Cary Grant Is Apparently My Lover

Cary Grant has officially taken over my dreams.

Now he certainly isn't unwelcome, but the thing is this: my dreams put me in very weird situations. Therefore, it's a bit weird to brag that Cary visits me in my dream(s) when explaining why he was there/what he did in the dream is a bit of an awkward proposition.

However, for the sake of this blog and my own memory and the fact that I can rarely recall dreams this well (yes, this is WELL), I will attempt to recount the dream in question.

The bones of it are as follows. Random bits I can't place may or may not come later.

I do not know what Dream Self was thinking when she decided to associated herself with Mr. Grant as his... It's difficult to say, really. I know I was involved with him somehow romantically, but it was inferred rather than demonstrated. I was at some sort of convention or group with some friends, and we were all comparing tattoos. Apparently we all had tattoos marking how many love interests we'd had.

I had just gotten my first tattoo. You know, for Cary. This is kind of embarassing. It was on my left upper arm, and I think it had a '1' on it. After this comparison, I believe Cary showed up and we went out to his car.

Then, I kid you not, he broke the news that he was going to die soon. Which was just great, because I'd gotten the tattoo and OH NO now he was dying, what's the point... bla bla bla. I don't think I said this, but I get the distinct feeling my main concern was the tattoo.

How he knew he was going to die is beyond me- maybe he realized he was already dead and wanted to break it to me gently. Maybe he had been diagnosed with something. I really don't know.

There may have been something after this, but I can't remember it. It sounds like a lot less when it's written out like this, but it seemed longer at the time. It's frustrating- I love having dreams. It actually kind of upsets me that I rarely remember them well.

I think my head is going through my idols, because I totally had a dream I met John Green in a bookstore last week. I wasn't romantically involved with him, though. That would be really weird.

Not that Mr. Grant appearing as my 'companion' wasn't.

The Beautiful Things

I want to fill a page with the beautiful things I can't put into words, the thoughts I can't wrap my head around, the essences, the ideas I've tried to phrase and failed.

Scratch that- I want to fill page after page with the beautiful things, always just far away enough in my mind to baffle and frustrate me, these things that live so close to my heart but I cannot know. Maybe they carry themselves out in the realms of my mind, frollicking around in dreams I won't remember in the morning. Sweet summer air thick against my skin, ivy winding its way up a trellis, the sun dimming but still there on a gloriously quiet evening. The idea of early morning, dark and hazy, someone whistling or a bird chirping or nothing at all on empty streets flanked by cold, wet grass.

The words I write here could be pretty, I think, but I don't know how to put them that way. Maybe this is because I've caught these things only in handfuls and gasps. Maybe this is because they're only meant to live vaguely in my mind.

Maybe this is because these things, these and the many others clinging quietly to my mural of beautiful things, don't want to be written or explained. Maybe they do this because they can only really be experienced.

Or maybe the right word would be this one: dreamed.