It amazes me how if there were feelings there that she can just look away from them and walk away from something that matched so well. The confetti star that has been sitting on my desk since that night is becoming more and more devoid of meaning because as the minutes pass, the feeling that the star only had meaning because I put meaning into it; I am coming to terms with the understanding that my feelings were not shared. That's okay -- as I've said, I have been here before.
I have not been in a bad mood since, but I have been in a contemplative mood. I have been quiet and in solitude, thinking. I have been unable to open my books for my final on Monday and Wednesday and I fear that I might fail a class because of this. Today, tomorrow, and Sunday are my last days to pull it all together whereas I should have been in sincere study mode for over a week now.
I had a dream that I visited an old sleep away camp that I used to work at for the summers during college. I think the camp was run by the Conservative Jewish movement, which meant that Jewish observance was not obligatory, but members kept the traditions and the feelings of Judaism. When I entered into the camp I saw all the old people I used to know, but this time around I had a beard and I was frum (religious). Somewhere along the dream the scene changed and so did I.
I had longer hair which was slicked back and hardened by gel, and I was wearing a leather jacket as I used to. I was clean shaven. As I interacted with people, I was the bad boy, with a bad boy attitude, and I knew that nobody made the connection that I was the same pious person who walked in earlier with the beard.
[Above is an accurate representation of how I looked at times during my college years. Without the beard, I have the kind of face that if you looked at me during different points of my life, even potentially from day to day, I could look like completely different people. This gave me a hard time during college when I was supposed to look like the picture in my ID. Often I looked like the ID I was carrying.]
Back in the dream, I decided that it was dangerous to play with dynamite. I was with two other boys who disagreed with me. As I walked away from them and into my bunk, I laid my head down on the bed which was six feet high because it had many mattresses stacked one on top of another. As I looked at the two boys from my room, in a matter of three or four seconds, one of them accidentally lit the dynamite which got attached to his left foot. I saw it was a pinkish flare. The flare exploded with nothing more than a puff sound and a grey smoke surrounded them both. I ran to see if they were okay.
They were gone. They had died, and there was not even a trace of them. Their older brothers and sisters -- my friends -- rushed over to find out what happened to their two brothers. They had passed on because of this accident. Even though I knew they were gone for good, I couldn't help to think that perhaps they weren't killed, but perhaps they were transported to some other place and some other time. That is what it felt like. I looked like the bad boy with my hair slicked back and my leather jacket and black pants, but I still felt terrible for these two boys and thankful that I was guided by an angel that saved me from this same fate. They learned about the dynamite from me.
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