I wish I could swallow you inside me, only to cry you out…

In a dream I once had, everyone I’d loved is gone.  I am standing in a common room in an upstairs terrace of a home, evidence about me that they were once among the living.  A dent in a sofa cushion, a half-finished beer, an abandoned cell phone, I can still smell her on the bed sheets.  But they are gone, and I am alone.  An alien creature had landed in the backyard while we were hanging out, and then started killing us off one by one.  Finally, when only I was left, it liquefied itself and poured into my body, overtaking me.  With my conscience the only thing left to me, I sat in the back of my mind and thought of all my murdered friends and cried.  As I felt their loss, my body began sobbing, and the creature was expelled through my tears, a black tar rolling down my face, until it dissipated in the air.  I had conquered the evil, but I was still alone.  My victory has done nothing for my fallen friends; everyone I loved is still dead.  I wake crying.

I am a janitor.  I clean up everyone’s shit.

So, two mornings ago I had an interesting dream: I’m in a van with friends, cruising down a road in a wooded area of central California.  I know where we’re going and why, but I soon forget when I see a sign that lets drivers know they’re nearing a music festival ground.  I know we’re not headed to the festival, but now I can’t push it from my mind or recall where we’re actually going.  Before I can recall, we come across a gaggle of hippies standing in the middle of the road with pamphlets.  They’re part of a commune and they’re selling wares for sustenance.  They stop all traffic by standing directly in the road and diverting passersby to their little stand of trinkets.  I recognize four of the people in the group, one of whom has passed away from my waking life.  We stop the van and get out to look at their shit, mostly t-shirts and toys, $10 each or 3 for $20.  I see a few Transformers amongst the toys, one of them an incredibly rare police car that transforms into a robot that for a very brief moment in the late 80s led the Decepticon forces.  I pick it up and start to transform it, quickly realizing that it doesn’t turn into a robot from my youth at all, but actually into an action figure of Tyler Perry from his forthcoming role as Alex Cross in the film of the same name.  I am trying to complete the transformation, struggling with a removable cloak and strangely pivoting triceps, and I realize that my friends are starting to pile back into the van while I’m still wasting time with my Tyler Perry toy.  I continue to fiddle with it, and the pervasive thought of how much time I’m wasting becomes a deafening roar until it wakes me.  I realize then that it is noon and I am late for work.

I don’t know what that means.

Being an adult is expensive, and tiring.  I would be more of a morning person if it weren’t so damn early.