Dream journal 6/26/13

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I dreamed about Michael for the first time in a long time.  We were in a hotel room, and he said he was sorry he’d been gone so long, and I caught him up on what our friends had been doing in the last 15 years – who was getting a masters in social work, who was on SSI.

He took out a balloon of heroin and was getting ready to shoot up.  I realized it was a dream (because I guess it has finally soaked all the way into my dream mind that he’s dead) and asked him for some, because doing drugs in dreams doesn’t count.  I mean, it doesn’t really work, either, and in the dream I knew that.  He was pissed to have to share his drugs, and begrudgingly gave me some.  But I woke up before I could get high.