It’s Just a Dream

by Noise Pollution

All of these great things happen to me in my dreams. I don’t have nightmares (often). I have dreams about the things I wish actually happened, in spite of the stupidity of wishing for them. I have dreams about the things I want, but I tell myself I don’t want because I am so self-conscious, even to myself.

I’ve had so many dreams about falling in love. Its ridiculous. Last night, I had a dream that I had an incredibly adorable stalker who I immediately fell head over heels for. Now, it was also filled with the typical dreamy surrealism that accompanies everything when your asleep, so almost everything else about the fake situation is now incomprehensible. (Something about colors, and teams, and the teams and I were somehow involved even though I wasn’t on one, and this stalker person that I loved was on a one-person team and she had some sort of connection to the color blue, I have no fucking idea how to make any sense of that nonsense.)

I also had a dream about this blog appearing on TV. No, I’m not joking. Now it was in completely the wrong format, and it wasn’t even named properly, so my normal brain started thinking this was all bullshit, but it was quickly overridden by my excitement about the fake event. I was sharing it with everyone, and it was so stupid.

God, I wish the things I really wanted weren’t so goddamned dumb. I wake up feeling a bit euphoric from all the happy things that happened, and then I immediately realize how fucking idiotic all of it was, and how stupid I am for enjoying it. It’s so dumb. It’s so fucking dumb that it makes all of the unbelievably high people I met in New York look smart. God dammit. I’d feel less stupid if I was sitting on a train shouting about how I loved everyone on the train and asking somebody’s dad for money.