Vulgaris

Amy's couch was a real hotbed. I visited her in Chicago last weekend and spent each night curled under a colorful afghan and wandering strange streets with my eyes closed. I also have a few recurring dreams and experienced a double shot during my visit. Twice I dreamt that I'd finished an entire semester having grossly neglected a few classes. One was Latin class (taught by my high school Latin teacher, who hadn't aged a day), which was early in the morning and therefore quite missable. The other two were science and math classes I'd never attended. In fact, I hadn't taken the time to memorize their meeting times.

Shit, I thought. Did I miss them again this week?

A final paper was due in one class and I was showing up late for the last few periods packed with the knowledge that I hadn't even started the project and was dangerously close to the point of no return. The professor looked a lot like an English professor I had. One who dressed up in a wizard hat when he taught Beowulf.

I had the unmistakable sour stomach that comes with knowing you're about to fail, pay for a wasted semester, and postpone graduation by another four months. Where are the withdrawal options in these dreams?

I've never had a lucid dream but, oh, how I crave one. I suppose I got close when my time as a neglectful student gave way to dreaming that our friend Kristin was diagnosed with lupus. I wasn't aware that I was dreaming, but I knew I wanted to stick around and make sure she was okay. I wanted to check for lesions and bring her some aspirin. Perhaps it's a start.