Not a Robot, Apparently

So the good news is, I'm not broken.

Waking up this morning, I realized I do have the capacity to feel. Well, feel something other than comfortably numb. The catch is, I may need to be asleep to do it. After waking up, I had the distinct aroma of sadness and disappointment in my brain.

I could remember two dreams, both involving some of the same characters. In one, a happy meeting occurred, plans were made, and then I was stood up. I paced back and forth in my room, only it wasn't my room. It was sort of the generic room I think of when I think of high school romance. It was the room I pictured Sarah writing Dave the letter I once read about her disappointment when the phone rang and it wasn't him. It was my room emotionally, but it wasn't a room I've ever lived in. I paced back and forth, back and forth, looking at my cell phone, making calls, and being annoyed when it went to voice mail.

And here's where things get fuzzy. I don't remember waking up until I was actually up this morning. So I think I actually must have fallen from one dream to the next, like crashing through one of those paper walls they have in certain Asian countries and ending up in a totally different place. Brian and Paul Rothstein were there. We were in someone else's large house, maybe a mansion, and Brian was opening boxes addressed to me. They were filled with comics, among them the Ennis/Robertson joint, The Boys. A young child, I think a girl, was asking questions about the books content, and for us to explain the word shit to her. Paul did his best, using dream magic to somehow shift the word from shit to shawl, and explain that it was used to cover certain parts of the body in inclement weather.

Then the puppet show was about to begin, and more spectators filed in. I was surprised at who showed, and I meekly said hello to them. There was a beat, and then someone began chastising me. They began with, "Even though you've been nice lately," which I didn't know what to make of, and then things got worse. I don't think I heard more than a line or two, and nothing was particularly vitriolic, but I woke up sad.

I woke up sad, and this made me happy. I was happy I could feel, and sad because of what had transpired, and what does that say about my subconscious if I'm standing up and being rude to myself. Then I was numb again, because I realized this hadn't happened, and that it was merely a dream. And maybe if I can convince myself that all bad things occur within dreams, even if I don't mean to, I'll be trapped in this state forever, floating through my days.

Intellectually I still feel. Emotionally, I'm detached. I want the worlds to merge again. I wonder why this is happening. I wonder why I couldn't remember I was in Seattle for three days until I looked on my blog to find out what I did this weekend. I need a time machine. Or a fast forward button. Just a one time thing. Get me back to the real.