12:56 - November 18, 2002
4:30 mystery
When you wake up at 4:30 and your dream took the time form of weeks and weeks and weeks, you don't know what day it is and there is nothing to compare it to, when you rise from your sweaty sheets to the glaring red numbers of the clock... it could be dawn or dusk, 4:30. The sun has not decided which way it is going, and the clock is no help. I have a meeting at 5:20, on Sunday, but it might not be Sunday. It might be Tuesday, or Saturday, or Monday. I take a shower because water does not discriminate and my hair is greasy. I go into Nick's room to get a sense of what's going on and it seems that I had just seen him a half hour ago, but that was maybe a dream, as he is sitting with Steve watching James Bond, twirling his curls, which gives me no time frame either. His pajamas don't help, and Steve is constantly in bed.
As it's getting darker, rather than lighter, I opt for PM and catch the bus to my meeting, which exists because it is indeed Sunday, and as I get on the bus back, I remember that Paul is still here, visiting, and I was supposed to call him when I woke up to eat... well, dinner is looking more likely now than anything else, and I am starting to remember how many bowls I smoked the night before - six - plus one expertly rolled joint, which explains a lot, but now back at the dorm I have to figure out how much of what I dreamed I actually dreamed, rather than actually did.

Most of it is obvious, for example the crying squid, and come to think of it all of it is obvious, since I only slept, despite it all, for twelve hours, but most of it was at least realistic enough to fuck my mind over. There was a party, a fancy one to which I had to wear my autumn dress and had no place to stash anything I needed with me, and my dad, who disappeared soon after, refused to hold it in the pocket of his dress pants. Once there, I danced with Camille and Nick and Jeremy and Nora and Ross and Mike, such an odd amalgym considering the range of cities there, but so be it. The coach ride back it was me and a bunch of smitten boys who turned up from nowhere. Why they were smitten is a mystery, but they were, and I had to choose between them. I remember who I chose at the end, and it was a beautiful memory to have, if nothing else, even if it never happens for real, this dream memory will always be as real of a memory as anything else. All it was was he and I, still in fancy clothes but with wet hair from the rain, holding each other for hours in the middle of my room, in and out of my roommate going in and out and the sun coming up and going down, days and days and days and it was always enough but never too much.

I woke up then to him sitting on my bed tickling my feet. And then I woke up to my 4:30 mystery.

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