*I mostly wrote this as a draft so I wouldn’t lose it, but eh screw it.*

I had a very strange, rather sad dream last night. 

I was in a very large open room with I think maybe my brother and some teachers, maybe my mom. We were going through some old stuff and I found an old video game console, one that, in the dream, I had played plenty as a kid. I plugged it in and started playing. Then suddenly, I’m in the game, and what happens in the game is really happening. (I just realized right this second that I think that’s the plot of this new Jumanji movie.) Only this was more Star Wars-y. It was a battle with space ships but on a planet, like a lot of Star Wars battles. Then my ship finally crashed and landed in a large river. The battle was going badly. People were trying to escape. I got trapped on some stairs and my foot was stuck. I started calling for my friend Peter to come help me, that I was stuck. 

So Peter MacNicol, who’s halfway up the same stairs leading to higher ground, comes back down the stairs and helps me yank my foot loose. 

So you know how in dreams, sometimes things aren’t spoken out loud, your just in idk a universe that already existed and there are some things you just know to be true? In the dream, Peter MacNicol and I were friends. But he had grown tired and exasperated by the war, and for some time began to want nothing to do with any of it. He was running away from the river out of the way of the battle, but had every intention of leaving everything behind. He only came back in that moment out of friendship for me, but after that he was done. All of the escaping people, myself included, went into an old school for shelter, and Peter disappeared. And no joke, there was my own voice doing narration inside my head that said “That was the moment I knew I would never see him again.” 

Then we’re all gathered in the same large open room as before, I think a choir rehearsal room, minus the risers and the piano. People are rabbling about what happened. Then they start talking like it was just a field trip, talking about some things the students had done to trash the room. I think one was taking nail polish off, and he spilled nail polish on the floor, staining the carpet. (And that kid was a kid I went to high school with – one who to my knowledge never wore nail polish.) 

But it didn’t matter to me. I was still sad and forlorn because I knew I’d never see my friend again, and felt upset that he had grown so dispirited with all of us, that the war had cost me my friendship. I just wished I had a way of finding him again, that maybe I could leave the war behind too and join him, at least thank him for saving me. Maybe when the war was over…. 

Wtf brain?