woke up at like 7:45 to assess my condition (better than yesterday, but still rough) and call work again to let them know I wouldn’t be in
very tired but couldn’t get back to sleep right away; spent a couple hours drifting in and out of semi-consciousness
finally did get back to sleep and had an insanely chaotic, detailed, and plot-filled dream, which definitely somehow involved witches/magic, had faint shades of both Derry Girls and Severance (okay???), did include one very bloody death scene (don’t worry, he Got Better), and also ‘I’ was being manipulated into fully joining some kind of cult. there was a lot going on. at one point the dream got meta and I learned that the whole plot was an adaptation of a comic, apparently, and because I’m impatient I was considering reading said comic to learn more about what was still to come.
(I use ‘I’ very loosely bc like… I was there, and so were other real people, but we weren’t exactly our real selves. we were in some ways, but it was simultaneously like we were the actors playing the characters in this story. we were experiencing it for real, until the meta bit, but like my brain had decided to cast us in these roles that were only vaguely related to our actual selves. does that make sense? dream logic, man.)
ALL OF THIS BEING CONTEXT FOR:
at one point in this dream I was seated squeezed onto one end of a very packed couch with a bunch of my peers. (classmates?) we were receiving a Talking To and we were all very nervous.
the person immediately next to me was this dude I have the massive fucking crush on irl.
he let me hold his hands/arm and rest my head on his shoulder. I think it started bc we were both seeking comfort due to being so nervous, but later on it turned into more of just. we liked being close and didn’t want to let go.
I’ve been fully awake for a solid three hours now, and in spite of all the chaos of the dream in general. the intense death scene, the multiple flavours of Horrors, the trying to prove that our schoolmarm (that was the word we were using in the dream, for some reason) had probably killed someone with her knitting needles (this being unrelated to the aforementioned death scene)…
this hand-holding and semi-cuddling bit has been forefront in my mind since waking, and doing me. irreparable psychological damage.
guys I am thirty entire years old. 30. three decades. a bona fide adult human being.
why does having a crush on some soft-spoken nerd from work having me feeling and acting like a twelve-year-old girl? is there no freedom from this? is there no dignity?
writing all of this out has my stomach doing flips.
