I feel ill at ease. I can still smell the salty water on my skin, which I know is only a trick of my brain, a leftover crumb that spilled into this world from the sieve of my mind… but I don’t like it. I sit here typing, and my heart beats hard in my chest. The first dream was a bad dream.
I was walking barefoot on a dock, wooden planks cold already, though there was still sunlight in the sky. It disturbs me I can remember every detail of that sky. I could paint it if I wanted to. The planks looked weathered and cracked, and the fabric of my white dress whipped in the wind. It was a suicide dress, and I was going to throw myself into the water. Shit. I wish I could shake off that remnant of despair inside of me. It’s fake despair, dream despair. But I still hate it.
I dropped quietly into the blue, and time passed. I don’t know how long, but I was deep in it, letting go, still not at peace, when I felt skin brush against mine. There. And again. It forced me to open my eyes. This skin was soft, vulnerable, and as I realized it didn’t belong to someone trying to save me, I knew that someone was in deep danger. I opened my eyes, and saw there was a baby in the water. There was light everywhere, and it was no longer a night ocean. It was a morning ocean, and a baby was drowning with me. It took me a few seconds to find it again, and when I did, I grabbed it, and held its head above water. Her head. It was a baby girl.
I made my way back to shore, and I didn’t feel cold. I felt a sense of regret that I didn’t do what I had wanted to do, and then I realized nothing looked familiar. It was a different place, and different people began to surround us. I sat on planks again, but these were new planks, buttery soft in the sun. I held that baby up, and tried to hand her over to whoever would grab her. She was not my baby, but no one took her. They said things I couldn’t understand. I didn’t know the language, but I knew they were saying something meaningful and reverent. I sat the baby on my lap, and she began to feel heavier. I looked down at her, and she grew.
All I could think of at that moment, staring at that beautiful baby girl was, “why can’t I be you?” Then I realized she was me. At some point, in the water, I had split into two, and the giantess in me had been born into reality. I love that, but my heart still pounds painfully. Ah, make it stop.
Then, the next dream last night: I send two men over to another man’s apartment, as I wanted them to collect some evidence that this man was fit to be shrunk. This dream felt creepy. I feel creepy and dirty, remembering my thoughts while I waited for them to call me from the broken-into apartment, to tell me what they found. They did call me, and told me they couldn’t find anything. I insisted they rummage around a little longer, when the man in question returned, and found them there.
Instead of making a ruckus, or calling the police, he asked them what they were doing there (I could “observe” this from some omniscient “above”), and they told him I wanted to know if he was a proper candidate for shrinking. He told them to tell me he was’t interested, that he had found someone new that he loved (?), and to please leave.
Finally, the third dream, and this one is frustrating because I want to remember the words, and I can’t. I was sitting here, blogging, when a link opened up in the admin section of my blog, and I saw there’s a secondary blog hidden within my blog. A tiny blog, and on it, someone had written me a poem. I remember reading the poem, and loving every word. Now all I see with my mind’s eye is blurry words, in blue font, tiny sized. That was the best dream, and thankfully, the last one. I’m… kinda glad I don’t remember the poem. It might have been truly terrible. But I don’t think it was.