This Was My Dream

Last night I slept in Tulsa; one of my pledges, Matt Bakke, got me a date to the formal of Tulsa University's chapter of Chi Omega. That in itself is a essay, but right now I have to speak about my dream, before it melts like an ice sculpture of a grizzled man wrestling a wolf, which coincidentally would be an ice sculpture representing my dream.

Like all dreams, last night's had many segments, like the movie Pulp Fiction - at first glance things were loosely connected, but if you're able to remember enough to make a thorough examination, really the only thing linking the chapters is the character of myself. And though I remember many segments of this dream - I was awake with my eyes closed for half an hour, thinking about this dream but also not wanting to disturb Matt's grandmother Fafa - this was my favorite part.

I was in an abandoned city, where mechanical, rusty vines grew on buildings that had collapsed on themselves like urban supernovas. The sky was grey and so was the dirt; really, the only things that had any color were my clothes which were kind of green, kind of grey. They were combat fatigues, but off-brand, second-hand camoflague assembled from savenged pieces. I had an old rifle, made of wood an iron. I was searching for something.

Or maybe I was on patrol. It doesn't matter much concerning the content, only that I was willing to shoot something, which I did. I took aim and shot what I assumed was an enemy, but it turned out to be my girlfriend (that's when I knew it was a dream - dream's are the only time I get close enough to girls to shoot at them). She was scared, and acted like any other frightened female would in that situation - she turned into a wolf and ran into the elaborate sewer system underneath the city.

I, of course, climbed in after her, but I was only a human, and I didn't have much luck. I searched for hours in the wet underground, through calf high water contaminated with radiation from the recent nuclear war with robots (this is a post-sleep inferrence). After multiple symbols of my failure seen in several dead ends, I used my feelings of frustration and impotency to harness previously unknown powers of the anamorph and transformed into a wolf myself. From there, it was relatively easy to find my wolfette. She was laying inside of a smaller tunnel, above the water level, with a lot of blood trapped in her fur. I howled at the moon.

Then I was suddenly transporting pieces of a drive in theatre on the back of an eighteen-foot trailer. I had a lot of fraternity brothers helping me, but we hit a bump and the screen and speakers fell off the trailer and into the mud. The studio audience laughed at us, because we, too, were facedown in the mud. It was embarrassing. I no longer remembered my wolf princess (princess being another post-dream inferrence - it only makes sense that she was a princess).

The point is, I quickly moved from her to the next interesting, guy-only activity, much like the wolf does. This dream only serves to illustrate my romantic motto of, "it's better to have loved and lost than to shoot your lover and have her turn into a wolf." I think my subconscious is trying to tell me something.