Dream journal 2/4/19

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I was waiting for Lila to arrive, knowing we would get high when she did. But when she finally got there, she hadn’t brought any heroin. So I told her that I had some stashed away — ten glassine bags held together with a rubber band and hidden on a high shelf. We spent a big chunk of the dream trying to get the drugs into our body. Something was wrong with the texture of the drugs and there was a lot of business — crushing and mixing and dividing — trying to actually get to drugs into lines we could snort, and in the end I ha dot just sniff it off the back of my hand. I started to feel high, but it was a dream high. Not really accurate but enough to be noticeable within the dream.

I had to pretend not to be high around my husband, who was already kind of prickly around Lila, or maybe I was just projecting.

The next day there was a big party at our house, and my drug dealer showed up with 5 more bags, and I could tell that people recognized her by the disproving looks they were giving me. I spent the rest fo the dream palming the drugs or slipping them into the key pocket of my jeans, trying to make my way back to that hidden high shelf without anyone noticing.

In the dream, it hadn’t been 19 years since I’d last gotten high. It had been maybe six months or a year. Not something that was happening every day, but a kind of special occasion that seemed to be happening more and more often. Usually when I met up with Lila.

I woke up confused about how long it really had been since I’d gotten high. All the dream memories making it hard to remember what was real.

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