This morning, I dreamed I was back in my Brookline apartment with the roommate I have based so many poems about holding court. It was said roommate, me, and a blond girl who now that I think about it may have been modeled after the schoolteacher I was looking at in JP Licks earlier on New Year's Eve while she made painted cards with a co-worker for her class.
Back to the dream. Said roommate called a meeting and started talking about the need for additional funds required for some gym she envisioned us all going to. Even in my dreams, I remembered how this roommate found a way to siphon off money from us and the government until we all left, either by our own volition or by the landlord.
When I protested, said roommate talked about me being fat and eating the cakes in the apartment. If you know anything about said roommate from private discussion, you would know that this conversation isn't so out of the realm of possibility. I protested and basically declared said roommate to full of shit. The dream ended shortly after that as said roommate retreated and I was left to walk around the apartment. The layout was different, but it was uncomfortably familiar enough.
I tried to figure it out after I woke up. Then I remembered that around this time ten years ago, I was in the middle of suffering from mental, emotional and legal abuse, likely nursing my wounds at my then-girlfriend's house while said roommate undoubtedly used the secret extra key to my room and went through my emails and other information while I futilely tried to mount a defense. It was a nice reminder of how far I've come that helped footnote a year that seemed to exemplify inadequacy.
It's likely the first time said roommate ever marked something good. I'll see her in another ten years, maybe.
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