What are your dreams made of?

in ,

 

This night I had lengthy conversations with a certified psychopath, recently released from jail, who was trying to convince me that he was fully reformed and law-abiding now. His bald head and weasel like features filled me with revulsion that I was trying to suppress and be open minded, because miracles do happen and everyone deserves a second chance. However. Our conversations mostly took place in narrow corridors which made me both uncomfortable and also acutely aware of this man's presence.

Some corridors were filled with clothes racks. (Most probably because I spent 3 days browsing Ikea website.) I saw man's boots and a trench-coat peaking from a hollow in a wall. I thought it was a real person, but it turned out to be a mannequin. Everything was different shades of grey and dull. Not a fun place.

At the end of our conversation, the psychopath (I don't know his name, but this is how I was referring to him in my mind) asked me if I trusted his words. It was hard not to laugh.

I answered, "As much as I trust any other man unknown to me".  Which is both true and untrue. I did not trust him, but I didn't want to be offensive either (which is my common modus operandi and quite often puts me into awkward situations).

I did not trust the psychopath to walk behind me. Only ahead of me.

There was also a staged scene in which a couple wakes up to find a dead girl in their bed - right between them. I though that the wife didn't perform the scream exactly how I would have done it. Although I admit that feeling a living person's hand on your buttock is not the same as a dead body's. But this is what is acting for, right?

(I swear, I am not crazy.)

This sounds like a nightmare but it was not, because I was in control. Plus, there was also a lovely image of a bare chested Santiago Cabrera (Aramis from BBC The Musketeers) who certainly did cheer me up a lot. (Thank you, dream gods!) He was glorious to watch with other people too.

There were five of us in the room. (Which quite disturbingly coincides with something that my grandmother told me this morning - although his number 5 is wrong on all accounts.) He was sitting on the floor, crosslegged, and leaning over to some other blond guy for a cigarette. There was someone else in the room, whom I didn't know. The myself and the psychopath.

It could have turned into a murder mysteries - I have had those before - but I forced myself to wake up, because I didn't want to spoil my image of a shirtless Cabrera by anything else.

Now let me return to my cold coffee and other matters of equal importance.

p.s. I updated my blog's layout! It involved some CSS skills - I feel very proud of myself.