Saturday, September 8

Nightmare of the Dirty Plates Kind

I dreamt of her tonight. It was a slight nightmare more then anything else. We were in this big house and in this big room and on this big bed. It was all happy at first, just her and I, lulling the quiet night away with our soft conversation the only sound puncturing the serene silence.

Then, in some weird way the dream plunged divertedly down to the fact that next to her was another friend (GUY WEI GUY! WTC) I knew. I still remembered how jealous I was, how hurt, how betrayed and such feelings of despair of knowing the person you like is with someone else kind of thing.

Yet, it was so dark that I couldn’t see whether they were doing anything funny. Anyhow, I asked in a much politically correct manner the question, “why?!”

She answered, “because you haven’t wash the plates”


Then I woke up feeling rather disoriented and realized that I tried to sneak off to bed hoping the pile of plates to wash would disappear the next morning. But no, each and every plate hounded on me in my dreams instead. So here I am, four in the morning going downstairs to get rid of those dirty plates. Sigh.

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