10:34 a.m. - Saturday, Apr. 03, 2004
Then the dream goes back. I was at a beach in an industrialized area (sounds like northwestern Indiana) when suddenly an enormous tsunami arose behind all the people. I was at the edge of the park, and to my relief the wave didn't get me, but swept over the hundreds of people on the beach and carried them off. After it had passed, I ran down in the mud and debris looking for survivors. There were actually some people still half-alive in the chaos, so many of them that I didn't know whom to help first, and there was so little I could do for any of them. I yelled for someone to call 911.
Then I went back to where we were rehearsing the play and found myself atop a high bunk bed ... I said to myself, this is it, this is the one from the beginning of the dream; if I don't get myself out of this situation very carefully and very soon, I'm going to destroy my life. The other actors were urging me to stay, telling me there was no danger; I wanted to believe them; it would be so easy and pleasant to believe them; I didn't want to upset anyone; I wanted to go through with the play; but then I thought back to the beginning of the dream and realized that, as unlikely as it seemed, this really was going to be disastrous for me, I really had to get the hell away.
I don't want to believe that this has to do with Mr. Nice Guy, and I don't want to believe that my view of romantic relationships really is that they sweep you away like a tsunami and either kill you or leave you writhing in the mud, but what the hell else could it mean?