I have decided to change the font of my journals, for I have suddenly discovered how hard they were to read when in a hurry. I hope this is easier on your eyes, and I apologise for taking so long to discover something that stares me in the face everyday.
Had a weird dream last night. Not that all my other dreams make sense. We forget most of our dreams anyway, but I woke up from this one with a jolt, and made a written copy of what went on in the dream that very moment.
I dreamt that there was a monster in the oven of a small house I was staying in, and it was a sort of brown gelatin-like monster that had lost its moisture. It was now a brown dry crust, imprisoned in the oven. Somehow I made the mistake of pouring hot chili sauce over the monster, thinking that the heat of the spice would kill it. The moisture from the sauce revived it, and it started to quake and move. I closed the oven door and stood a distance away, hoping it would stay contained. It oozed out of any small gaps there were to be found, slowly but surely escaping its prison.
I picked up the phone and dialed a number in desperation. It was someone I knew who encountered the monster before. The very next moment, I found myself outside the house, and met by the girl whom I supposed I called. She pulled my arm, and we ran away from the house to some shops nearby. We ran into a pawn shop, and I remember the deep red lighting within the shop, and the smell of incense. A fat lady sat at the counter, adjusting the time on her clock. She asked me if she should put the time to a different time zone to make it easier for her to figure out what time it was in the other country. I told her that she could just do the simple calculations, and she kept the clock on Singapore time. That was when I woke up.
All of this makes no sense at all, and even as I put this down on my journals here, it still doesn’t make any sense. The one thing that did hit me was the moment the girl pulled my arm. She initially held my hand, but I was uncomfortable with it because she wasn’t Faith, and yet when I moved her hand to my arm (which to me is less personal), it felt good. I’m not about to tell you that I had an affair or any of the sort, and for a brief moment I was afraid that I had seen how easy it was to enjoy the feel of the another girl’s hand pulling my arm. What I did right away was tell Faith all what I had dreamed, and I hope that by being open I might have the support to overcome any temptation
Laughs the journal today really makes no sense at all. The dream world is a world that makes sense only within itself. I remember once when I was a child, and during a nightmare, at the most dangerous moment, I stood atop a mushroom (YES a MUSHROOM) and proclaimed, “It is only a dream!”. I woke up from the dream, and didn’t have to face the danger.
Dreams. How do we understand something we so easily forget?