I don’t know how to say this in a non-cliché way, but I have always been a dreamer. Literally, my dreams are vivid, colorful, and enchanting, similar to the sweet and subtle lyrics of a Taylor Swift song. I can recall scary dreams from my childhood and wild fantasies that are just so clear and insane I often render them as reality. In middle school, I dreamt I lived on the side of a coastal highway and a pirate ship was parked in my driveway. When I was so young that I don’t even remember how young I was, I repeatedly dreamt that I could fly if I thought about it hard enough. I wouldn’t soar, but I would come up off the ground a mere foot. Just enough for it to be so fake, it was real.
Today, my dreams taste like small moments that hit me throughout the day. When they disappear from the bodice of reality, I am left with scars and stains of blood the color of air. Then they lodge themselves in my brain and at night I dream like they are pieces of glass inside of me. A sharp image reflects a super rude and annoying comment my boyfriend left on another girl’s Facebook status; a teacher that oddly resembles a grouchy Santa Claus; a car accident I almost got into because I was focusing really hard on unnecessarily “Shazam”-ing a top-100 song.
They say that when we are younger, we are at our most vulnerable, our most moldable, and our most curious (that is, of course, why I learned how to ride a bike in the eighth grade, and particularly why I did not know how to spell the word “eighth” on my own, independently of spell check or auto correct, until last year). But I beg to differ. As I’ve gotten older, I feel like I am letting my life become planned out by what is going on around me. My dreams are a carbon copy of reality, and reality is a carbon copy of something I think my life would be like if I was Kim Kardashian, Carrie Bradshaw, or some other babe. Let me elaborate:
A while ago, I watched the Season 1 episode of “Girls” where Marnie and Charlie break up, and then she attempts to win him back. Throughout the entire episode I took pieces from that script and copied them into my brain like I was citing the fricking bible. It took less than thirty minutes of the episode to get myself to convince… (awkward pause) myself that I was so like definitely totally a Marnie and my boyfriend was ugh like SUCH a Charlie and that is exactly how our relationship goes. Done.
Guess what happens next? Two days later, and suddenly the touch of my boyfriend feels just like “a weird uncle at Thanksgiving” and, what the literal f, he deals with my retainers just like Charlie deals with Marnie’s. At this point I realized that because Marnie and Charlie break up I, henceforth, must break up with my boyfriend too, and suddenly I find myself picking fights with him for no reason, thinking I’m intelligently verbose when in reality I’m quoting a script word-for-word.
Months before my “Girls” situation, we got into a huge fight where nothing that time was my fault at all and I yelled at him in a ten minute rant. At the end of the soliloquy, he surrendered to my greatness: “You know, you’d be a really good public speaker. It actually sounded like you’d rehearsed that or something.”
We just won’t tell him which movie I stole that monologue from, now will we?