25 August 2016 – Seven years ago today you left this mortal plane for a wilder blue. Is that right, 7 years? Has to be. I’m 30 now. You were 21. It adds up. Still, it seems off somehow. Could be me. Haven’t been sleeping so well of late. Waking up spooked in the middle of the night. Rescuing myself from startling dreams that I can’t seem to remember. Not every night but enough to make me wonder what, if anything, I’m trying to tell myself—and why, if I am, it has to happen in the middle of the fucking night.

Last night’s dream I do remember. In almost every detail. It was set in a busy office space. For the most part I whisked about admirably performing routine tasks (filing, talking to colleagues and clients, going to meetings etc). Files seemed to be an integral element. Or rather file folders. At all times I had a stack of said folders on my person, usually clutched to my chest, and was constantly giving or receiving folders as I went along.

Things started to get weird when I found myself standing in a slow-moving line (for what I can’t recall, save that it was imperative I stayed in line—and, yes, I was clutching file folders). Up ahead I could see a large circular clock (time between 11:55 and 11:56, no second hand) and for some reason turned around (maybe to see how long the line had become). Strangely everything that was behind me wasn’t there anymore—at least there were no people and all the objects had lost any recognizable form. The space itself, now somewhat darkened and lacking definition, had become dimensionally vague. I turned back around, saw that the line I was in had advanced a good ways and hordes of faceless people were filing in in front of me from both sides, all of them wearing meticulous business apparel, brushing past me as if I was nothing more than a tall fire hydrant. No one appeared to be in any great hurry but as I tried to move forward and maintain my place I started to fall further and further behind, or so it seemed, and the harder I tried the slower I actually moved. More and more people flooded in, moving faster and faster, in continuous streams. I’d grope and clamber with my elbows (my hands were still occupied with those infernal file folders), just to hold my ground, to prevent being so overwhelmingly overtaken by such an unyielding deluge (this part of the dream seemed to last an eternity), until finally, out of breath and flagging, I stopped and noticed the clock again, right where it was before (for all my efforts I hadn’t made any detectable forward progress), telling the same time, and now that I was stopped I realized that whatever line I was in had become an amorphous mass of people, a veritable wall of suited humanity I couldn’t hope to penetrate, let alone keep pace with, all of them hustling along with aplomb (rushing but appearing relaxed and composed about it), all of them moving forward at ungodly rates, so many heads and shoulders fast-forwarding under the clock that told a frozen time. Exhausted from the struggle, I stumbled backward a few steps. The speedy flow of bodies continued but now there was some separation between me and the edge of the percolating mass. A pure and unmolested void. I felt compelled to turn around again. Once again there was no one behind me, nothing recognizable, just a vague, dim space that could as well be outside as in. I dropped to my knees and let my arms fall. Suddenly I was no longer in possession of file folders.

I don’t know what about this spooked me but there you have it. The dream that woke me far too early this morning. If it wasn’t so dark out I might’ve gone for a run. I thought about reading but wouldn’t risk the light with Griffin sleeping so soundly. Instead I went to the washroom, splashed some water on my face, and came to my writing room. Like a zombie without a soul to chase I flopped onto the loveseat. Residuals from the dream flickered. I pushed them aside and practised visual silence until Griffin, habitual early riser, knocked at the door.

We had first coffees together downstairs (a rarity, and a definite upside to having stayed awake after being so unceremoniously woken so early—with the other dreams I stubbornly stayed in bed, fought my way back to sleep, which may be the reason I didn’t remember them). He made us breakfast while I recounted the dream. As we ate we speculated on the dream’s meaning but about all we came up with any degree of certainty was that my dreams are far more complex than his, at least the ones he’s woken by, which almost always feature him pissing insane amounts of pee—and, yes, when he stirs he’s acutely aware that his bladder is full to bursting.

It was as Griffin was leaving that he asked if today wasn’t your D-Day. (In our use of the term D stands for departure.) I didn’t forget. Just hadn’t gotten around to actively remembering. It’s a yoga day for me. In your honour though think I’ll go for a swim after work. Speaking of, time I got on with it.


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