On Saturday Tesia slept over and for some reason I pulled out my high school yearbook. She fell asleep about two pages in, but I was up until about 10:30 looking at the pictures and reading the wonderful, heart-felt messages people wrote to me. I was equal parts nostalgic and uplifted. It’s nice to know that so many people loved and believed in me back then. Even though many of us have grown apart and lost contact, I hope they still have a soft spot for my foolishness. I still adore all of them. They had a tremendous impact on my life and without their love and acceptance, I wouldn’t be the wonderfully eccentric maniac that I am today.

   However, I will not be looking through my high school yearbook before going to bed ever again.

   Here’s the reason why:

   When I finally drifted off to sleep I had the strangest dream ever imaginable. I was back in NY, the city and not Long Island, and I was living there as an artist. At least I think I was an artist. My entire apartment was covered in art so I’m only assuming here. I was walking up and down the streets of NY, going in and out of art galleries looking at art. All of a sudden I was in a tunnel that was covered in drawings. I was crawling through and when I got out, I was back in my old church in Hempstead on Long Island. Only it wasn’t my church, it was my high school.

   The rooms were exact replicas of the music suite in my high school, but the hallways and building itself were my church. It was very, very strange. All of my friends and teachers from high school were there and none of them noticed the change. We were hanging out just like we used to when we were in choir together. It was like nothing had changed these last four and a half years. It was delightful. Then out of nowhere my friend, Jerrell, burst into the room wearing a S.W.A.T uniform and that was when I woke up.

   It was the most vivid dream I’ve had in a long time.

   I think I’ll just facebook my friends next time rather than letting them run amuck in my subconscious.