I had a dream last week. It was the weekend after my friend’s 24th birthday.
I should back track. I am 27. I remember 24.
It was a bad year. It was the year I got sick. So here I am now. Sitting at a table in a bar restaurant. I am just finishing my Long Island Ice tea. I started my drink before she got to the restaurant. I have no intention of getting drunk but, I remember how much fun 23 was and well, I want to have that fun again, so I drink.
Slow sips of my Long Island Ice Tea. It is a strong drink. I had watched the bar tender make it. Almost no soda, just liquour. Not quite what I had in mind but, who’s complaining. He didn’t ask for an ID. I noticed but didn’t feel the need to mention it.
So back to my dream again. I was outside by the pool when it happened. I was laying on my stomach in the sun. I remember the dream like it was real life. Maybe too real to forget.
I was drunk. I got in my car and started to drive. Then- it happened. I got hit.
I recognized the car. It was the car of a senior member in my church. He was always reminding me to drive slowly. To be careful on the roads. It was his car that hit me.
I woke with a jolt. I remember sitting there dazed. Had I really dreamed that. And then paniced. Why was I dreaming that. I am a survivor of a head on car accident that put me in a comma at the age of 12. Hit by a 17 year old girl while crossing the street. I am keenly aware of the danger of drinking drunk.
Why, why then was I dreaming about driving drunk.
I looked down at the pool concrete floor. I knew why. Hadn’t I promised myself I would never drive drunk. How many time had I done that. Gotten drunk then driven around the corner home, not far but too far.
When I got home, I removed the liquour bottles from my fridge and put them in the bottom of my pantry.
I will not drink when I am sad I told myself. It is something I promised myself my first year of college but here I was, year later, promising myself the very same promise again.
This I believe: that some dreams are warnings; your own brain telling you what you already know, even when it hurts to hear.
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