When I was little I had a very strict morning routine. I would wake up in my wooden boat-bed filled with sunrise enthusiasm and quickly bound into my parents’ room.
“Do you guys want to know what I dreamed last night?”
Jumping straight in between the groggy pair, I would launch into the most interesting, enthralling and captivating tales of total adventure. Dad rarely stayed awake until the end.
Mum always ended with, “That’s great darling.”
And she was RIGHT. They were totally great.
Now as an adult I am still dreaming. They are my best kept secret. (Except that I tell everyone about them, blog about them, brag about them and now write articles about them).
My dreams have always been pretty cool. I’m sure my parents can testify to that. I mean, usually after ‘morning-story-time’ they went back to sleep themselves. Because they were so JEALOUS and probably wanted to do some dreaming of their own.
Anyway, these days, my dreams are great for a whole new reason. Nowadays… my dreams are psychic.
I know what you are thinking. Here is another modern aged hippy with crystals around her neck and too many rings claiming to be in touch with supernatural energies.
Firstly, yes, I have a crystal around my neck, but it was on sale and compliments my eyes perfectly.
Secondly, I have inarguable evidence to prove that my brain is two steps ahead of me at night time. (N.B. This does not include night-times when I am awake and drunk, because in those situations my brain is nowhere to be found at all.)
So. The other night I had a dream about an old friend of mine. We used to be best friends in boarding school. Our teenage lives were more or less one and the same. However due to the unfortunate process of growing up, making mistakes, picking countries, careers, ethics, boys, men, girls (in her case…), we went our separate ways.
So anyway, the other night, after years of not really thinking about this person, I had a vivid dream about her. In the morning I went to baby Jamberoo class with my cousin. (Essentially, baby Jamberoo is baby aerobics. It’s mildly ridiculous and hugely hilarious.)
My cousin is also friends with this girl. Randomly in the middle of jingle-bell rock, she said, “Oh did you know Christina* is moving back to Sydney?”
I just nodded VERY slowly. Yes. Yes I did. Of course. My brain is obviously brilliant.
So there is Exhibit A. Proof number 1. Certifiable in court. Except that I lied a little bit.
Her name is not Christina. Hence the fancy *.
Moving right along. I also dreamed another little dream the other night and this one had a much bigger impact on my life.
I have been seeing a boy recently. His name is not Christina either. It’s Christian*. (Can’t believe you’re falling for this again.)
We have been spending lots of time together. Having sleepovers, going to Fiji together, drinking cocktails together, fighting a bit, watching New Girl, going shopping etc etc. I have a hammock at his flat. It is also where I sleep even if he is not in town. (Not actually in the hammock. In the apartment.)
So the other night I got home from work at 2am. I went to Christian’s house and got into bed. He wasn’t home yet. I knew he was out with the boys and didn’t think much of it.
Until I shut my eyes and fell asleep. Then my clever little brain got to work!
In my dream he was hiding from me. It was late and we were at a pedestrian crossing. He was with another girl. He was messy and mumbling and not making sense. His face kept changing. It was always him though, just movements and eyes I didn’t recognise.
In the morning I woke up and he still wasn’t home. That was a bit strange. So I got up and went to work. I was really nervous and it showed on my face. My friends kept consoling me.
“Don’t be stupid. He is a smitten kitten.”
“He wouldn’t be so dumb.”
“He just has fallen asleep somewhere. ”
My head told me they were probably right. But my magical waters knew better. (Yes, I always refer to my psychic power as my magical waters. I know it’s gross but it’s what my mum always called it.)
He called at 2pm and apologised. He had had a big night. He was home now. He had taken too many mind-altering substances. He had fallen asleep somewhere. He wanted me to come and cuddle him. He would double the pay I was earning at the restaurant.
So I did.
When I got there, he launched into a BIG bullshit story about his BIG night filled with BIG idiots. I stared at him.
“Something happened. You did something.”
He got angry and asked why I would think that. He kept talking and talking and talking and talking.
“I know. I know something happened.”
He got frustrated. His eyes kept dodging mine and got really shiny. (Tears make the light bounce.)
Which is also what I did. I stood up and stood by my magical waters. Bounced the eff out of there.
He finally admitted it. Something had happened. We ended things and both left a little disappointed. (I also threw an ashtray at his head.)
I think he was pretty upset. Not only by the flying ashtray, but also that he was outsmarted by the awesome powers of the greater universe.
Through my anger and sadness, I found that I was also a bit chuffed.
There are going to be girls everyday, everywhere, in every city who will make eyes at this man. He’s very pretty. He will find a new blonde.
But it doesn’t really bother me. Because my mind is magic.
PS. His name was MATTHEW BOOKLISS.