Dream recall

Below is a rough, quick write up of a dream recall. It is brief and it is unruly. Also, I mention cock… a lot. So be warned.

This morning.

My eyes open and I slowly sit up in my bed to check the time. 7:15am. My heads falls back onto my pillow. A slight tightness gives way across my face and I reach up to feel what has crusted. Snot. Charming, I know. Sickness in secrecy is the only humane way to be sick, I suppose. I think to the privilege of being able to be sick in the privacy of my own home, my own room even. To be able to simply be alone, to allow my body to (re)act to the illness that has taken my body inside out. I hesitantly stand up and shake the sleep away. Along with it, the remnants of a dream trying to remain. I look down at my morning wood. The head of my cock peaks over the top of my undies exposing itself in full as I stand full. I am not in the mood. I stagger to the bathroom to piss. I piss. The urine, a dark yellow suggests that I have yet to hydrate properly during the past 2 days of sickness. I shake my dick off and my touch feels good. My cock beckons attention, but I am still not in the mood. I’d rather wait. For more intimate times. I turn round and grab some toilet paper and blow my nose. The snot from the night has clearly gathered, what has breached is what is dried and crusted against my cheek. I blow, holding down my right nostril first, and then the left. Back and forth. Globs of wet snot and mucus shoot out of my nose and fill the loosely folded toilet paper in my hand. The weight of the snot is amazing and I wonder how so much snot is able to be produced and maintained inside of the sinus cavity. No wonder I get so dizzy. I examine the glob of snot and find myself in awe over the glisten that it casts. I toss the paper into the toilet and watch it mesh with my piss. I flush the toilet and head to the kitchen. I put two pieces of toast into the toaster and start the cycle. I grab the Earth Balance, almond butter, and grape jelly and place them next to a plate that awaits the toast. I scavenge through the knife drawer—a locus of potential pain and anguish. I find the butter knife and place it on the plate. My cock is still erect. I pull it out and stroke it a few times as I watch the toaster do its work. I stop and put my cock back into the undies thinking that there will be a better time for this… later. But I am horny. I grab a tea bag from the highest shelf and place it into my usual cup. I fill the cup with hot water and place it next to the plate. The toaster shoots the toast out. I lather vegan butter onto the toast followed by almond butter and a touch of jelly. I take a deep breath and think, “I hate putting things away.” I hesitantly screw the lids back on to the almond butter and jelly and snap the lid onto the butter. I put them all back into the fridge and grab my plate of toast and tea and head back to my room, where my computer is on awaiting my addictive fingers. I sit and take a bite of toast and enjoy the taste knowing well that the sickness is enough away that I at least have taste back. The flavors of butter, almond butter and jelly meld together and melt across my tongue. I sip my tea, “Gypsy Cold Remedy,” which consists of Echinacea and elder berry. It coats my throat. My cock is still hard. I look down and it seems to look up at me. I keep eating my toast. Cross my legs. And venture onto the computer. Facebook. Email. Youtube. Check. All substantial updates accounted for. I finish the last sip of my tea and sit back in my chair. It reclines back as Cat Stevens music fills my ears. My cock stands erect and beckons my touch. I stand up and head to the bathroom instead. I brush my teeth and pull my undies off. The bath water is running and I step on my scale. Up 4 pounds. This sickness has really taken a toll on my body in many ways. I step into the shower and take in the warm water. I feel it roll over my back and down my legs. I run my hand around my body and get to my right wrist. My hand stops at the bracelet on my hand. I hold it and look at it. It’s darkened by the water. I keep staring at it. It’s maker, Aaron, I’ve decided I do, in fact, love. Deeply. Why am I drawn to it now? It is trying to tell me something. I turn it around my wrist. I touch it and tug on it. I cannot hear it. And then a flash in my mind.

The bracelet is loose. I am holding it. But it is dry. This has happened already, or is supposed to? I am remembering the dream that lingered from this morning. A dream that I can recall. A start anyhow. All that I can recall is my holding my bracelet the same one that I wear in the waking world, made by Aaron. However, in my dream, the bracelet is long. It has a lot of slack and I am pulling on the slack. Beyond this, I cannot recall my dream. What could it mean  and how I access more of these dreams?


About Benny

My name is Benny LeMaster. I am an academic, activist, and artist. I research questions of identity, culture, and representation. I am interested in exploring ways to relate to one another in critically affirming ways. In terms of identity, I identify as queer, trans, mixed-race Asian/white, fat, and, frankly, fabulous. Let's talk!
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