Honey Without Flowers

I have a love/hate relationship with my dreams. I love that I now dream (or remember them rather). Yet I hate how confounding they can be. Oh but there are some interesting ones.

I sat at a table with friends and we talked about how we each survived a natural disaster. As I told my tale of surviving a hurricane, I was actually seeing what happened (still a dream). I opened a door to the only part of the structure (I think it was a house) that seemed intact and saw exposed walls, shattered windows, and palm trees swaying with small, periodic gusts of wind (I must’ve been on vacation). The walls must’ve been 16 feet high and the windows were spaced every few feet. It was, even damaged, beautiful. I remember the brown wooden floors contrasted with the gray haze of the storm’s aftermath.

I cannot account or understand what happened next but I am again sitting with friends. There were many tables surrounding us covered with white tablecloths. (Argh! Even in my dreams I can’t decorate.) It must have been a social function as the tables were set up like a wedding reception or dance. I think music was playing and the lighting was low like a dance/reception but not too dark.

As I finish my tale a tall, handsome man walked by and I initially thought he was passing by but he turned as if an after thought and wedged himself between my friends opposite me then reached over with an out-stretched hand and said in a wonderful voice, “Hello. My name is J Tech. Nice to meet you.” It happened so quickly that I reacted immediately and reached out to shake his hand. I could actually feel the handshake. It was a firm grasp; trustworthy, but rather than stay to say something else, he immediately turned to make his way back to wherever he came. But after an introduction like that I was intrigued and called out to him to have a seat. Additionally, I recognized him, although we have not met formally, and I couldn’t believe he was so bold as to approach me. I liked that. Also, I knew his last name was not “Tech” but couldn’t remember it and I desperately wanted to know why he said it was his name.

There was no where to sit so I get the person sitting next to me to move to have him to sit down. When I say “asked” I mean I looked beseechingly at the person to my right and mouthed “move” and, by the magic of television, “poof” the seat was empty for him to occupy. At the writing of this I kinda feel bad at making friends disappear but I needed to understand what just happened and to do that people needed to be gone. I’m sorry?

For the life of me I could not remember his last name. The only thing I was certain was that his name was not Tech. (Tech? Tech?!? That’s not a name. That’s an appliance! (homage to Pretty in Pink)) The only thing I could remember was that his name began with the letter R. His name was a puzzle to me and one that I wanted to solve. I began quizzing him. “Your last name is Tech?” “I could almost swear it’s not. Isn’t your last name…something like Ruggiero?” He was being evasive with my questions. Then I wake up.

I was hooked! He hooked me. He hooked me good. He knew how to capture my interest; give me a puzzle to solve. He was the puzzle. Of course, it is my dream so I hooked myself. God! I feel so…betrayed. How could I do that to myself?!? Now I sit here trying to figure out what I dreamed. Italian? Ruggiero? Where did that come from? Oh, right. I knew someone in high school with that last name but it wasn’t him invading my dream and confounding me. He wasn’t nearly as tall or good looking. Hmm, I wonder if Ruggiero is Italian for “ruggedly handsome”. That would explain it…not really.

Addendum: If I were a sketch artist I’d draw a picture of this Tech person because the dream seemed that real and I’m nearly certain I could find him. Maybe. It’s starting to get fuzzy.

When word travels
I often wonder
if she is intentionally left out.

(They don’t think of me.)

It infuriates me
to see her silent tears
and saddens me to listen to her silence.

(I am better off dead.)

All I know is
when she dies,
don’t you *dare* say you loved her.

(Words are futile.)

Show her now while she lives
“For the living are conscious that they will die,
but as for the dead, they are conscious of nothing at all.” (Eccl. 9:5)

crazyseidj:

(via abeetlesblog)