"...To die--to sleep--
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to.
'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die--to sleep.
To sleep--perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub!"
-- Hamlet, Act III. Scene I William Shakespeare

I'm Liz Parker and I had the dream again last night. It had gone away for a time, first when I was so enamored with Kyle when we had just started seeing each other and dreamt about him. And then when all of this began with Max. My dreams are lucid. I know that I am dreaming and can tell myself that whatever is happening does so for a reason, that my subconscious mind is working through waking hours issues and that nothing is really what it seems. It is not real and probably has nothing to do with reality. The subconscious is funny that way.

So I was very intrigued that the dream returned. I remember the first time that I ever had it, it seems so long ago but it's really only been about three or four years since it reared it's head. The first time, it frightened me. Not like a nightmsare or anything like that, but the fear that I was very different that everyone elseand that there was something very wrong with me. And then I had the dream again and again. And again. And by then I'd decided that it was just a dream and that since I was so aware of it, the dream was harmless unless I acted on it. Which I haven't. It's only a dream.

Freud would have a field day with this one though. Strange how he had these complex interpretations for every aspect of every possible situation that could occur in dreamland and somehow they all ended up being about sex. But dreams about sex, what were they about? Oh, well, sex of course. Not very scientific if you ask me. But I guess no one is asking me. And in this instance, I might tend to agree with him.

So when the dream first started coming I researched it like any good scientist would, I checked out every possible interpretation book I could get my hands on, most of which were conveniently located in the DeLuca library. I lied to Maria when she inquired about my research. I said I was interested in the physiology of sleep, and she bought it. Why wouldn't she?

So fear of the dream turned to acceptance. Just a dream, merely a reinterpretation of reality in sleep. Nothing to put worry into unless it starts filtering into reality, which it honestly hasn't yet. And what if it did? Would that be so horrific? I'm Liz Parker, and I can face the dream head on if I have to.

I have a pet theory about it, but I can't really put it into words just yet. Maybe seeing it in black ink between the lines of this journal would give it a validation I'm simply not ready to face just yet. Does that make sense?

I was dating Kyle and it went away, replaced by frantic images of his hands on my body and his kisses covering my face. But it came back a few weeks into our short-lived relationship when frenzied kisses in the back of his Mustang weren't enough anymore. And then came Max.

Max, who I am most definitely in love with. Max, who I can see myself in and who overtakes my every waking thought. Max, who is not present in the dream.

The dream itself is not always exactly the same in linear terms. Situations change, moments are different. colors and objects and locations are not even similar from dream to dream, but the dream is the same dream. I recognize it and that's enough. It's always been that way. And I wake with a sublime satisfaction that I've hardly ever felt before while awake and which fades so quickly that it's almost as if it never existed at all.

Twice in my life I have felt an inkling of the dream feeling. The first time I didn't recognize it because I hadn't had the dream yet and couldn't put my finger on it. But years later, after the dream, I thought back to that moment and realized it was that feeling, a fleeting burst in a flurry of emotions. Then, when Max finally kissed me, I felt it for the briefest of brief seconds and then it was gone. I had had the dream the night before and when Max's mouth touched mine and his tongue had parted my lips, I felt a rush of the dream feeling and I felt myself melt in his arms. And before we had even closed the space between us, the thought had disappeared completely and been replaced by something altogether different and altogether Max. Nothing to do with the dream at all, and I don't think they're related.

I should be able to write it down, record it here scientifically moment by dream moment, somehow chart it's ebb and flow on an X and Y axis. Test my hypothesis, as it were. But, my pen doesn't seem to pay heed to my brain. My hand babbles incessantly putting down everything but the most important detail, the dream itself and what it makes me feel. The dream is hardly event and mostly feeling. Tactile and emotional.

A mess of emotions, really. Attraction turns mutual and I can feel it's transference in an unsure patter in my chest. I always put my hand to my heart. Then this tenderness, a warmth that's almost all enveloping, and the patter moves towards the deafening and becomes as fast and loud as the sonic boom of a jet flying just overhead. My body is almost numb with tingles and pricks from my eyelashes to my toenails and my dream breathing becomes heavy. And that's only when she holds my hand, she always takes my hand from my chest and puts it to her lips.

The earth hasn't collapsed into a quaking platectonic jumble and my heart hasn't stopped beating, my lungs still accept oxygen and the words are on the paper. I'm Liz Parker, and I live for the dream.

END