Thursday, Apr. 14, 2005 - 02:13

In this dream, I wander into the living room. Simon is seated in one of the beanbags, sitting directly in front of the enormous TV (the one he supposedly purchased for my ’Viewing Pleasure’).

I take a few steps towards him, approaching from behind; I don’t seem overly surprised that he’s there. I’m looking at the TV screen, trying to figure out what it is he’s watching.

On the TV screen I can see myself sprawled upon my bed. Of course, I instantly realise what day it is that is unfolding before my very eyes. Yet somehow, it doesn’t make sense, it’s like I know what’s happening on the TV screen, but don’t know at the sametime…

On TV, Simon enters the bedroom and stands by the bed. He is looking down at me. He says nothing at first.

TV Simon: “Jay… Jay…? You awake…?”

My pale, prone body does not respond, of course. There’s a moment of weighty silence, and then he steps closer to the bed. Standing there, watching the TV, I feel sick and dizzy with dread.

“This is the funny bit,” I hear a voice say. To my surprise, I see that Danny (former flatmate/friend) and his friends, Polly, Guy and Mason, are suddenly sitting together on the sofa, watching the screen with glee.

“Turn it up, Simon,” Danny says, and silently Simon, still in he beanbag, holds up the TV remote and hits a button to increase the volume.

Confused, I turn to leave the living room and wander up the hallway towards my room. Once there, I find the very same clothes I wore that day are laid out on the bed, nice and neatly. But there’s an unexpected item along with them. It is a green ceramic cat.

I recognise it immediately. Simon gave me a pair of such cats as a gift for a birthday a couple of years ago. They were quite beautiful, being stylised with strong lines and graceful curves; suggestive of an art deco design, and were matching bookends, of a sort. It was indeed a genuine antique. But in the Real World, I sent them back to him (after he’d moved out), as I didn’t like having them around the apartment (bad vibes).

The ceramic cat, placed on my Oscar the Grouch T-shirt, had had its head snapped off. But then it’s suddenly not the ceramic cat anymore; somehow I’m laying on the bed, dressed in the clothes that had been laid out, and sitting on my chest is Parker (one of my cats), with his head ripped off.

Simon is standing by my bed. I can see him. But his eye sockets are empty, yet he stares at me. “Jay… Jay…? You awake…?”

I find that I’m unable to move or speak. And what follows is dark and confused and broken… he’s on me, the pillow covers my face…

… And then I woke up.

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