Back from the dead

My grandmother died approximately a year ago and sometimes I feel she is still here. I always wondered how long do our elders stay in this world after they die, is it because they want to or is it because we want them to? We cling to them, call to them . . .

My great-grandmother was the first to go on and she lingered for a long time, I could smell her scent around the house, in her room and in mine. My grandfather was next, he wasn’t afraid and he moved on faster, although I missed him greatly afterwards. And my grandmother was last. She still comes back at times, although less and less, her husband and mother waiting for her.

She came back to me last night in a dream for the second day on a row. On the night before last she warn me to get up, she was in my room and pointed to the clock at the night table, I woke up just in time for work. Last night she came back and she was standing in her kitchen, the wood one before she changed it. Maybe she said something to me, I have a vague feeling that she did but I cannot remember what she said.

Sometimes I forget she’s not here anymore and I think of calling her.

Don’t drive my car

Cars are a very personal items seldom entrusted to others, unless of course one is impaired to drive. In dreams a car usually represents our independence, our capability to direct our lives in the direction or directions we will. If we are the drivers of our own car it is said that it is a good dream since we are in control of our own life – of course, just to the extent that we can actually be in control of our lives. If someone else is driving our car then he or she will have influence in our life, or so it is said.

This time I wasn’t driving my car, it was my fiance the one driving it and he was doing a poor job! I can’t recall the entire dream only the part in which I, sitting in the passenger’s seat was letting my fiance know about his lack of driving skills. Truth be told he drives pretty well, that is in real life.¬† But in this situation I wanted to be driving my own car with such a heart that it made me wake up.

Worst nightmare

Do you have that dream in which you are naked? In public? It is pretty bad, or so I’ve heard. In my dream I wasn’t naked but it was embarrassing none the less.

It was late at night, I was in my old bedroom in Spain waiting for a couple of friends to pick me up to go partying. I looked at my reflection on the mirror and I was wearing a beautiful gray-silver dress, with beautiful shoes and . . . unshaven legs. Yes, that’s it. I know it doesn’t sound as bad as being naked but I can assure you the sensation is the same.

So, there I was dressed gorgeously with hairy legs! At that same moment I heard a horn hunk, they were waiting for me, what to do? I ran to the bathroom and grabbed the only razor blade I could find but unfortunately was blunt. I was frantic trying to find a way to shave my legs, how could it be that my only razor was blunt?! meanwhile my friends were waiting. Finally I decided to go out anyways, with my hairy legs and all.

I walked out the door, go into my car and I woke up.

The Ex

We all have ex’s, or at least we all should. They become memories if they were good, lessons if they were bad, or ghosts if they’re . . . unfinished business. I had a dream about one of these ghosts.
The ghost was with me in my old room, we were surrounded by dimness, shades drawn and door closed. He held me in his arms and a shudder overtook me, then we started kissing. Kissing your ex whom you left and swore to be over and done with years ago, is quite disturbing even in a dream. The dream took me back to my old room just as I remembered it, but in the dimmed light the entire room had a reg glow. And we were as when we were young, all kissing in an unfinished business.

Never to see him again

And there I was sitting on a beautiful patio, watching the golden sunset and running my hand through his black glossy hair, idyllic. The sunset in Spain was idyllic, the life in France was a nightmare. After the sunset the time speed up, in a fraction of a second we were living in a quaint apartment in France and he was a tortured, seductive musician. Too seductive.

I woke up bathed in sunlight, alone in the bed of our small bedroom. Then I remembered, he had been gone for four days. He would return, tired, loving, sorry. I got up, walked down the street, I knew exactly where he was and that’s where I found him. Through the glass I saw him, handsome as ever, tilted hat over his eyes, playing his drums, playing the hours, the days away . . .

I hated him because I loved him. I stood there, looking through the window of the bar where he was rehearsing and I picked a rock from the floor and threw it to the glass. Then I took off and never saw him again.

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