T
his past summer Ifound myself dreaming alot. I could tell a number of
stories about my dreams, but for now I'll tell just one.
It seems to me that while I'm dreaming they are so vivid that I think I'm
living them, only to find out after that it was only a dream.
This particular nite I was sitting on the grass at the college campus
and I was eating my lunch from a brown bag and enjoying the day.
A young fellow approached me sitting there, and I just watched him as he
came closer.
He looked young and thin and had long red hair, for some odd reason he
looked familiar to me. As he got within a couple of feet from me,
he began yelling at me how stupid I was. He went on ranting and raving
about I was an ignorant asshole and made stupid decisions,
and on an on untill he was screaming what an asshole I was.
I began thinking how I was going to grab him. I thought he was skinny
enough to out run me so I better time it just right when I pounce or
he'll get away.Timing my jump perfectly. I leaped thru
the air ready to grab him. As I flew thru the air I began to wake up then
I hit the bunk and table on the other side of my trailer. When I
landed everything hurt, my arm and leg I thought I broke and was sore all
over. Then I was awake enough to know I was dreaming. Then I
started calling myself stupid for not realizing it was a dream.
The next morning stiff and sore, going back over it in my mind what had
happened, over a cup of coffee.
was me, thirty years ago.
Part II
Shortly after that first dream, along came another to surprise me. I heard
this voice that sounded familiar, but when I looked around no one was there.
Again the voice, what good did it do, look how your life turned out nothing
but frustration. I quickly turned to the left but no one was there, so I
quickly turned to the right and still no one, "...your life has been nothing
but a f-----g mess since that war. Why did you go, what good ever came of it,
it's given you nothing but heartache and grief," the voice droned on and on.
It dawned on me the voice was coming from behind me, and I somehow realized
uncried tears for what; the voice shouted in my ears. Maybe all those people
that blamed me and stopped me from promotions and called me names were right,
I thought. The voice was relentless telling me how stupid and what an asshole
I was for particpating in that unresolved war. How being there had effected
every thing I ever did or thought since.
I raised up as fast as I could and spun around hoping to catch that skinny
was now gushing blood. Standing there in the dark I felt a real fool to not
recognize I had been dreaming. I fumbled my way to the bathroom and turned on
self out for being so stupid. Dreams are they real?
Doc Dave Pfeifer Medic 1969
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