Dreams that probably won’t come true. Part 2

So, finally back to that other dream I had last week.

Well this dream was a little peculiar. I suspect it’s come about as a result of my brain trying to resolve, or at least explore, some of the issues my conscious mind has been trying to repress. I’ll explain the dream and I’ll try to tell you what I think it all means.

Okay, so on to Sunday nights dream. This one really was kind of weird. You see, in this dream, it turned out that my sister had managed to buy up an eight year lease on an apartment building containing 300 flats. It subsequently turned out that, rather than getting this through some sort of shrewd investment as I had initially thought, my sister had got lucky and picked it up for £8.50. Perhaps this is my way of considering the credit crisis. I think, personally, that it comes from feeling that my sister somehow managed to get all the breaks, whilst I was left with sod all. Anyway, we make the journey down to the building, which is located in the E8 postcode. I looked up where E8 is, and apparently it’s Hackney. Why Hackney, I wonder. I guess I must have seen the postcode E8 on the news lately without realising it.

Then there was some bit where I went to a restaurant on the ground floor of the apartment block. My sister owned the lease on that too. I remember lots of people arriving whist I was, somehow, excluded. I think I may have been looking after everybody’s coats.

After that the action cuts to a flat within the building. It’s not my flat; oddly it’s one that’s being rented by one of my ex-girlfriends. This, in itself, is a little odd since this particular girlfriend recently got married to a man in his late 40s (she’s the same age as me) who has two teenage kids. To be honest, that whole situation surprised me a bit. This, after all, is the girl who said she never wanted kids. What the hell was she doing taking on responsibility for the children of some guy who’s only 18 years from collecting his pension. Technically, he’s old enough to be her dad. What the fuck does she see in him? Is it just security? Did she marry him because he looks after her and can provide her with the safety net to allow her to do whatever the hell she likes? In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if she’s sleeping with somebody else behind his back. That is, after all, exactly what she did to me when we were gong out.

(It was at this point, in my original draft of this post that I went into a bit of a rant about this girl and attempted to deconstruct the whole relationship. I’ve omitted it here, simply for the sake of keeping the post a reasonable length. I’ll probably stick it all into a future post so you’ll probably have the opportunity to read it at a later date).

Anyway, lots of stuff happened and the party got gradually more and more debauched. It was then that I very clearly remember being on a sofa, fingering Lily Allen. Fuck knows why. I’ve never really had a particularly strong attraction to Ms Allen. Maybe, deep down what I really want to do, more than anything else is to digitally penetrate Lily Allen? It’s funny, I would have thought I’d have loftier goals than that. Like maybe aspiring to get a blowjob from Kate Nash. Actually, now that I think of it, the girl may just have looked and dressed a bit like Lily Allen. I wonder if that has any significance?

Later on, still at the party, I borrowed one of my ex’s DVDs. She had one of mine, my dream self was sure of it, so I felt fully justified. As sure as I was, I had to double check that I was right. I managed to find a DVD full of pirated films. The handwriting on it was mine. I left it where it lay and took my ex's DVD. My actions were vindicated.

After that, I left the party and ended up walking down the train line to god knows where. I got to the station, walked on to the platform (I think) and made my way to a bar. When I was in the bar I had an overwhelming feeling of uncoolness. Everyone around me seemed younger, cooler and better dressed than me. I felt like I was looking for somebody, but I don’t know who. I went up to the bar. Everybody around me was ordering weird, trendy cocktails. I looked around. Nobody had the kind of drinks you’d usually find in a pub. All the glasses were full of neon and pastel liquids stuffed to the gills with chunks of fruit and leafy stuff. All I wanted was a cold beer. I don’t think I ever got one though. The last thing I remember seeing is a large, cardboard box, cut in half diagonally. It was sitting on the bar. In side were uneven cut-outs displaying the names of a bunch of bands like Shed Seven. As nonsensical as it sounds, I, for some reason, thought that this was the mechanism for operating the jukebox.

Then I woke up, feeling quite depressed.

So, what does it all mean? At a guess, I’d say that I think my sister’s done better than me, but it’s mostly down to luck. I feel like my ex-girlfriend owes me something, but I’m not sure what. Finally, and this is a recurring theme, I don’t feel I’m young, cool and great anymore and I’m going nowhere.

Buggered if I can understand the Lily Allen stuff though.