and somehow charged with the responsibility of securing her treatment. i did this thing and that thing, told people x fact and y, and then some docs (all white males---the two main ones an older one & his resident) came from down a hall, and it was revealed that the experience had secretly been a test of me. they critiqued my performance. i hadn't done too badly, but there was an annoying air of smugness about their reveal. the one thing i remember their pointing out was that i must have been distracted by my emotions, cuz i never took off my cpap mask, whose tube had been connected to a portal in the wall.

i harumphed a little, relieved that whoever the woman was was okay. retreated to a big lobby area, where across the room some other students of the docs were sitting on the floor. he was there, too, writing out notes about the case for me to read from across the room, including writing right on the woman who had been the patient. on her stomach, pulling up her shirt to do it. with a sharpie.

off on the side two of his students, also in white coats, a young woman and an ambiguously gendered one, were writing notes to me indicating their awareness of his assholicness. and they were writing on a sack of potatoes! interpret that, somebody.

it didn't seem particularly unusual to me, sitting on the smooth industrial linoleum over across the way, with k, who was ignoring it all, reading. she knew he was an asshole. like, big deal, duh; i'm reading.

we were both due in class in a little while.

is there some common thread in there? patriarchy? i can point to little bits of daily life yesterday that might account for some of the details, as one often can.

after that last sequence, though it was only 7, and i hadn't gone to bed until nearly 2, i decided it would probably be more restful just to stay awake.
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