I had a dream the other night where I was trapped in an airport. I had one friend there, my buddy Jacob. My ex was also there with all her friends. I was rushing from terminal to terminal trying to get a flight that never came and stealing food from sleeping strangers who were also trapped. I was miserable, while my buddy tried to keep my spirits up whenever we crossed paths, he and my ex were busy enjoying the situation. Drinking and dancing as I frantically tried to find a way out. I was dressed in the tattered oiled stained rags of a homeless street urchin; camo pants and a filthy black hoodie, a back pack over stuffed with all my worldly belongings. My face covered in grime and soot like I had just finished French kissing the tail end of a Greyhound bus. She looked stunning as usual in floral print dress that would occasionally vanish and reveal her perfect form. She danced with her cohorts in a twirling Conga line through the airport terminals taunting me with her freedom and happiness. I tried to focus on my goal; I swiped food off the plates of fat tourist as they nodded off at the Sabarros. Jacob would pop up in between and ask me what was wrong before dancing off in his own party.
There was a soundtrack of Dire Straits, Steely Dan, and Robert Palmer playing through the terminals (possibly because I had recently downloaded albums by all three of them). The sky outside was that weird blue grey you see just before a thunderstorm in the Midwest. The silent television sets hung above the zombified people that seemed not to notice any of us, played a weird 24-hour cable station that I didn’t recognize. The news was all about some massive natural disaster west of Colorado. They kept flashing a map that looked as if half the country was gone under some dark cloud. I kept trying to make out what was going on there were no subtitles to clue me in. All the while I felt I had to be avoiding the Airport security, that were chasing me, even though I never saw them and apparently no one except for Jacob could see me. “I should have learned to play the guitar; I should have learned to play them drums” I felt out of place and out of time. Usually dreams don’t beat you over the head so literally.
Normally my dreams are flights of fantasy where I’m some superior warrior from the future who came back to alter time by leading a global revolution against order and tyranny. I come, I see, I conquer, I wave a black flag while holding the girl and possibly another one on my back. Occasionally I have dreams where I do mundane things like go to work or to the bank, or around the corner to get a bottle of whiskey. Something odd happens then I wake up the next day and the exact same thing happens in real life. Occasionally my dreams involve adult situations some of those happen in real life but not so much anymore. When I was younger I used to have dreams where I turned into animals. I grew up and tattooed them on my body, now they don’t bother my dreams anymore. I used to dream of my mother and my grandmother and my life back in North Carolina. I used to dream about my future and finding something that makes me happy. Those dreams are all but gone now. I sit up to five in the morning doing nothing, playing Spider Solitaire and watching TV shows I’ve seen a hundred times already. I wake up a few hours later and wasted each day trying to piece together the past while the future is staring me in the face. Someone once told me I lacked motivation. If the threat of dying penniless and alone in obscurity a vagabond with no home and nothing to call his own, isn’t motivation; then I guess I never will get it. I must be beyond slow to act