Monday, June 29, 2009

SesquipedALiEN Subconscious

So this morning, my mom did her usual and walked into my room to say goodbye on her way to work. She laughed asked she came in and asked me why I was sleeping in the fetal position... Damn my dreams.

I hardly ever remember my dreams, but I had a weird one that really tripped me out. It all took place around my house. My real house with very few dissimilarities to reality. It started off in the middle of the the night (like 3 am), with me taking out the garbages. For some reason I felt compelled to open the garage to do this. When I finish, my mom realizes the garage is open and tells me, "Well, since it's up, you might as well move out my car and sweep out the garage." That was real life at it's finest. For some reason, when I finish it's dawn. I close the garage again and walk into the house where my mom is finishing up getting ready for work. I realize that I left the car outside and how dumb that is with the neighborhood's (country's?) recent crime spree. I go outside and the car is gone. My mom calmly asks if I had left the keys sitting in the car as she tries to figure out how the car just up and got windy on us like that. Immediately after her question, my stepdad shows up—my conscious mind finds his appearance absolutely ridiculous since he and my mom have barely been on speaking terms since their divorce (and barely civil is on good days). Anyway, he suggests we look around the neighboring houses for the car. We walk outside, look both ways, then I suddenly finds myself parasailing/parachuting/on a kite flying around the neighborhood. After I had flown down a few houses, a black car passes by. I start descending and it comes back from the opposite direction 5 seconds later. It turns around and passes again. It becomes pretty obvious that the car is trying to stay very nearby for my landing. As my feet are about to touch the ground it passes once more and one of the two extra-hood-lookin' dudes in the car has a gun pointed at me. He pulls the trigger.

...and somehow I managed to duck and barrel-roll out of the way. They only fired once and I got a clear look at the shooter. He looked like a dude I locked up while playing pick-up ball one day.

Anyways, I woke up very shook. I was so shook that, in fact, someone seeing me would have ascribed my reaction to something much scarier. At the very least, a bonafide nightmare or dream in which someone was maimed, or at least had ACTUALLY died. Nope. I just got shot at. Still enough to put me in the fetal position for a few minutes though.

Really, I have no idea why my dream had me like that. Maybe it was the thought of dying in an act of such senseless violence. Or maybe, it's the fact that I've always believed that if I do die young, it'll at least matter—at least my death will be caused by something of importance, something of consequence. How arrogant, right?! How dare I presume the conditions of my own death. Like I really have any collateral to put up against the will of GOD. Shit, I barely have collateral to put up against an angry dude with a gun and a statement to make. What's funny is that my first intelligible thought upon waking up was that I wouldn't even get to graduate. What the hell are my priorities? Am I really developing such a huge entitlement complex?!

Maybe there's nothing behind the dream and I'm bugging out for nothing. Maybe it's my subconscious sayin' that I really need to stop going so hard on the hardwood; apparently the people I lock up and box-out really don't appreciate it. Or, maybe it's just my subconscious mind's way of punishing me for watching so much of the BET (Black Evil Television) Awards last night. (While I'm on the subject of the BET Awards, the part I found most disgruntling was the bullshit they tried to pass off as a tribute or respects to Michael Jackson. Joe Jackson should be slapped on Michael's behalf. Jamie Foxx should really be ashamed of himself prefacing a shameless plug for his tour with the phrase "This is for Michael. Quiet down y'all; this is for Michael." Granted it was terrible and really, WE GOTS TO DO BETTER!)

Why watch tv when the mind is far more engaging and creative, right?

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