Last night I dreamed this:
It was Thanksgiving, and I was at my parents' house. I was still in this limbo with Phil, who I knew was at our neighbor's house with his family. (In real life as in the dream, our neighbor is the father of my first high-school boyfriend, Ryan.) I wanted to send Phil a text message but couldn't get any service unless I did a stretchy yoga pose. I was nervous because I'd brought my girlfriend, who looked vaguely like Lindsay, to the house for Thanksgiving dinner. In the basement laundry room, I noticed that my parents had installed three black flat-panel televisions that hung upside-down from the ceilings. "We watch too much TV," I thought. Then I went upstairs to tell my family that the fake Lindsay was actually my girlfriend, and that we were at Thanksgiving dinner as a couple. My brother, who didn't look like any of my real brothers, started screaming that I was a sinner and that I was going to hell. My parents were confused. Fake Lindsay sat on my mother's lap, topless. To show his support, my father became a British drag queen; he wore a mousy brown bob and magenta rouge and sat in his recliner.
I walked outside and talked on the telephone with Marcy (who, again, in real life is Ryan's sister). "Phil is here and he keeps looking over toward your house, which is making his girlfriend upset," she said. I let out a loud and long howl, then ran through the forest to the road. I heard someone mimicking my howl from afar. I took a bus for a few miles and then hopped off near a campground where I used to swim as a child. My guitar was strapped on my back, and I walked east on a gravel road. I was hoping to run into Marcy and Phil. I found them playing soccer in the middle of the road, next to apple orchards. Marcy was on the sidelines, Rick was leaping impossibly high as the goalie, and Phil was there but wearing Ryan's face. "Everything is all right," he kept saying. "But your body isn't right," I told him. "And my father is a drag queen now." A car approached the soccer game, and then it all ended.
It was Thanksgiving, and I was at my parents' house. I was still in this limbo with Phil, who I knew was at our neighbor's house with his family. (In real life as in the dream, our neighbor is the father of my first high-school boyfriend, Ryan.) I wanted to send Phil a text message but couldn't get any service unless I did a stretchy yoga pose. I was nervous because I'd brought my girlfriend, who looked vaguely like Lindsay, to the house for Thanksgiving dinner. In the basement laundry room, I noticed that my parents had installed three black flat-panel televisions that hung upside-down from the ceilings. "We watch too much TV," I thought. Then I went upstairs to tell my family that the fake Lindsay was actually my girlfriend, and that we were at Thanksgiving dinner as a couple. My brother, who didn't look like any of my real brothers, started screaming that I was a sinner and that I was going to hell. My parents were confused. Fake Lindsay sat on my mother's lap, topless. To show his support, my father became a British drag queen; he wore a mousy brown bob and magenta rouge and sat in his recliner.
I walked outside and talked on the telephone with Marcy (who, again, in real life is Ryan's sister). "Phil is here and he keeps looking over toward your house, which is making his girlfriend upset," she said. I let out a loud and long howl, then ran through the forest to the road. I heard someone mimicking my howl from afar. I took a bus for a few miles and then hopped off near a campground where I used to swim as a child. My guitar was strapped on my back, and I walked east on a gravel road. I was hoping to run into Marcy and Phil. I found them playing soccer in the middle of the road, next to apple orchards. Marcy was on the sidelines, Rick was leaping impossibly high as the goalie, and Phil was there but wearing Ryan's face. "Everything is all right," he kept saying. "But your body isn't right," I told him. "And my father is a drag queen now." A car approached the soccer game, and then it all ended.
Labels: signs of latent homosexuality, sleep
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