The Body in the Bag

Over the last year or so I've had this recurring dream. I don't generally recall my dreams very often, but this dream I remember. I have had it so frequently at this point that I think about it during waking hours and have discussed it with other people. And now I find myself sitting here even writing about it, pondering it, being an internet dream interpreter, trying to work it out.

There are lots of theories about dreams. It's our subconscious trying to work out our internal issues. Some say dreaming is actually a form of astral projection, projecting yourself into another plane of existence to see yourself in other realms. This seemingly explains why you know, but don't know, people or places in your dreams. The theory being we meet the same people in all realms of existence, even if they play different roles in our multiple lives. Yeah, think on that for a minute. I'll be here.

Anyway, this dream is now so familiar that I know street names and bus lines I need to ride to get to work. I still work at the porn shop and I'm trying desperately to not be late to work but I have to first hide a body. A dead, human body. I don't remember killing them, although in the dream I know that I am the murderer. Sometimes friends are with me and are trying to help me. Sometimes we have to ride trains, or walk across long ass bridges with this body. Many times I'm in a fancy hotel and moving the body from floor to floor, trying to get it out of the building. Sometimes I stop in one of the fancy rooms and take a shower and have a nap in the big beds.

I don't know who the dead person is. They are in a body bag. A beige canvas body bag. I have killed them. I don't feel remorse. I just don't want to get caught with it before I can bury it. All the while trying to be on time at the porn shop. When I arrive to work out of breath and sweaty, my boss makes some snarky comment about my appearance and I tell her to fuck off and go do some more meth already.

According to the internet, I feel guilty or am judging myself. Or maybe I'm afraid of a big change in my life. Or maybe the big change already happened and I'm just trying to put it behind me. Or maybe I'm afraid of death itself. Or maybe this plain of existence is garish and hard.

Or maybe I'm bat shit crazy.