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November 10, 2012 by Wayne.

From 2011

Problems always seem worse at night.

So, okay. You’ve found someone better. I still do need you, though, sometimes, at least until I fall sleep and wake up about an hour before I land in Dubai.

They’d turned the lights on halfway through my dream. The plane was starting to echo with people stretching and yawning.

Stewardess: Excuse me, sir, could you set your seat upright please?

Even when I don’t dream this particular dream, it’s always the same recurring elements that pop up. I’m being chased, tortured, or both. Occasionally, I die. In the ones where I don’t, I either wake before that point or someone else is being killed. Usually by me. Sometimes as a treat, I both kill and get killed, and I straightened my seat and folded up my blanket.

There is a painting by Berthe Morisot where she depicts her sister sitting by a bed, watching a baby sleep. Impressionist curtains drape down from the bedpole, shrouding the baby from the viewer. It reminds me of a scene from my dream.

I am in Edmonton, listening to Eels at 4am. Julian is not at home. I fall asleep after my life is shit and piss, even though I’m in my armchair, which actually still is my favourite chair ever. It’s fucking comfortable and Cain agrees and he’ll sleep there when I go to sleep though he starts off sleeping next to my pillow for a good 2-3 minutes until he thinks I’m asleep.

I begin to dream about a girl called L at the garden above the parking lots in my condominium, and her sleeping on my lap while I sit on a stone bench and watch the sun drag away from the sky, leaving sepia rays that scatter against the overhead leaves and bathe us in shadows and I reach down to brush the hair out of her eyes

I wake to a note on my laptop screen that says 9AM EXAM and I bend back down to read the notes spread out all over my desk but I start panicking because the letters go fuzzy and become numbers and vice versa and I wobble to the bathroom to splash water on to my face and I look at my reflection without switching on the light and I am staring at my wide open eyes but they’re blurred and distorted and my name is Elizabeth

Now I’m weaker than the palest blue
Oh-so-weak in this need for you

The Mall of the Emirates is stunning. There’s a gravity about the place, a certain atmosphere that goes beyond the Diane Von Furstenberg and skiing and chair lifts and all the stunning couture houses.

I ate alone at a 4-persons table in the food court, whatsapping and feeling that weird sensation of being trapped between sadness and excitement. I want to tell L that I wish she was there, but I can’t find her number on any list which sort of makes sense, since she doesn’t really exist.

Have you ever had a dream … that you were so sure was real? What if you were unable to wake from that dream? How would you know the difference between the dream world and the real world?

Emily Dickinson wrote nearly 1700 poems, of which only 7 were published during her lifetime. Here is one of my favourites:

This is my letter to the World
That never wrote to Me –
The sim;ple News that Nature told –
With tender Majesty
Her Message is committed
To Hands I cannot see –
For love of Her – Sweet – countrymen –
Judge tenderly – of Me

I’m thinking about problems in the middle of the night and I need to find solutions to them before sleep clouds my judgment and understates their severity. Also, I need to stop this fucking dream for recurring

Never be clean, lever pulled

I saw MJ walk into my tuition class and instantly fell in – like? lust? – with her and then spent the next 2 years falling into ever deeper emotional attachment. Sort of the old being-in-love-with-the-concept-of-being-in-love. I mean, shit, it was (is?) hard not to be. In the end, there was a lot of anger at her for not letting me have emotional catharsis but, really, closure doesn’t mean shit.

I met L online. We chatted on MSN. We spent some time at Promtay 2. She broke up with her boyfriend. We started dating, I left for Canada.

At the airport, when we hugged out of sight of the rest of the group, I realized just how many things I loved about her – not everything, but enough to make me realize that she wasn’t this concept of beauty that I was trying to slot into my idealized partner for my plans and dreams.

I woke about an hour before I landed in Edmonton.

Here’s the problem with personal stories: people try to justify the things they did. They spray so much gloss over their past selves that all you end up with are reflections. People change. They just refuse to admit it. Because who wants to choose between being true to yourself and moving on? Trust is, outgrowing yourself is risky business. And so people look back and pat themselves on the back for the smart decisions they made, all the while paintbrushing out the ugly blemishes.

Because, well, we kind of rock at this LDR thing together. I think we make a pretty good team. Right?

It’s hard. I was wrong about her, which means I’ve probably been wrong about everything. It’s really hard to cope when you lose sense of yourself.

I walked several times past the Dior shop before mustering the courage to go in and affirm the fucking insane prices of the jeans. I shouldn’t have sold the grey pair I had for so cheap. Well, actually, I shouldn’t have sold the Kohzo one either. Except it smelled like bleach. And it was slightly uncomfortable. So eh yeah that one was okay.

So much has changed, though, over the last couple of years. And the thing is, if I had the chance to go back in time and warn my past self, I won’t. Because me of year 2008 or whenever the hell wouldn’t listen. If I was told that hey there’s this person who could have been my soul mate but you screwed it up so don’t go down that road, my past self would definitely take the chance.

We are in Pavilion and I’ve half a mind to buy a skinny polyester black tie from My Tie Shop. We spend a few minutes in the store then she walks out. I buy the tie. I wear it to Promtay.

We are dancing. I am whispering into her ear. We are in the garden outside her house. I am walking away. We are hugging. We are kissing. I am boarding an aeroplane and thinking about Hong Kong. I am boarding an aeroplane and thinking about Toronto. I am boarding an aeroplane and thinking about how it would feel to try to wake up and realize I couldn’t except of course this is implausible since I wouldn’t be able to realize I couldn’t wake up, I wouldn’t be able to feel anything after I died.

So fuck it, I plug in my earbuds and slowly fall to sleep and when I wake up, I’m in Kuala Lumpur and I haven’t left since that day.

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