Quinn the Eskimo

Dearest Rachel –

I have probably got to stop trying to find any deeper meaning in my dreams. This one had to be one of the most elaborate ones I’ve ever had, but it didn’t seem to really ever go anywhere.

Well, that’s not entirely true: it went places (if you want to be literal about it) but it didn’t really make any sense – which really, shouldn’t be surprising because again, dreams.

I’m sorry, now I’m not making any sense. Let me see if I can explain by way of description.

You know how you used to have certain dreams that all but put you into a Doctor Who episode? Yeah, that’s sort of what this felt like. Except it was more like an anime or maybe, to be more accurate, the manga the anime was based on. Everyone was ridiculously tall and rail-thin, almost grotesquely so, but it all seemed perfectly normal in the context of the setting. You know, that kind of shoujo manga type setting.

I’m going to say that it was probably set somewhere in Europe, which may have something to do with my own adventures earlier this month, but not much. Unlike my situation, where I was all by myself in a room, I was sharing an apartment with at least a dozen – and probably more like fifteen – flatmates. Because, Europe: who can afford a single apartment? And, needless to say, there wasn’t a whole lot of privacy. My sleeping space was cordoned off by a floor to ceiling drape, but I was one of the odd ones in that respect. Most of the others slept (and I use the term loosely; you’ll understand in a moment) in the main communal room that my area was adjacent to and all but a part of. I found myself having to pick my way over couples (like I said, not necessarily a lot of actual sleeping going on) as I would make my way to the kitchen area to grab breakfast for myself in the mornings. And I suppose I should mention at this point that my attitude towards my flatmates with something more approaching envy, as opposed to the distain that I probably should’ve held towards them.

There was at least one other that didn’t generally participate in the group… sleep together? I guess you could call it. She (at least I think she was a she, given the sound of her voice, for instance; I certainly hope so, given how things started to develop in this dream) was named Quinn, and had an androgynous build and pixie-cut hair, and also slept in a cordoned-off area adjacent to the communal sleeping pit. To say she was cute would be to suggest that water is wet or the pope is Catholic, as, again, this is a manga, not to mention this is a dream; I can create characters who are as pretty as I want them to be (how I wish I could do that in real life, but my drawing abilities are just rubbish).

She was also fairly aloof from the rest of the group; not in the same way that I was, as they generally left me alone as a member of an older generation that really had no part with them (which may have contributed to my envy of them – they were having all this ‘fun’ together, and would never have even considered suggesting I be a part of any of it). On the contrary, she would catch a fair amount of grief from the others as to why she didn’t join in, particularly from Max, another androgynously built character who seemed decidedly male in his aggressive nature toward Quinn.

I do recall a scene where the two of them were talking about why Quinn didn’t join in with everybody else; clearly, Max was trying to put the moves on her. Which I can understand, as I was (and they were) living with a bunch of beautiful people, for lack of any other description. I wish I could remember exactly what it was that Quinn responded with, because it must’ve put Max in his place to an extent. I only recall my own reaction to it; I found myself running away from the scene, virtually circling the apartment block, all the while berating myself for not trying to approach her before. Evidently, I might’ve had a chance with Quinn, had I given it a try.

Somehow, the scene shifted dramatically, and the two of us found ourselves in some kind of race. Maybe it was more like a video game, but it was the sort of immersive play that completely surrounded you to where the lines between what’s real and what’s the game get blurred to point of erasure. Then again, this is still part of the dream, so I guess that’s to be expected. I suspect it was some kind of video game, because the consequences of the race were virtually life or death. And let’s just say it wasn’t looking good for Quinn and I, as we were neither particularly adept nor particularly cooperative.

I’m pretty sure I heard some catcall about us being ‘like some old married couple,’ which, given my experience as having been part of an old married couple already, I feel I should take real-life offense to.

Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately, considering how well we were doing), I didn’t get to see the conclusion of the race. I saw us trying to speed – and steer – through the narrow corridors of some European city in this futuristic hybrid electric/human powered vehicle (I think that comes from my going through the Twike website recently – I’ll admit to being intrigued by the contraption, but upon discovering it cost something between €35,000 and €50,000, I found myself losing interest. I could buy plenty of actual car for that kind of money), but I don’t remember where we were trying to go, or what our objective was apart from trying to beat some virtual devil character. It was all some Faustian deal, apparently, complete with my attempt (that appeared to be failing) to get the girl, Quinn.

But as I’m sitting here telling you about it, it all sort of falls apart. It’s all just a great big shaggy dog story, where nothing resolves itself, and I still wake up alone. I guess the advantage is that I don’t have to tiptoe over or around a mass of naked bodies in the sunroom or anything, but still, I can’t help but wonder what any of that was all about, and if any of it was meant to tell me something. I think I’m going to try to go back to sleep at this point, and figure out what if anything more my brain can add to this. Probably nothing, as even you would have trouble getting yourself back into the same dream you left; by comparison, I’m a relative newbie at this.

Still, wish me luck, honey. I’m going to need it. Good night… again.

Published by randy@letters-to-rachel.memorial

I am Rachel's husband. Was. I'm still trying to deal with it. I probably always will be.

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