So, in the dream, my buddy had walked 17 hours to my apartment in Washington, D.C., to see me and my Indian/Mexican wife.
The Indian/Mexican wife, he said, didn’t want him there, so he kept dropping hints to see if I would give him a lift home.
You know, because he’d walked 17 hours.
I did an overnight walk for a suicide prevention fundraiser a few years back.
I think that one went about … 10 hours.
I thought I was going to die.
(It was hot that night.)
Finally, another friend drove up to D.C. to give him a ride home.
“Now, that is a wild dream,” he said.
Well, yeah.
But it also rings true.
I mean, if my Indian/Mexican wife didn’t want him there, I’ve gotta keep peace in the household, you know?
I can totally understand my thinking there, is what I’m saying.
As wild as the dream was, his weird-ass brain got my approach right.
Until …
“She was also a chain smoker, but left the room to smoke.”
Here’s where the dream went off the rails.
I’d never marry a smoker.
My mom smoked, and it gave me asthma as a kid, and ruined my once-promising basketball career.
I was going to be a D3 star, or bench-warmer, or whatever.
No smokers.
One other detail from the friend’s dream.
And credit to the friend, for remembering all of this, though I’d say, it was such an odd dream, it was probably easy to remember.
In the dream, he dropped runny eggs all over my apartment, and I made him clean them up before he left.
Hell yes, I did.
I keep a clean house.
I don’t like smokers.
I could see a version of myself marrying an Indian/Mexican.
I mean, why not, aside from the chain-smoking.
It sucks that he had to walk 17 hours in the dream.
I’ve had those dreams where you walk forever and ever and don’t seem to get anywhere.
I usually bore myself awake when I have those dreams.
Maybe I need to convince myself next time to stay asleep, to see where the dream goes.
Hopefully not to a small apartment in D.C.
My buddy would probably be there with my Indian/Mexican chain-smoking wife.
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Chris Graham
