Friday, March 16, 2012
But I didn't make it back there. Instead I was sitting with some people on a lawn at something that looked like a tableau of Americana. It turned out to be a tableau of Americana, for a tv show. They let us stay because we fit right in, I guess.
Afterward we were in a cafe or someplace, and I was trying to explain about my friend who was currently microscopic. I could not remember her name. I was pretty sure it started with a D, but...
"All I can come up with is Dawn," I said, "and I know that's not right."
"Dawn is a Buffy character."
"I know that."
I struggled to come up with this name I really should remember, putting my whole body into the effort. This was a mistake, as I discovered when my dead friend Tracy turned up.
"Am I dead?" I asked her.
"Yes, you are."
I started shouting, Let me go back! Let me go back! There was no breath behind the words, no external sound. I kept shouting until I managed to produce an audible squeak of desperation and panic.
I was alive again. I took a breath. And I woke up.
Okay, it was just one dream, just one stupid, awful dream. I didn't belittle a friend, I'm not missing a key (metaphorical or otherwise), and I am most evidently alive.
But it's been many hours since then, and I'm sitting typing this when I really should be asleep. I do have sleep apnea. John has seen me stop breathing. Is that what happened this morning? Probably not. More likely it was an anxiety dream about taking care of myself and meeting my obligations to others, and what if I fail? Do I get another chance?