As my alarm clock shattered the reality I had created myself in my slumber, the first thoughts in my head were: How many people did I hurt, and what happened to the girl I was just making out with?
I'll explain:
I find myself at a large social gathering of sorts, amongst friends/colleagues, and possibly family. Not exactly sure what it was for, but it seemed like we all had a mutual friend whose birthday it was. I think I was going to have to give a speech for this unknown person everyone was there to honor, but for some reason I was enthralled with these flyers scattered on all over the table. They were trifolds covered in intricate ink line drawings of a medieval town, with handwritten words (I think they were shop names...). Anyways, I become absorbed in them, and the drawings are somehow coming alive. I guess I snapped out of it and decided to get up. As I walk around the largest table in the room, I notice a girl drawing, with a stack of other doodles on the side. She was exceptionally pretty, with her blonde hair up in a wild, but classy knot of sorts. She was a very talented artist (and I think I wanted to assume she was the artist of the enchanting ink drawings on the trifolds, but didn't inquire) and I struck up conversation with her. Apparently she was a friend of a friend.
I move on into the hall, and for some reason there is a TV playing a small bit about a world-class figure-drawing model. She was posing nude in a well-lit, studio full of white drapery, with what seemed to be many geometric cardboard sculptures scattered throughout the room. She's laughing and having fun as she takes directions, trying out different poses. She crouches low to the floor and briefly looks up, and I notice it's the blonde girl from earlier. I'm spellbound (wow, Ian, an artist AND a model? surprise, surprise >___<).
Eventually I make my way back to my seat, and someone taps me on the shoulder and I see that everyone is looking at me, waiting for me to say something. I don’t know what to do, so, naturally, I laugh, and then mumble "Uhh... what the fuck am I supposed to say?" This didn't go over very well, and my profanity seemed to offend a lot of people. For some reason, I continued to curse, as if I literally had nothing else to say, and people continued to get angrier and ridicule me. I’m getting angry myself, (because, you know, all the sudden I had Tourette's) and just as things start to get violent all the sudden I begin to feel dizzy, and the walls started coming in as I stumble out of my chair and everything fades to white.
Next thing I know, I'm in a house in a small suburb cul de sac. All pretty much the same guests from the previous party, but more kids. Seems like everyone was surprised to see me after my first outburst. I feel ashamed. Nonetheless, very quickly I find myself feeling loopy, start seeing weird distortions in my vision, and the cursing fits come back. People have even less patience this time around, and begin screaming at me, and even start pushing me around. That’s when I completely lose it and start a fistfight with everyone around me. I’m in an absolute panic, throwing punches and kicking and screaming until I find myself cornered against a window. My shirt’s off and bunched in my right hand at this point (as crazy people tend to do in psychosis, right?), and I wrap it around my arm before lunging out of the window to escape. I hit the ground running (in my socks, where are my shoes?) and just book it down the road. I run until I can feel the soles of my feet hitting the asphalt after I’ve worn away the fabric on the bottom of my socks. Everything fades out again.
I’m back at what appears to be my parent’s house. That artist/model girl is there with me (maybe my sister’s friend? Haha not likely…), and she seems to be really caring, and miraculously, not judging of me based on my random-ass tantrums from earlier. We make our way back to my bedroom (not the guest bedroom I sleep in now, the one I grew up in, that still looks exactly the same since the days I played with Legos and drew Pokemon all day. We lie down on my bed with the cowboys and Indians sheets, and make out.
Then my alarm on my phone sounds and I wake up. FFFFUUUUUUUUU.
So, basically I dreamed that I lost my mind. I wasn't aware that I was crazy, but everyone else was. I met the ‘girl of my dreams’, and out of the kindness of her heart, she pulls me out of my schizophrenia, and we fall in love... dawww
Who knew she’d be a blonde?
Oh, and this is what I looked like when I woke up:
Rise and shine!
2 comments:
Wow, Ian. That was truly entertaining to read. It's amazing that you were able to remember that much! Haha I loved the bit about your sudden onset of Tourette's. I'm glad your blonde bombshell girlfriend was understanding ;)
Sounds to me like an expression of social identity. The blonde represents art. You can see this girl, you can even talk to her, but you hadn't yet "acquired" her (sexual connotation? sure, why the fuck not?). You are expected to give a speech, to say something meaningful and acceptable for a group of peers to listen to. What comes out of your mouth is abrasive, people are offended. Eventually, they get mad enough that they physically fight you. You are operating without art.
What does it say to me? I think it reveals how you feel art plays into your social identity. Without art, what would you say? Would you have anything to say at all? Furthermore, would anyone be willing to listen, or would the things you would try to communicate be so abrasive that people would reject you in the most violent sense?
You lost your shirt and shoes. Stripped naked. Are you being exposed? Embarrassed?
You end up in bed with the blonde girl. Not any bed, but the bed from your childhood. This is where your union with art begins. She "saved" you from your "mental illness." Art gave you the ability to create a social identity that was acceptable to others, or at least that's what the psych major in me seems to think.
Yeah? No? Let's drink.
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