Dreams

I had a strange dream last night. I dreamt that DeShon was getting married and I had to go. The wedding was either going to be in Atlanta, Puerto Rico or New Jersey. An old woman from my church in Tennessee was telling me all of this and when I acted put-out by the whole thing, she said, "Well, it's a good excuse to go to the Caribbean". I was relieved to find out it was going to be in New Jersey, though I was not happy that it was happening.

I found him in New Jersey. Everyone was there in a shabby house that felt like a home. His brothers and my brother. After I found him, we snuck conspiratorially into a bedroom and started kissing. People kept opening the door, and as they tried to wander in, I screamed at them to get out. He smiled down at me as we lay on the bed and told me it was us who were getting married. He then mentioned that I had better take a shower. I rolled my eyes as I looked down at my discheveled clothes.

I looked at the clock, it was 8:35am. I asked what time it started, knowing it would be sooner than I would like; I hate rushing. He told me 10am. I was annoyed. "Why do we have to start so early?" I asked. He said "Because my best friend of like 50 years, Roger, needs it to be at 10am". I asked, "What is he allergic to, 11am’s?" I thought to myself, “the wedding can’t start w/o the bride”, but I knew I did not have a say, Roger had changed his schedule to be there. I looked at him and told him in a pouty voice, “this is not going to be the wedding I wanted". I was still smiling a bit, I knew in my heart he would make it up to me. I felt pretty good, though a bit disappointed things would not be exactly how I wanted them to be and that other people were still more important. I felt good though.

I woke-up perplexed at this strange vision. I had a dream that Steven got married right after we broke-up, I felt crushed. And it actually happened. This was different, it was like the dream sequences you see in movies, the ones that have some meaning your subconscious is trying to push through.

I don't know what the dream meant. I know that I miss him like crazy, but another part of me knows that even though he might be the right person, now is not the right time. Again, it is like a movie, two people whose lives continue to brush past one another's, but cannot connect until later. I haven't heard his voice since he left for Vegas on Sunday. It's only been a few days, but I know that he is probably doing something of a "Fi Detox". I understand. He needs time to sort through all this the same way I do. For now, I will have faith and stay the hell away from Facebook!

After spinning I headed-off to work. I spoke to my mother briefly and told her that I had been wait listed at CUNY's Journalism Graduate School. She was thrilled. I must say, her excitement was catching. It is not the worst back-up plan in the world. I know I am going to write. I have to keep telling myself that I am already a writer. Who knows how I will make the jump from being a writer to a paid writer.

The possibilities washed over me, filling me with the feeling you get when you meet a new lover. Not the blind, carefree feeling of falling in love, but the quiet anticipation of potential. I suppose you might call it hope. Funny how intoxicating that can be. The tentative, guarded joy that things yet to come can give you.

Reading Ruth Reichl's books have made me fall madly in love with her, and give me a watercolor-like image of what my own future may hold. When I started the experiment I wanted a life of friends, adventure and interesting conversation. Though I still want those things, I have another desire to add to the list: I want to create something. I don't want to edit or manage or assist. I want to create something from nothing. Perhaps that is what draws me to writing. I am not a painter or a musician, but I can take people somewhere new or somewhere familiar with my words. I can invoke laughter and tears with words on a paper that was once blank. This is what I want to do, hopefully I can find a way to do it and make a living!

I had an idea the other night. I was out with Em in the Lower East Side and we had just tried the new bun restaurant BaoHaus. It did not come even reasonably close to living up to it's hype. Disgusted, I went on a critical rampage, ending with the comment that "David Chang shits on BaoHaus". Through fits of laughter, she begged me to become a food writer. She said that the way I write and the perspective I have is beyond entertaining to her. I chuckled and told her, "You tell me where to start, and I'll go full speed ahead!"

Later that evening, I was lying in bed reading Chelsea Handler's newest bio "Chelsea, Chelsea Bang, Bang". The outlandishly unruly woman has softened a bit since finding herself in a monogamous relationship, but is still one crazy, hilarious bitch. "I wonder if she would like a food commentator on her show?" It is clearly an insane idea, but hell, we have hilarious social commentators, such as herself and Joel McHale, why not take the same sacrilegious approach to culinary review? It may be a silly idea, but it is surely going to be a bizarre niche that will land me the success I crave. Perhaps I am insecure, but my history has shown me that I am much better at forging new paths than competing on the road more traveled.

Dreams, dreams, dreams. Funny how you can have them while sleeping and while wide awake and in both cases you end up with nothing more than vague watercolors to follow or interpret. Thank God for faith, without it life would probably be one big nightmare.