Teardrops are a collection of short, slightly sad stories (but remember, there are tears of joy and of love), that exist for a brief moment before they are wiped, and shed every Sunday. Or when they are ready, whichever comes last...

Serial dreams

by Antheros

I dreamt of her again, this can't go on anymore. I woke up sweaty, it was just after four in the morning and I couldn't go back to sleep. If I did, I might dream about her yet again.

It's making me go crazy. I sleep, and dream about Denise. Shit, I even call her by the name. I know her, and I love her, but she doesn't exist. Even when I'm awake, I fell like that, after dozens of dreams, months that this has been happening. I didn't think anything at first, then the dreams started to accumulate, and I just thought it was funny. A series of dreams about the same subject, having a sort of sequence. Each dream was different, different places and situations, but Denise was always there and we remembered the previous encounters. Dreams, I mean. I started to know more about her. It was fun for a while, I went to bed expecting to see her, to see what would happen, if I would kiss her. It was almost like watching a soap opera. Then I started to worry too much about it. I spent time during the day thinking about what I should do in the next dream. Where I should take her on a date, what I should say. I woke up one day devastated after a fight we had, when she asked me why I was not carrying blue balloons with me all the time anymore. It was ridiculous, I remember thinking in the dream, ``I never carried balloons in any of these dreams,'' but she wouldn't hear about that. I was sad the next day, and I caught myself wondering why I forgot to buy the blue balloons. I had the impulse of trying to find blue balloons, not in the dream, but awake. That was the tipping point. From then on things went downhill. I made things up with her the following night, without blue balloons, and I was feeling better when I woke up. I remembered that Chinese philosopher, who once had a vivid dream that he was a butterfly, and then didn't know if he was a butterfly dreaming he was a man, or a man who dreamt he was a butterfly. I wondered if he felt like I do, but somehow it seemed that he enjoyed the dream. Perhaps because he didn't dream it every night. I now have two lives, the odd one by night and the bad one by day. I can't rest from either. It's all a nightmare. I dreamt I said Charlotte's name when I was making love to Denise. For a split second Denise turned into Charlotte, and I was as disoriented as I could be, not knowing if I was dreaming or not anymore. Or last weekend, when I took Charlotte to the park and was gazing at the balloons, and she said ``Balloons are so cute, I loved them when I was a kid.'' I almost ran away, right there. Then tonight's dream, with Denise asking me about Charlotte. ``You are still sleeping with that vixen, aren't you?'' Gosh, Denise's the vixen, not Charlotte. She asked me when I was going to leave Charlotte. ``But we're engaged,'' I said, almost apologetically, and she started to say that she was not going to be the mistress of a married man. Boy, am I glad Charlotte is not here tonight, I wonder if I talk during my sleep. She never said anything so far, but maybe I just mumble and she never woke up. I should buy a recorder, to be sure. But even if I don't talk, maybe one day I will. Or maybe I'll call Charlotte ``Denise,'' if she does something like talking about balloons. I could tell her--Charlotte--, but what would she say? ``I have something to tell you. I'm having an affair with a girl in my dreams. I dream of her every night.''

Like that's going to help. I'm going out of my mind.

27 Mar 2005