Dream Log: July 1, 2002

I dreamt that I was living with my girlfriend, she was taking care of me. I moved around the house for a while, not really doing or saying anything. I picked up a book preparing to read from it when she said: 'I sometimes almost forget about your condition'. She did not say it outright, but I new she was referring to my mental illness - the dull fuzz-covered lozenge that was my mind.

I tried to read the words on the page, I treid to follw the sentences but whereeer I touched th pdge the letterswuld sMudge unermy fingers an wd start to run. I tried to fend a woRd andconstruct it letter by lter im ny mind, but thejumbked letters made nonsense. I panIcked. On te page, on fhe lins thatIwas not exlpitity reading the wardswere fine - clear, structured sentences. But as soon as I fomused onem they swam out ofcntrl and thInKCome off on my fingersuntil the pagend my hands were the same dusty bleu coLOur. Thts when IKnew tat Iws impbsibsly crippled, stupid anunable to control even the simplest thuoghts without degrading into panic.

But I did not scream and I did not have a fit or try to run away, it was as if that's how it had always been and I had gotten used to it by now.

It was the first time that I experienced being mentally impaired in my dreams. Like everyone I've had those dreams where you just cannot run fast enough or cannot get dressed in time. But I've never experienced what it is like to be trapped inside a mind unwilling to perform even the simplest tasks.

Isaac and I are driving and laughing. I'm vaguely aware we were supposed to pick something up.

We arrive. I have no specific memory of this place. I mean, no particular building or landscape is recognizable, but I'm fairly sure this is another high school dream. We climb out of the Mercury station wagon and open up the back. I don't know what Isaac takes out but I've lost sight completely of any mission or purpose. I seem to be floating away, but I know I'm still standing there, staring passively at Isaac's effort. My vision multiplies suddenly, like a spider's. I can see in back of me and straight into the sky (a dingy grey gutter) and down the street lined with duplexes and stolen bikes. Have you ever heard of Christmas in July?

From one of these directions, or maybe all of them, Santa Clause stumbles/rolls like the living dead up to the car. Isaac stops working and looks up. Suddenly he is right between us and my vision sharply focuses onto him, but he fades in and out of sight, suddenly seeming very close, suddenly nowhere at all. I don't believe in Santa Clause. He is close again and Santa Clause solemly begins to remove a shiny, black boot. He's not acting too fucking jolly, and I have no Santa fetish so I attempt to slyly motion to Isaac to get back in the car. Our bake sale or whatever has lost all importance. Then I notice the boot peels off like cellophane. From underneath blood-stained cotton puffs floatup and out into the wind.

Pseudo-Santa's hands begin tearing at his this disguise, bits of glossy Santa paper rain down on myt face like hellicopter leaves, until only cotton is visible from the from and the back hangs down in tatters. Again, my vision is magnified and I see a long, thin green mass emerge from the cotton where Santa's leg used to be. The leg is uniformly thin all the way to the ankle, about the size of a chair leg and end's in a small clawed foot, like a furless cat's. It is scaly--rough and bark-like. My dream explodes into frenzied running and fractured vision. No matter how far I go Santa paper continues to rain down on my face.

_{always silent}

for the sound

of claws

C.....L...I...C....K...I..N...G.