I Had a Dream

I haven't dreamt in an age. Well, I guess I have dreamt, but thanks to Mr Green, I haven't remembered them, not a one. Not even a hint. Not for years.

I used to have the most vivid dreams as a kid. Some might say bizarre. Graphic. Incredible. Strange. Crazy, maybe. I used to love it.

Last night I dreamt that I was near the main road near my parents house, as I would have seen, and did see, it as a boy - it is so interesting, the detail one's memory retains. Someone was with me, I think it was my sister, as we spent most of our childhood together.

I was in the street, heading some where, now alone. I was dressed in thin, cotton baggy pants, the type I would never wear and the type, I can only describe, that Jamie, from Big Brother, wears, when I had a bad case of diarrhoea and, yes, you guessed it, an accident.

Then I was at a fictional neighbours house, by myself, cleaning up, as they were out for the day and I could go about what needed to be done in private. I will spare you the details, but it was graphic and nasty. Toilet, shower, strangely set well a part, acres of beige and miles of polished floor tiles.

The place was sparkling clean, not unlike Mark's mother's mirror finished tiles and surfaces. (It's no surprise to me that Mark is anal about such things) I had wads of toilet paper, which seemed to be having little affect on my, shall we say, state of cleanliness.

I was overwhelmed but getting it together. Panicked, but moving forward with the task. I'd got my pants off and was cleaning up by the toilet, when the son of the house, who seemed to be Max, from Big Brother, came through the front door and headed up the stairs. Somehow the toilet and I now seemed to be in the middle of the lounge room. Max casually looked over at me, as he headed up the stairs and said, Mum and dad will be here in a minute.

I was squatting, reaching between my legs, rolls of paper towel in both hands. Max smiled, as he took two steps at a time with every bound, not seeming noticing anything unusual about me or my predicament.

I was completely mortified at the thought of Max's parents about to enter the house. Stunned and shaking, as I gazed at all of my soiled belongings spread around me.

Then I was walking to my house, not reminiscent of any house I have ever lived in. I was nearly there, I was nearly out of sight. I was nearly safe. My heart was beating furiously. My head was swimming. My body was shaking. My arse cheeks were squelching. Something was dribbling down the backs of my legs. I had a shirt on and my putrid cotton pants in my hand, but nothing else.

As I turned the corner, there was a party in full swing, my house was throbbing with people and music. I was defeated. All hope was lost. There was no way out of it this time; no protection, no where to hide. I froze. All of my filth was about to be viewed by a multitude.

A wave of calm came over me. My pulse returned to normal. My head cleared. An inner strength welled up and washed over me. The sun even came out. I calmly rapped the, what seemed like, material that had been soaked in mud, around my hips, tying it in a knot on one side and confidently sashayed toward the front door.

I sat up in my darkened bedroom and looked out to the still dark morning, it was 5.45am and I was wide awake. Well, I had slept away most of the weekend, my sleep bank must be full.

I have no idea what that was all about, I thought. I laughed and shook my head.

"Fuck me!... Welcome back dreamboat." I lay back down, resisting the urge to check my arse crack. "That's what I gave up dope for?"