Dream Weaver

Have you ever had one of those dreams that lasts for weeks at a time and all ties in together. Many people tell me that I am crazy, but this has happened all of my life. In this case I thought that I should write it down instead of just passing it off as nonsense. So here you go, the little bit of the dream that I have had. It started two nights ago and even shows up during naps (I love naps). I am not a good writer by any means, and I write as I think....so you have been warned that it might be hard to follow. Here ya go:

And so it was. After my whole cultural exchange and examination of an all but unknown civilization living right under our noses, I was back out of the group and lying flat on my back in a damp ally. As I awoke I opened my eyes as slowly as possible. Not for lack of wanting to understand where I was, but in apprehension of knowing where I had ended up. There was that musty damp smell that one only encounters in places like Bourbon St. after a night of college fun, yet I could only hope that I had ended up in a place that I might know so well. My guess was that I was far from home and could only begin to fathom the story that I would have to contrive in order to explain how I ended up there. As I opened my eyes the darkness was even more real than with my eyes closed. I could perceive what seemed to be multistory buildings all around me complete with fire escapes only outlined by the little street light that allowed itself to weave through the narrow ally. The dumpsters where not to be forgotten since, it was my hope, that the odors that we entertaining my senses were coming from such rather than the puddle that I had just recently felt beneath me; one can only hope. There is something to be said for the combination of excrement, alcohol, and old city combine to make. A smell so pungent that you can almost feel it and can all but taste it despite your better efforts is something that can not be escaped. As I began to bring back my muscles from their atrophy which clued me in that I had not been lying her for a short amount of time. As my anxiety began to kick in, as it usually does, my mind escaped me into delusions of the activities that could have been played out on my seemingly lifeless body; how much time had I spent in this place, where ever it was, and what all had I experienced in my comatose state? I could remember how this story had all begun, my stumbling into a new underground community, and could remember detailed activities over the past few weeks, but where had it all gone wrong? I decided that it was best to get moving and get out of this dumping ground I had been placed in. It was to my amazement, however, that my body did not agree. I was quickly able to sit up, heart racing and adrenaline pumping, but standing was not something that I was quite ready for. I stood up and my head began to spin. Not that drunken spinning that you get when you have had one too many shots to end that perfectly horrifying week, but more the spinning that makes you loose yourself and begin to see only black. My vision began to blur and that tunnel vision set in as if I was looking through a pair of binoculars the wrong way, and I collapsed. And so the scenario starts all over again. It had begun to brighten up since I had last tried to revive myself, and I could begin to make out where I had ended up. Not on the large scale, but the small things were visible. I began to receive conformation on the tall brick buildings that surrounded me, I could make out the fire escapes, and yes, those were dumpsters since I was now in one. Needless to say, the puddle on the ground some 10 yards away was no longer a concern of mine. I found the source of that oh so pungent odor, and now I was in it. Yet another aspect to the story I was going to have to tell. At this point I am also assuming that I had gotten in someone’s way, as I was discernibly not near a dumpster when I awoke the first time, and I am now deep within one. To my amazement, however, trash had yet to be collected for the day. Lucky me! Now…..to get the fuck out of here. My muscles weren’t as difficult to regain control of this time. I did begin my stance with great appreciation that no one was around. A guy in his mid-twenties pulling himself up like an infant and becoming ecstatic at the ability to stand upright was not something I wanted anyone to be a witness to. That and the little jig I did in knee deep waste at my new accomplishment (not one of the cool dances either, more like “Getting Jiggy with it” for dummies). I stood there, in amazement, and realized that the logical thing to do would be to get the hell out of the foul smelling dumpster. As I pulled myself up and flung my soaked jeans and loafers over the edge I realized just how far it was to the ground. Actually it was that instant that your heart drops because you can’t find the ground and realize how much it was going to hurt for you to hit, yeah, that was when I realized that I had misjudged my invincibility. And once again I found myself on the ground, on my back, and in yet another foul smelling puddle. What a sight it must have been.

Did it look like a young professor that had gotten way to drunk and passed out in his own vomit in the ally only to wake up from the shock of daylight? I really hoped it didn’t, but there were few other scenarios that I could conjure up at the moment. Ok, back on my feet, and now I don’t know where to go. My decisions were limited to one, and my many years of higher education made me rationalize that it was the right one to take. “Walk gingerly and aloof through the only exit from the ally as if nothing was wrong and pretending that you had just wondered down there on accident.” That is what I tried to tell myself anyway, trying to ignore the dialogue in my head that was already making fun of me and imagining myself being stopped by a cop for my questionable appearance. And so I went, one foot in front of the other, kind of swaying a bit as if really recuperating from a night of drinking, and out into the busy street of taxi cabs, bustling professionals, buses, bicycle couriers, and amazingly no individuals that looked like they had been out all night and just making it home….except me. This may very well be the best cultural experiment that I have ever undertaken and yet it was the result of nothing that I had spent years preparing. “Ok, just walk and don’t attract attention to yourself”. And off I went, trying to remember the events that brought me to this…….Great no street sign…..and hoping that I could remember enough to write it down to my best of knowledge. An ethnography was sure to come of this if I could only dialogue what had happened before I let it all escape me. I caught a glimpse of myself in a store window, a liquor store by coincidence, and realized that I needed to sit down and write….and get some coffee. Oh, oh, Starbucks! Perfect! Hopefully I don’t smell too bad, all I want is coffee. And here I sit, drinking my triple soy caramel macchiato and attempting to recall the activities of the past week, writing in the spaces of the free New York Times with the pen I just swiped from the register. What a stand up citizen I have become.