Ae9 06-24-13

Wake up at the middle of some Oly party, where folks passed out probably. I talk to somone I know but whose name I can't remember. I think they were talking with N.C. about laxatives. They talk to me about their experience, listening interested to mine. I admire their androgeny. D.H. is there, but I only notice him as the other two leave the room -- a small bedroom, maybe mine. D.H. says that's E., "she's[sic] reall cool" he says with a sexually suggestive smile. I rememeber I met them at [a friend]'s party, I say I know them, stumbling over their pronoun and say they're cool, in my experience. I think about wanting to date them because of how they seemed to figure things out well, and they live in Oly now, but I see D.H.'s expression and fear my own sentiments being of the same origin.

I decide to go outside. I see people's feet from the basement window next to the door; they're wlaking in the snow. I go out into the snoy night and walk alone in the beauty. Then I start to notice how strange it is that its snowing -- I thought it was summer. As a wopeful realization dawns on me I notice more and more that the snow isn't cold. I say "This must be a dream" and realize I'm lucid excitedly.

I calm myself down and decide to prove it to myself. I say "If this is a dream, I can fly." After a bit of convincing, I start to float up weightlessly. It feels amazing. It gets to be really hard not to be ecstatic. I'm halfway as high as the tops of the trees. THe happiness is too much and the dream starts to fade. I recognize this is happening and I decide to ask a question. As everything goes dark I say, "dreams, show me the origin of my anger" and there appears to be a silhoutte of Osama bin Laden with a full beard -- an anonymous mysterious antagonist.

I wake up tired and confused. It's still my room though I fell asleep for a nap on the couch. but more like normal -- no high rise socialite vibe, just a home. It's messy, disorganized, and I can't seem to orient myself. I remembered in the previous dream I peed, perhaps as a reality check. I look at myself and see a wet spot on my dark blue skirt which I decided not to wear in WPR that day, and under it, even more wet, are the masculine work jeans I did end up wearing.

I keep feeling like it's really difficult to wake up, but I manage to will myself to do it, an find myself on the couch in WPR, with dry pants.