March 25, 2003

kids don’t run on apples

Over break I had lots of dreams. They were really neat, vivid dreams. It was almost as thought I took two week-long breaks; one of them I spent in Oregon and the other I spent in crazy dreamy-dream land, crashing my car into garages and running around with a fire-breathing firehose. It was a fun time and quite self-revealing, and I got excited while falling asleep every night, wondering where the couple pounds of free-association locked away in my skull would take me.

And now I’m back at school, where I hardly dream at all, and when I do they’re boring little stupid dreams about forgetting to turn in essays. I don’t really know why I don’t dream at school… maybe it’s because I live next to the machine room and listen to air compressors all night. Maybe it’s because my room doesn’t get very dark because the omni-directional SAF-T street lamps glare in my window through all dark hours. Maybe it’s because I only have neat dreams when my back feels like it needs to spend the night knitting itself back together.

Or maybe it’s because I find school so abhorrently boring that there isn’t enough here to keep my mind busy, even at night. A kid needs waterfalls, cliffs, turquoise pools, moss, huge tall trees, sea foam races, organic food superstores, microbreweries and a complete absence of billboards. Only there can the mind sufficiently wander through all hours. You need candy, too. Kids don’t run on apples.

Last night I dreamed that Mr. Rodgers wasn’t really dead – he had staged his death and was spending his days happily on a 30′ sailboat in the rough waters of the Atlantic. He gave me a tour of the boat. It was pretty sweet.