20141007.0708

I do not often remember my dreams, as I believe I have noted. I remember one from today, though. It had me in high school, but not the high school I attended. I was about to be late to class, and I could not remember what class I was supposed to be in. I made for my locker, which was near the band hall but not in it, and searched for the print-out of my class schedule. I could not find it, although I did find a sheaf of purple paper, perhaps 24 lb. (how I remember such strange details...), with a series of dates upon it. I think they were for concerts, although why the paper would be purple...still, it was at about that point that Ms. 8 woke me inadvertently (she is not at the point yet, I think, when she does such things on purpose). I took care of her briefly and returned to bed for another two and a half hours (it was half past three this morning). Yet the images from the dream remain with me.

It has been some time since I was in high school, and it has only been slightly less since I have been on the grounds of one. I do not recall that I was ever late to a class (go figure that one out), and at no point before college did I have a locker near the band hall (although I used the instrument room in the band hall as a locker, but I was hardly alone in that). Nor was the high school I attended much into the use of purple in décor or documentation. Nor yet do I have a longing to return to some halcyon of adolescent glory--I did not have one. So why I would dream of such things eludes me. I do not know what to make of it.

I know that this may be an instance where I am told that I am overthinking the issue, that it simply is and bears no explication, carries no further meaning. I would point out that I have heard many of the same people who make such comments spout off the cliché that "there is a plan for you" or words to that effect, and that the two positions--"there is no deeper meaning" and "there is a plan"--are mutually exclusive. A plan is a deeper meaning. Why I should be faulted for trying to find it by the same people who assert that there is intent and that "things work out as they should" eludes me, as well. I am not made for blind acceptance; I am made to pry into and question, to parse, to analyze and explore. (And I once again think I ought to have written this as a poem.) My abilities are limited, of course, as I am a finite being, but that does not mean I will not strive to approach the infinitude--even if I am annoyed at not understanding the dreams that I dream and surprisingly remember.