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Friday, July 09, 2004 The time I woke up trying to scream: When: a year or two after the time I actually woke up screaming. [See entry of June 29.] Still a turbulent period, me still generally clueless, just not as severely so. Spending the night at my brother's house in upstate New York, sleeping in a small spare room. I found myself in a dark dream, located somewhere I'd never been in waking life, the sequence that I remember taking place in a large warehouse-style building, being used as a barracks of some kind. Me asleep on a metal cot in a broad, high-ceilinged room, no one else nearby. Intensely dark, no lights shining anywhere to provide relief. In the dream, I woke up, sensing someone nearby. Gradually, I made out a human form standing by my bed. Tall, silent, unmoving. Focused on me. With time, as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I made out shadowed eyes fixed on me, saw that the form appeared to be wrapped in a black cape. A vampire, I realized in disbelief (the first and only time, I think, that a vampire has ever played a part in one of my dreams). Not cartoonish, not exaggerated -- realistic, with serious intent. Sudden fear set in -- panic, in fact -- with the sure realization that I was in extreme danger. At which time the looming figure began to bend noiselessly down toward me, me trying ineffectually to scrabble away. Unable to move, frozen beneath the covers, watching my death move soundlessly closer. A scream tried to make its way out of my mouth, without success, my jaw and lips refusing to open, the sound remaining trapped in my heaving chest, audible only to me. I awoke for real then, that same throttled scream trying to find its way out, then stopping as I realized where I was -- safe, in my brother's home. It's been a long time since I've had a nightmare. A long, long time. I dream a lot, though I mostly don't remember more than fleeting images or feelings, sudden flashes of memory that appear without warning during the course of the day, leaving me with a sudden, clear sense of a nighttime adventure, even if the story doesn't expand into something more complete in my conscious memory. And in truth, I'm generally not concerned with remembering my dreams (though it's fun when one gets remembered). I know my nights are active with them, that seems to be good enough. My attention is well-occupied with my days, with all the experiences and sensory information the passing moments bring. That's more then sufficient for right now. Anyway, there it is (not that you asked): the time I woke up trying to scream. Madrid, te echo de menos. rws 1:37 PM [+]
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