Dearest Rachel –
I suppose that I should write you about last night‘s dreams; I had myself a pretty vivid double feature last night. The first one was pretty upsetting, having to do with being on campus somewhere (oddly enough, I somehow knew I was at the University of Montana, of all places. I don’t know how I knew this, but that’s how dreams work; you can be absolutely, specifically certain about things despite simultaneously knowing they’re likely nothing like what you’re imagining) and being followed around (like a puppy dog, not like a stalker) by some guy with a thing for me, only for him to hang himself when I rebuffed him. Yeah. The second one seemed to have to do with being in someplace in Central America, and trying to get to where people needed medical help (Why? I’m not a doctor; I couldn’t help them even if I wanted to), only to discover that the terrain is so forbidding that a distance of ten or fifteen miles is next to impossible to do, especially in an emergency situation. The interesting part about it was that it felt almost like a sophisticated video game (complete with a heads-up display as to how to get from dispatch center to where the patient supposedly was) rather than reality, although I suppose relating it to reality when it’s a dream is kind of silly in the first place.
And while I could probably flush these two stories out a little more and call it a day, they’re already fading from memory. To be honest, I’m surprised I remember as much as I do about the one at the U of M, since I pretty much rolled over and went back to sleep in order to take in the medical dispatch story (and, to a certain extent, to try and forget about what just happened). Anything I could do at this point to fill in the details, would probably not have anything to do with the dream itself; then again, the fact that it’s all coming out of the same brain needs me to think that I would be permitted to take those kind of liberties with the stories it had created overnight.
I could just as easily spend a fair amount of time speculating as to why I had such a vivid pair of visions last night. It wasn’t as if I was up late eating; yesterday may be notorious, culturally speaking, for overindulgence, but I’d like to think I was pretty good yesterday. I kept myself to a single large plate, with a few extra pieces of turkey in order to savor the cranberry sauce separately. Normally, as you know, I tend to just cover everything – the turkey, the stuffing and the mashed potatoes – in gravy (well, aside from the vegetable casserole), so some of the meat had to be set aside on the salad plate with the roll and the gelatin. In any event, the meal was over and done with by the time the first football game was over (I hardly need to mention that the Bears lost, but at least they made it competitive, which most teams playing Detroit this year can’t say. Still, in the end, it doesn’t matter if you lose by a point or by fifty; a loss is a loss), so it’s not like I consumed much as the day grew dark. In fact, I’d have been hard-pressed to consume more; let’s face it, one full plate of Thanksgiving fixings is more than enough for anyone.
It might have been from allowing myself to sleep more of the night – and morning – away today. I think I may have been the only male at yesterday’s gathering not to fall asleep at some point during the festivities – hey, the tryptophan goblin will get you if you’re not vigilant – so I had a solid night’s sleep last night, apart from waking up upon discovering the corpse in my first dream at some point between three and four. In fact, I stayed asleep until nearly seven-thirty this morning, which could be considered a remarkable achievement if it didn’t essentially preclude heading out to the gym before breakfast and the ‘office’ (yes, I’m going there today – both of the folks asked me at Thanksgiving enough times that even I could get the hint that they’d actually like me to come over. It’s also something I considered as a topic for today, but this far into my letter, I may just let it go until tomorrow; we’ll see about it). And while I’m in no danger of crossing the two-fifteen line, the dreams I dealt with weren’t exactly sugarplums; apart from a thoroughly rested sensation, I don’t know how beneficial those extra hours of sleep really were for me.
Whatever the reason, good, bad or indifferent, I certainly had them. They aren’t ones I care to repeat if I had the option (not that I do), but this is what they were. I wish you had been able to stop by, to either temper or dispel them, but I don’t have any more control over that than anything else about them. At least I can tell you about them and give you the opportunity to think of what you might have done in the midst of them. To be sure, if we were relating such things in face-to-face conversation, it would be a different experience, in that the other of us would be asking questions that hadn’t come up in situ, forcing the dreamer to address certain inconsistencies or absurdities of their scenario. With you not here to ask those questions – and me being unable to guess what you might ask – I can’t address much of that. And since I didn’t enjoy the experience to begin with, I decided to gloss over the dreams themselves, and tried to pick apart what provoked them in the first place – not that I’m close to any reasonable answer now than I was when I woke up.
Still, it’s time I set those aside and got on with my day, even as it doesn’t include participating in the ‘festivities’ associated with the season – and yes, I’ll definitely address that in my next letter. Until then, honey, keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 