…’cause I dream in stress and angst.
Do you have high-school dreams? You know – dreams where you are walking through the halls in high school, trying to get to class? I don’t have these dreams often, but when I do they are always doozies.
I know we all imagine that there are people out there who had a wonderful time in high school, who were popular and pretty and built and had confidence and self esteem and good grades and tons of friends and teachers who loved them. We like to think it, but we know at least that we were not one of them. I was not one of them. And chances are, you were not either.
And that is because these well adjusted super teens never existed. No one was like that in high school. Even the popular pretty girl who picked on you and called you names was filled with self loathing and pimples and bad dates and a bad family life and secretly hated her best friend and had a mild case of anorexia and cried alone at night . Even the jock who pushed you in the hall was failing algebra and got beat by his father and had a tiny peen and the other jocks made fun of him and was secretly crushing on the captain of the football team. We were all in the same boat. We were teenagers. The angst goes with the age group.
So, I guess that when I have these weird high school dreams, I must be harkening back to that stressful, stinky time in my life. Or, it could be the muscle relaxers from Canada that I took to quiet the pulled muscle in my back. Whichever.
I was being driven to high school in my current car by my parents. I was sitting in the back seat, dressed in a black suit with a American Red Cross t-shirt pulled on over the coat (comfy). Then, I was walking through the halls, except they were giant and filled with students, like a commuter train in Japan. Debbie P was walking ahead of me, and she turned around and said something mean to me with her frizzy curly hair and her bigness (I have since seen pictures of her and she is beautiful now). Then, I was walking up the back stairs into a classroom, and there was nowhere to sit, and Matthew Modine was the teacher, except he was only wearing a gold diaper and fairy wings and was covered in glitter. He was yelling at a student. I went back to the hallways and was waiting for an elevator (which we did not have in our school) and then it turned out to be just a bathroom stall. But then it was an elevator again, and I got on it with my friends (none of whom I recognized) except that Matthew Modine was now a friend of mine, dressed up like Ducky in Pretty In Pink. And then a little geek called someone a faggot, and I looked over at him and smiled a big Pennywise the Clown smile and said “I’m a faggot” and then I woke up.