Roi woke me this morning a little before I was ready to get up. As I lay there wrapped in hypnagogic bliss he started telling me all about how interesting the woman is that he'll be presenting with at an event tonight. This kind of talk in the past has held far too much other meaning.
Somewhere in my skull a domino was knocked over, a cascade of chemicals was released, and as I fell back into sleep I entered a nightmare.
Roi and I lived in a rickety old tall thing of a house. It was grim and grey -- a WWII looking factory building turned "house". We lived in one little corner, the rest being too much to convert over.
People were gathering in our shabby living room and tiny kitchen for a speaking event while I was upstairs discovering that I had an alarming bald patch across my scalp. As in waking life, I had been sick with a mysterious illness, but here in dreamland it was far more horrifying. Pain coupled with disfiguration.
Now, this bald patch was awful for many obvious reasons, but it was causing me excess worry because Roi was downstairs with a boatload of women who were fawning over his interesting mind, disarming quirkiness, and handsome hard body.
I fretted in front of the mirror, panicked and on the verge of tears. How could I possibly face the situation downstairs looking like this?? Where would I find the strength to suffer more humiliation, to tolerate Roi's lack of compassion or comfort?
I crept down the stairs to pull him aside and tell him about it -- the bald patch -- and nearly collided with him at the bottom of the stairs. His face was shining, stretched taut, the molecules of his fragile ego vibrating from all the attention, his addict mind whirring with possibilities and fantastical scenarios of hedonistic pleasures.
Just on the other side of the door behind him I could hear laughter and ice lazily clinking against glass.
I felt like a troll under the stairs, ruining everyone's happiness simply because of my own misery. I decided to wait to tell Roi. He would only say something monumentally stupid anyway. Instead I sulked my way to the living room. That's when I realized it wasn't just a lot of women, it was ONLY women. And several of them seemed to already know Roi intimately. They bobbed around him, their eyes fat with self-satisfaction, their gestures and words familiar and intimate.
As in waking life, he was as delighted as he was "innocent". He laughed at nothing, laughed at what was obvious and true -- his way of banishing responsibility and the discomfort that accompanied it.
No time to talk, no time to lose myself, so I sat down to wait for the presentation. It was then that I noticed the woman behind me was lounging on her side -- naked. She might as well have been pouring wine down her voluptuous throat and chasing it with fat purple grapes for all she was smug in her comfort.
When I stared with dismay she locked eyes with me and said, "what? You know you want to touch it."
"No", I said firmly, "No, I really don't", and turned back round to face forward, stiffening with resolve hoping that this would keep me from flying apart.
Thankfully I woke up. I told Roi about the dream...he laughed.