the dream
The flimsy urinal door smacked into my face the instant before I pushed my way through and into the room, I needed a piss but the man/woman who surged past me lacerated his/her eyes into mine and stopped everything.
I glimpsed a plastic bucket on the wet tiles in there, over-full with a soggy orange towel and a mess of clothing and waste surrounding it when I realised this was not the place I needed to be but the dream presented an adjoining room which I ghosted into where several men stood emptying themselves of their liquid waste into a mossy concrete trough excavated underneath a pure white porcelain bath wherein a naked man lay settled and serene neck deep in clear water. His eyes closed.
I pissed, and was done, then watched as he swam from one end of the bath to the other, all the while hoping to catch his eye as he turned his head toward me between strokes.
I woke up thirsty.
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Don’t try and analyze it. It must be the mark of creative minds, that you can have bat shit crazy dreams. Personally, I am getting a little bit tired of them. I thought mine were just middle aged failure shit.
When I was young me and my mate Andrew would talk about dreams. Back then, my dreams were pretty boring apart from dreaming about the Devil. So I would make up my dreams and Andrew would say he wished he dreamed like me.
So, I suppose it is a good sign you Pete are having crazy dreams, those neurons firing.