I don't remember hardly any of my dreams. I don't know why. I am certain that I have them. Everyone does. Last night, I had a very unusual dream. It was so unusual it almost seemed real. In a few past blogs, maybe not such much here but on my other blogs in the past, I have mentioned a guy named R. R and I were friends as teenagers. He was the first guy I ever had sex with. We were together for a long time. We lost touch after a while and a couple of years ago I decided to try and find him. Much to my dismay, I learned he had committed suicide a few years before.

In my dream last night, I was sitting in a booth at a coffee shop. Not a Starbucks or something like that, but a real coffee shop, like a diner. I was my age today. I was having a conversation with R. He was as I knew him when we were together. he was so young and beautiful. His eyes sparkled and he seemed so happy. He had that beautiful dark hair he had and that absolutely perfect smooth skin.

In the conversation, he was questioning me about why had my life turned out like it did. What had I done to help? How had I improved things? What did I do to bring happiness and joy to others? Here I was, in my dream, being questioned by the spectre of a dead friend, who had killed his self, about being accountable for my life.

It shook me up. Because, in my dream, all of my answers sounded like cop outs. They sounded like I had given up on life and was just going through the motions and living very superficially.

It has really caused me to think.