Dreams, 3 May 2020

Last night I dreamt there was a snake in my bed, a small but long black and white snake. In my BED. Right there where I was laying.

Before that I’d dreamt about getting left out of texts and online exchanges by Lucy and Beth.

But Lucy’s been dead for four years. And why on earth would you dream of the dead with jealousy? When deep in my heart even my closest friend sometimes left me feeling outside. But it makes no sense to dream that way now.

I suppose we did speak of her yesterday. I don’t think he likes it when I drop death into the conversation, he tenses, I can tell from his breathing, even down the phone. Most people are like that I suppose. It makes little enough difference to me - death is commonplace enough, though we accord it a special status by avoidance. Is death really to be feared? No-one can tell me to think of Lucy as if she no longer exists, as if her essence has evaporated completely.

I wish I had walked now, but I’ll enjoy it tomorrow.

Oh and the snake? I decided enough was enough. I picked it up (avoiding its head, so help me) with a view of transporting it to, and opening, the window. I didn’t need to kill it, there was fear, I was rash, it just needed to not be in my bed! But it had to be dealt with. I awoke, of course, in the process of raising myself from the bed.