i have no f*ing idea ...

from a whirl of dream scenes...
I'm talking to drunk friend, possibly via phone, trying to find the right words in asking her if she will ever get sick of partying hard, "I think it's great that you are having a good time, but won't you want to settle down one day...?" In the same room that I'm talking to her, I start sharing with L a little about her, since she's a part of my life and he's never heard about her. We seem to be looking at a wall, possibly framed photos, and I tell him non-judgementally, "She used to be in a sorority, of all things..." (meaning that I saw the irony in our differences and friendship).

There's something involving jumping around land in superhuman distances and seeing four mountains owned by my friend's friend E (who in the dream is very child-like) and is unveiling the childishly designed, theme-park like mountains. boink boink jumping past...

Then, "L", some of his family (elders mostly, including parents, possibly uncles and such), and i are in a long white van (the kind that airport shuttle services use) and we're driving somewhere. we reach this place (i've forgotten it) and get out of the car. i forget what happens when we get out, probably something involving L and i connecting or talking about something. basically everybody hops back into the van, including L, except me. The van is really crowded, and a few of L's family members take up more space than the others with their large shape. I respectfully decide that since they are all family, I will stay behind. However, his mom in the front seat and a large guy in the back (possibly an uncle?) firmly insist that i get back in the van, too. So, I try to make way and hang in the back row where there isn't really anywhere to sit. I appreciate the inclusiveness, and am looking at L who hasn't said anything but looks content. Even though everyone is so sweet, I feel a dissatisfaction, like a yearning to be closer to L, as opposed to being in the bigger, more impersonal setting. I keep looking at him to try to connect, when moments before, I had been perfectly content, wanting nothing more than what was.

I realize he wants to be closer, too, but lacks the courage to make a move. In my dream, he may have a family or some sort of obligation elsewhere, and I think that's why I don't say or do anything either...I don't want to take from him...anything.

Then, there's something with the character Alison from Melrose Place (played by Courtney Thorne-Smith), a fictional man, and another women involving jumping and crashing about trying to avoid death and save each others' lives while danger of large construction-like vehicles on a city street in the late night endanger and maneuver in ways that keep them tensely at fight for survival and salvage. I remember some of the crashing about and how it happened, but I'd rather not repaint the picture, since i'm not a fan of action films. . . I don't take pleasure in retelling how one person flew into a glass panel hanging from the construction-like vehicle as she continued to break through the glass, eventually landing on her back against the seats of a convertible. blahblahblah. finally, the man ends up dying. Suddenly, I'm one of the women. the surviving woman and i walk into the hotel, outside of which all this has happened, and we approach the front desk to report that so and so (the man) has just died. I'm holding my radraksha beads and know I am supposed to give the beads up to the people at the front desk. Somehow I know that the beads have lost their purpose in my possession now that the man has died, though I don't know why. I'm reluctant to give them up, having a fondness for the beads, and start to wonder what they symbolize, or why they've lost their purpose and why I'm so torn up about detaching from them forever. They are just beads, after all, and I no longer have a real reason to keep them. We're strolling away from the front desk, down a front hallway, taking my time to give the radrakshas up, and I'm bawling, bawling so hard. . .

I wake up.

green book

I had this dream that adolescent crush "L" and some lady friend of his came to show me some love letters I had written L long ago. The young lady was very enthusiastic, telling me how L had shown them to her whilst expressing how touched she was by them. L handed me a bound book with a worn-green, hardcover (it looked like an old, rare, collectible). When I opened up the book, the pages were filled with all these artsy, artful "love letters" I'd given him. Though he had not fully reciprocated my feelings back in the day, the gesture of the book was so sweet to me and made me happy, as it showed he had not only made efforts to value and respect my sentiments but also to return something back to me.