Dream On

Had the a weird but interesting dream ever last night, due largely to the weird combination of people in it. It went like this:

Ms. X got excited when she heard Mr. Y was arriving from a not-so-far-away land. She went and visited Mr. Y at his house, which turned out to be just a major avenue from Ms. X's own real-life house. (Note: Ms. X doesn't really know where Mr. Y really lives in reality but that's neither here nor there.)

When she got there, she saw Mr. Y on a gurney, with a white blanket covering the lower portion of his body. Mr. Y was tired from the flight and Ms. X's heart did two things at once: jumped for joy at the sight of Mr. Y and broke down upon seeing him in that state.

Mr. Y held out his hand to Ms. X and Ms. X went to hold on to him and... GAH!

"Why are your fingers so short and stout?!? You're not that fat! So does that mean your thingamajig is also short and... well, icky-looking?!?", Ms. X exclaimed, probably because one loses one's tact in the dreamworld.

Mr. Y replied, "No. Just don't think about them too much and hold me. Once you hold me, everything will be okay. And if you kiss me, then my fingers would become long and beautiful and smooth and everything you want them to be. As well as another part-of-interest in my anatomy."

Comforted with these lines, Ms. X leaned down for a kiss and... blank. I couldn't remember if they kissed or not. But the next scene was as follows:

Four friends of Ms. X arrived. They were: Mr. C, the high school classmate; Ms. P, the childish friend, Ms. T, who just followed the others around and did not bother to utter a single word; and Ms. R, the hyper friend. They pulled Ms. X out of the kiss or whatever-it-was-that-wasn't-a-kiss and told her she'd be found if she's not careful.

Some people, according to the Friends, are arriving that day and Ms. X must hide. So off the Friends with Ms. X went - to the subway, where Ms. R confronted a Japanese looking ex boyfriend with a girl who looked like a tramp wearing a college uniform. Ms. X stopped the (emotionally) painful ordeal and led the rest through and out of the subway, plotting her next meeting with Mr. Y later that day.

She remembered they promised to meet at dawn. At the condo of Mr. Y. They will sleep together and snuggle in the morning until it will be time for them to part.

They will hide from everyone else.

And then sunshine broke through the windows.

Really. And the dream was over.

And, whuuutttt? The people in the dream did not know each other. Well, at least not the others. They only had Ms. X in common. And everything else was really fantastical.

But entertaining. Hmmm... Shriveled fingers and thingamajigs? *shudder* nightmare.

How bout a round of applause? A standing ovation?

My life is one big performance.

No matter how sad the day gets, how broken and wounded I am, once the curtain opens and the orchestra plays, I have to smile and be perfect. Role-playing at its longest, I'd like to think of it. But the performance must be so great to fool the rest of the world, even my own self.

It all started when I was a little girl. I was compelled to act like a grown-up even when I was in kindergarten. They dressed me up in bigger girls' clothes and made me walk and talk like a grade schooler. I had to be perfect in elocution, in theater. I had to be responsible. No playing allowed, and so I didn't have a lot of friends. They forbid me to go out of our townhouse then. I could read as many books as I wanted. But I just wanted to play.

I also wanted to be my father's daughter. But as circumstances would have it, I wasnt fit to play that role.

And now, now that I've grown up, they expect me to play the happy, perfect lawyer. To borrow the words of someone, "wear your happy face. I do not want others to see your sad face." and it's playacting once more.

People aren't interested in my problems. Why would they be? But I had expected at least the closest people to me to be comforting, to hold my hand as I fight the forces which weigh me down. Instead, they tell me to put on a show so no one can see how scarred I really am.

They don't even ask me why. They just want me to cover things up.

Florence + The Machine - Dog Days Are Over (2010 Version)

Yezzir!