MSN: plicease@hotmail.com
e-mail: plicease (at) wdlabs (dot) com
I dreamed last night that a number of my old friends from high school were playing lacrosse for the U of A in a very exciting game. Only instead of playing in a field they were playing in a huge multi level parking lot with intricate playground equipment, and instead of trying to score goals, the objective was to collect star bits a la Super Mario Galaxy while having possession of the ball. You might ask how that is much at all like lacrosse and I might answer how do my dreams ever make any sense? They were carrying the ball around with lacrosse sticks at least. The U of A was expected to lose the game by a huge margin, but it was very close and in the final moments of the game my old friend Clayton managed collect enough star bits to capture victory. Blasic had his name signed into the playing field in star bits. Apparently he had a hand in designing the playing “field”.
I remember quite specifically Clayton and Dom were playing for the U of A, and Blasic was in the dream too, which is funny because none of them went to the U of A. It’s also strange because I don’t really have much at all to do with Clayton anymore. One of us friended the other on The Facebook at some point, but our lives have little to do with each other now. I am also pretty sure they never played lacrosse. I don’t even know whatever happened to Blasic.
I am in a college dorm room. My college dorm room. Not the one that I remember. None of the ones from the U of A. I am on the northeast somewhere. I am watching TV. With my roommate. One thing that distinguishes it from my life is that I am getting along with my roommate. There are three TV sets. First the small one is on. Then the respectable 32” one. Then the giant one. I want to ask my roommate how he convinced me to allow so many large TVs in our room, but I think he might think the question odd. I want him to tell me about my life. To tell me about me. About my life in this world. I don’t ask though. It might lead to awkward questions from him. I might accidentally tell him that this is all a dream and then where would I be? I do ask him where we are “this is Philadelphia right?” He doesn’t seem surprised. He doesn’t answer either, as though it was obvious. I have never lived in Philadelphia, but somehow I know this is my life. I’m living in Philadelphia with a roommate that I get along with. I am an undergraduate.
I am awake. Writing this down, but it is already fading from my memory. What was that life like? Me. Not me. Me on the east coast. Me getting along with my college roommate. What was that like? What would it have been like? It is gone. All of it. The only thing that remains is the words that I’ve written down. Not even written; pixels. Ones and zeroes in the computer’s RAM. I was having a instant messaging conversation in that world with someone. I wanted as I fought to wake up to remember; to look in my computer to find out what we were talking about. It was all in my head though, and not stored in my computer’s log file after all. Faded. Gone.
Brownen inspired me to try out the microphone on my notebook. I never even thought to use the thing because I assumed that it would sound crap, but it’s actually not too bad. Anyway, here is a reading of an old entry of mine (I chose not to ad-lib because then I would be “like uh and uh like”:
You will hear that I still sound like an American. Alas.