I dreamed I was, literally, the Queen of England in the midst of intrigue and murder. My secretary was bustling me from room to room, sometimes hiding me in closets. At one point, one of my closest advisors was alive, talking with me one moment; I turned my back and turned around to speak with her – and she was dead, stabbed in the back with a knife, still standing over the desk she was working at.

I was furious that this petty intrigue was unraveling around me, as I needed my advisors, I had serious affairs of state that I was trying to deal with, and didn’t have time to worry about possibly being assassinated. As I tried to deal with those really important things, my trusted advisors and loyal servants continued to try and keep me from harm’s touch.

The dream was so vivid and so real, when I awoke I could still feel the texture and weight of the heavy brocade gown I wore, the rich colors of the tapestries and furnishings, the dark wood paneling in the small rooms within the castle. I also vividly remember that the smell of candles permeated the dream; and I remember the small sounds of the rustle of parchment and quill pens scratching. There was also a strange feeling throughout the dream of anxiety about being killed, and pushing away the anxiety so I could do my real work.

In the middle of the night I woke up suddenly, feeling lost, trying to recapture the warmth I’d been feeling in a dream. Trying to remember what I’d been dreaming at all. And then in a flashback his lips were there -- the lovely kind of intimacy I’d been longing for. Soft kisses. First kisses. His body making me warm and close.

Gone.

I had an idea of sleeping forever, because these dreams are so much more than I have all my waking hours, when I pass half-sleeping moments fantasizing of a vacation from being alone.

I fell back into dreams like nightmares where he was close but turned into someone else as soon as I could touch him. The kind of someone else that you sleep with and then only feel more and more and more alone. He came to visit and spoke to me and m roommate asking us if we could set him up with anybody, or if we knew anyone who might be willing to wait for him.

I’ve been waiting. I’ve been waiting so long and for no good reason other than my own discouragement.

When I said goodbye last night he had the same kind of a look in his eye he had the time he kissed me. He had that same look in his eye ten minutes after telling me she was coming to visit on Thursday.

The strange dichotomy of lovely dreams I could live with forever,
mixed with nightmares that haunt me all day.

To dream you must sleep, and sleep was not in the cards last night.

But as I sat reading Contact during the Hour of the Wolf and through the rest of the night, the house grew quiet.  Not quiet like everyone's in their room doing their own things, but LOUD SILENCE.  The kind of silence that isn't just the absence of noise.

And I looked up from the pages of my book, because SILENCE is an odd thing to hear in a fraternity house.  I took a tentative walk outside my room and sure enough, I was truly alone and, it seemed for the first time in weeks, at peace.  I just stood there, out in the hallway, with my eyes closed and just listened and listened to the sweet sound of emptiness...

During the Hour of the Wolf, strange things can happen.

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