I had a dream last night. A number of dreams. One sequence was really trippy because I actually had proof of the whole "time is fucked up in dreams" thing. I fell asleep as the Celtic Edge (the best modern Irish rock show ever) ended on WICB at 12:01 and woke up at 12:07. At least 20 minutes dreamtime had passed. Don't remember too much, but Spendocrat was there. Right in my doorway, waving his Canadian hand, just like in his pic. Except in his pic, he's not in my doorway. You know what I mean.
One dream I can remember like a photograph, or a few pictures. I remember it being Christmas, and me being poor (not a stretch- I'm actually heavily in debt and I'm not even wonking yet). Gift-exchange was a small ceremony; just my best-friend Joe and Becca. All I had were the clothes on my back. Luckily, that included my winter coat, notorious for its pocketspace. I keep a flashlight and a pair of binoculars in one of my pockets (yes, both in ONE pocket) and each was somehow a very fitting present for either person. I forget who got what, but it was just what they needed, which is good, because it was all I had. That was the main recurring theme of the dream "all that I had." But it was enough. Just enough.
I had a thought as I was running (yes, I mean literally running) down the hill to see Becca. A car passed me, and the road was kinda dark, so I started thinking morbid thoughts like I often do. What if I had been hit? I wasn't even close, but I couldn't help but think it. I like to flirt with danger (*flinch* sorry, Becca!) and I'm always thinking about random violent things happening. If I got hit with a car, how would I fall? Would I be able to jump back enough to escape unhurt? Would I land on my feet? If I did, how long could I stand? For some reason, these images got mixed up with a story I've been writing since high school. One character, perhaps the best representative of my DarkLord icon, has an interlude where he recounts the story of the one time his father got shot. He got shot, and didn't fall down. Granted, he had on a bulletproof vest, but that's still hardcore. And all the rest of his life, the character in question (Miguel) was haunted by/tormented with/shaped by this God-like image of his father. This image of the man who could stand, even for a second, after being hit by a car, was very salient in my mind, especially since in my fancy, it had almost been me. I thought, Could I ever be that kind of man for my kids? Would I want to? The idea of the man is one that's very important to me. I made a very big thing of it in one of my essays a few years ago. In my mind, there is/was a very important distinction between boys, guys, and men. The differences in the names are semantic, but there is a real distinction between those who are immature and don't know better (boys), those who should know better (guys), and those who are mature (men). Being a 'man' is really an ideal, a larger than life figure who ALWAYS takes responsibility, who's ALWAYS there, who has intelligent thoughts on everything and can explain anything. I want to be that man. And I never can be. But I will be. Even if it kills me.
Of course, this kind of shit always ties in with father issues, which has things to do with the Breakfast Club. It's fun to watch that movie with people you know and compare yourselves to characters. Until something strikes a chord. From the beginning, I saw Anthony Michael Hall get dropped off by his mother, who sounded a lot like my mother, and then Emilio Estevez's dad sounded a lot like my dad... it was very hard on me when Emilio Estevez said, "Sometimes I just wish my knee would give out so he'd just forget about me," about his dad. And I thought, Well, fuck. All my life, I've been pressed to achieve, driven to be the best, whether I wanted to or not. Is this what happened to me? Did I will myself to give up on my education so people would have to find things beyond my brain to care about? Did I devote myself to my activities for just that purpose? All my life, I've been told I could be whatever I wanted to be, but what do I want to be? I don't know, but I have to decide soon, because that's the rules behind this college game. I don't want to play, thank you. I didn't really resonate with AMH's character beyond the mother. But damned if the knee thing didn't almost collapse me. I mean, fuck.
Shit, that's the end of my entry. I have nowhere to go from here.