mr. mxylplyx

I was having some other dreams before this one, I know, about some beautiful young girl that used to work in the mall that would help me try on my clothes. She was the most gorgeous thing I ever saw at the time I think, and I dream that she was with me in bed, on an island. After making love to her repeatedly, I fall asleep spooning her in the most comfortable position ever. I am so comfortable, that a warm feeling overtakes my whole body and I am back in my own bed, but feel as if I am surrounded by an atmosphere of warm water. I am so completely relaxed, so warm and comfortable, that I feel like a baby in the crib again, and begin to stretch and writhe my limbs just as a small baby does when it's on its back. The atmosphere all around me has a reddish hue, to match the warm feeling that has overtaken my entire body, and I feel like I am newly born. From some other space in my consciousness, superimposed on to the dream, a higher consciousness in me than the one in the water sees Professor Tougaw and another English professor of mine from York College up in the heavens somewhere observing the scene and telling each other that he never remembers to write these things down. Tougaw says to other one "Yeah, we'll see if he remembers this time." There is a disturbance in the water, and as my floating mind registers the disturbance from this bliss, a brief interlude plays out within it. It dreams that I am back at my old barbacking job at the Slaughtered Lamb Pub, and that I am standing behind the bar, but off duty, as somehow I know that I do not work there anymore. The keg goes out for one of the richer beers, and the barback there is too incompetent to find which one it is and fix it. He is radioing Will the bartender up from the basement that he has changed the other kegs, but cannot find this one, which I know is the Stella Artois, because of its rich golden hue and light frothiness. I sigh and head out the door of the bar, across the street. and go for some reason through Down the Hatch, the bar next door, to get to the basement of our bar to change the keg. As I enter round the tables in the basement and pass the drinking customers on the way to the pantry door, I realize that I should have just gone down the stairs from our own bar to get here. As I open the door and begin to walk down the corridor that leads to the keg room, I realize that whenever I am trying to figure my way out of something when I am dreaming I dream that I am here in the Slaughtered Lamb Pub, and trying to make my way through the maze of customers to the kegroom. Before I reach the kegroom then, the dream breaks up and I am back in my own bed. The red lights around me turn off, the watery, comfortably infantlike feeling and atmosphere are gone, and I realize that that dream was a response to the disturbance that made me find my way back to normal consciousness. I realize now that Professor Tougaw is waiting by the foot of the stairs for a dream report, and that my father is in the laundry room attached to the living room area that is next to my bed. I begin to grunt and prop myself up in bed, still groggy from waking up. My father comes over and brings me my pants I was wearing from the night before, still with my belt attached to them and all my things in the pockets, so that I will not get out of bed in my boxers and t-shirt. I put them on, and walk over to the couch and sit down to put on my socks as Mr. Tougaw comes down the stairs. For a minute, because it is dark and because of the gait of his walk, I think he is my uncle Tito, who was always the first person I would see in the morning back when I was a teenager and he used to live with us, coming to tell me to wake up and get ready for school because I was running late. I see however, when he gets down the steps, even though it is still dark and there are shadows across his face, that it is Mr. Tougaw. But I am running late, and have to be at Mr. Tougaw's class soon, and no doubt that is why he has come, to make sure I am going to bring him the blogs that I owe him. He sits down on the couch across from me, and I begin to tell him as I am putting on my socks that I just had an interesting dream in which I felt as if I was floating in amniotic fluid, and I have just now woken up from it. He responds in a deeper than normal, somewhat robotic sounding voice that I must be sure to write down the dream this time, because he knows that I have lost several good dreams to not writing them down, and that class is in 20 minutes and they are coming due now. I say that I will, I assure him, and that I will be to class on-time, and that he didn't have to come down here. As I am speaking, the dream begins to break up, and I find myself in my bed, for real this time, and shake off the weird, not-really-fully-in-this-world-yet feeling and plop myself down in front of my computer to write this down.