Altered | (Over)thoughts

I don’t think I have ever had the same dream twice, so it’s not exactly fair to call it recurring. It’s more like an altered version of something I’ve dreamt before.

Somehow, in this dream state, I have memories. I can recall things that happened in this dimension that I have never experienced while awake.

I pick up from a place I have previously been,
          or at least have inklings of that place
          or other events that have happened
          or people I have met –
                    who I’ve never met.

But not everything is the same.
Some of the pieces don’t fit,
     like it’s another draft of a larger story,
                       with deleted conversations,
                              entire scenes removed,
                              rewritten sections
                              and added characters.

But still,
     I have been here before,
          or at least an alternate 1985 version of me
                         has been in an alternate version of this place.*

Heading across the college campus, my backpack lighter than it should be, I cut through the grass under the large trees, between sidewalks, and quicken my pace as I walk up to the door of the three-story brick building. I can’t remember what I have been doing Tuesday mornings, but it must have been important because I haven’t been to this class for weeks. (Months?) I dropped that class. I remember doing it. But some glitch in the computer software kept me as a student and I now have a final exam in a class I only attended a couple times. (Or maybe I only dreamt I attended, but never actually did.) The questions may as well be written in Sanskrit; I have no idea what they mean, much less what the answers could be.

My number-two pencil snaps in my hand and I am back in the hallway again.

It’s a different night, a different dream, a few months later, but I recognize the hallway as if I were just there. There was no laminate wood the last time; it was that cold, lacquered, fake marble floor. But the doors are the same and even the same available apartments are listed on the bulletin board.

I am usually meticulously on time, but for some reason, I am late. I peek through the small window in the door, and recognize a bunch of people I have other classes with. Somehow, I am able to sneak in without the professor noticing, and I sit next to a guy I sort of-ish know. What was his name again? The professor starts speaking, and panic rises up in my throat as I sneak my schedule out of my backpack, glancing at it as nonchalantly as I can. It’s Wednesday afternoon, right? Not History of Western Culture, Drawing 101. But there are no sketchpads, easels or pencils. Room 203. Not 302. I’m in the wrong class. Not only am I late to this class, I have to leave it to get to the right one.

I try to formulate a plan in the midst of my panic, and I can feel myself start to sweat. My breathing gets harder, more rhythmic, as if I’m suddenly running.

I recognize the grass between the sidewalks this time, under the large trees. It’s familiar, but that statue wasn’t there before, almost like there had been a glitch in the Matrix.** Hadn’t there been a bench? And that building was painted a brighter color. Ignoring the differences, I keep running. I have a paper due in two hours and I haven’t read the book. I’ve done no research. I have spent so much of my time doing work-study in the library this semester, but for some reason, it never crossed my mind to do the assigned homework.

I know anxiety seems to be a theme in these dreams,
along with looming deadlines
and impending failure.

They do seem to occur
                       somewhat
                       congruently
               to when I am very unsure about something
               or I have a big decision to make.

I get that.

What’s frustrating are those times when I cannot identify the culprit situation in my life where one of these dreams would be relevant. When there’s nothing obvious that links the two – but it has to be there somewhere.

I’m not entirely sure I’m looking at things from the right angle,
or maybe even the right planet.

Maybe this puzzle was from a garage sale
and it’s missing a piece
or twelve.

Or maybe it is blatantly obvious,
just not to me.

The memories
          within those dreams
               always have a deeper meaning
                         when I’m in that dimension.
     And that seems to remain true here as well –
               like those memories are somehow links
                    to the pieces I'm missing.

But it feels like the dream world
     holds those answers hostage,
                    yet also
                              dangles
                                         them in front of me
                                                                just out of reach.