not having any of that

i've never once dreamt of flying. if anything, my dreams tend to be anxious -- rushing, catching up, even swimming uphill. it's like my subconscious is always set against the countdown clock.

most recently i dreamt of rushing to hide my stash and any other remnants of my weed addiction from my dad. the dream seemed like an endless sequence:

i'm in my old bedroom smoking weed when i can hear my dad descending the unforgiving staircase, slow but loud. i swipe all paraphernalia into a desk drawer with one arm, while reaching for the window with the other. he knocks or says my name outside my door as i'm trying to fan out the unforgiving scent of weed.

i'm walking down the street of my current neighborhood when i see my dad approaching from the distance. i need to hid my baggy stash quick -- in the postbox? between a sandwich sign? at the base of a planter?

i'm a kid at school and my dad's dropping off the packed lunch i forgot to take with me when i left the house that morning -- and i need to find some place to put my still-lit joint that won't break out in a fire.

the recurring theme of 'dad catching me smoking dope' is not incredibly difficult to interpret; i probably feel some subconscious guilt about my weed habit, and my dreams are using the scariest character in my life just to freak me out. it may be freudian psychology, but it's certainly not rocket science.

if that weren't sleeptime torture enough, there was a surprise blockade at every turn -- voldemort. two seconds away from my dad catching me red-handed and v steps in trying to act like our encounter is by chance. v's really picking the worst time to try re-initiating a connection; the good news is that in my dream i'm not having any of that.

i'm pretty sure i can say i wouldn't be having any of that in waking life, too. pretty sure.