11/13/00: The Wrong Train
Last night I dreamed that I was waiting for the subway. The platform was full of people and there was a bad man chasing me. I really wanted to get on the next train that came. When one finally pulled in the station, I thought at first that it was too full to get on, but when I looked again, I saw that there was plenty of room for me. Though the crowd swelled as people moved towards the doors, no one else really wanted to get on. So I slipped onto the train and was happy when the doors closed and I saw I had left the bad man behind me.
We pulled out of the station and started to pick up speed. Pretty soon the train came out from underground so that now it was an elevated, and looking around, I didn't recognize where we were going. It looked like a foreign city. I had this terrible feeling I was on the wrong train.
I took a good look at the people on the train and they all had a sad, resigned look on their face. I had a sudden realization of what this train really was. It was the Flying Dutchman, it was going to take my soul away from my life, and I had to get off of it. But we weren't stopping anywhere. It was just going faster and faster.
Then up ahead I recognized a house. It was the blue house I lived in when I was six, only it was covered in flowers. I could feel a great power coming from the house, so I pulled open the subway doors and went flying out. Then I sat up in my little bed in the room I used to share with my sister. Everyone was there and they all hugged me. They said, "We thought you were dead." I said, "yeah, I really got on the wrong train."
More musings that involve my childhood. I promise that none of them are particularly precious.