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Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson

I had a dream last night that –

Yes, I know. Any blog entry that begins with the phrase “I had a dream” is either written entirely by Martin Luther King, or is the most boring post ever, apart only from those blog entries that lists the things that that blogger did that day, including what they ate for their lunch and what they plan to eat for their dinner. But y’all trust me, right? We’ve been through a lot together already. And heck, it’s Friday, so hear me out.

I had a dream last night that He Who Only… dumped me. Not only dumped me, but dumped me in the back garden of my house in Dublin. I can’t remember the reason why he did, although it was irritatingly absolutely impossible to argue against. I was immediately driven to that state of crying which is a combination of anger and despair. I could feel the wrenching, heartbreaking heaving sobs, the kind where you are trying to catch your breath but you can’t, and the adrenaline is flowing through your blood in such quantities that you feel simultaneously capable of breaking everything in sight and completely unable to move a muscle.

While this was building up, and I was desperately trying to speak but not uttering a word, He Who Only… was sitting passively on the bench that sits at the bottom of our garden, with this strange false-sad look on his face, like he was acting the part of sorry without actually feeling the emotion. I turned and went into the house, and met my mother. I told her – without speaking, because I was still totally incapable of speech – that he had broken up with me, and she looked past me into the garden at him sitting quietly on the bench, and said how brave it was of him. That, at least, managed to interrupt the choking sobs momentarily. I think I just stared at her, and she said how difficult it must have been for him, and that really I had to think of how he was feeling. I went upstairs to find my sisters, who were sitting in the bunk beds we used to have in our bedroom when we were kids. They both also expressed concern for He Who Only…, and absolutely no regard for my hysteria, and so I turned and stumbled out of that room and back down the stairs.

At this point my power of speech came back, and I was back out in the garden and screaming at him, while he continued to sit, now with his head bowed, not really saying anything and still with the strange, calm, not-sad sad look on his face and I thought the world was about to end.

And then I woke up. I lay there shaking, trying to remember that it was only a dream but the dream hangover was so strong that I needed further clarification, and so I turned around to see if he was there, and he was, there beside me, asleep, and as I lay there looking at him and calming down and remembering none of it was real he turned over and elbowed me in the face and I knew it was all going to be okay.

And the saddest thing is, that’s honestly almost better than the constant dreams I’ve been having about filing.

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