A Different Glass House

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There were a lot of hills at this boarding school.

And that is how it starts.

Another dream.

Another vivid memory.

I’ve always felt older, than I actually am.

Even as a child, I’d insist on waiting until all the smaller kids went first, because I felt I’ve lived a ‘good life’.

I was also taller than everyone.

Anyways, I was at this boarding school.

And my friend Brandon Bong was there with me.

He was popular there, he said that this is where he gets “all the bitches”.

A little out of character for him, but hey too each their own.

Brandon had asked me questions about being native, and which indigenous  language he should learn.

He asked this outside of the dream, when we were last in Toronto.

Reconciliation through language, and this kid had his dreams set.

After some discussion, we agreed he should learn them all.

Good luck with that my friend.

But in my dream, I didn’t feel wise.

Everyone was moving so fast.

To get to class.

To get to the next party.

To get laid as frequently as possible.

To graduate, to succeed and finally be the traditional professional that everyone has set out to become.

To be the same.

To be like society, because that’s what society preaches to all of us cogs.

But I took my time, because eventually I’d get there.

Kids would bump into me and keep on going, chasing whatever goal they were after.

As I just took my time.

The campus was on a landscape that dipped and climbed over a narrow piece of land in the city.

It felt prestigious and the buildings were old, with incredible grey and red stone.

Like a castle.

I’ve only watched the second, and half of the third movie about that school of wizards, so bite me.

My fellow pupils wore dark blue jackets, grey slacks and each included gold lining to our academic, colonial garb.

We were eggheads.

Assimilated and resistance was forever futile.

But I just moseyed along.

A party had occurred, and this is where I shone!

I actually did, because a spotlight was following me to each room that I  entered.

I hope it wasn’t a Harper drone.

Thought crimes and Harper drones.

Why do I let that guy invade all aspects of my being.

It’s probably because he’s Satan.

Which would be unfortunate, because I always thought Satan and I would get along, to an extent.

The folks at City Bible Church already seem to think so.

Objective: Achieved.

Anyways, after this party I found myself at the bottom of the hill, where folks were heading into the rest of the city.

Brandon was taking me home to visit his parents.

Jane Farrow was his mother.

My newest addition to my Toronto family, who insisted on being a Toronto Aunt.

And Jane was married to Portia de Rossi; sorry Ellen.

They lived in a huge condominium; with large walls made of glass, that felt like an elaborate maze.

The floors were marble, the lighting was gold and rich, and Billy was over it.

But I was amazed.

I felt at peace.

Until I went to the balcony.

I was alone.

I peered over the edge, and could see the hustle of bustle of folks down below.

The paupers and peasants.

The rich and well off.

In the middle of a city.

It was at this point I knew I was dreaming, because I couldn’t hear the cityscape.

Only the sound of running water.

Like a faucet that was left on in a bathtub.

I shut my eyes, to focus on the water and was brought to the woods.

Were I was beside a shack, that housed an old, rusted out muscle car.

A garage in the middle of a bush.

I went in the shack and examined the car, only to find my favourite Barbie dolls and action figures when I was a youth.

My actors and friends that no one knew I had, except for my family in Rankin.

I sat in this jagged, rusted car’s back seat and played with them.

Until I heard someone walk into the shack, and I realized that I was no longer there.

But the sound of water was still heard.

Because now I was in a shower, and Portia had stumbled to find me playing with my toys, still wearing my uniform, but now drenched in water.

She giggled and told me to come with her.

Portia walked ahead and without glancing back, in classic Portia fashion, mentioned, “I have this dress you should try on. It’s back from my ‘fat’ days, and I’m not sure if it will fit you.”

Perplexed I uttered, “I remember you from Ally McBeal. I don’t recall you ever being fat.”

“I know. That’s why I’m not sure if it will fit you” she replied.

I got sassed by Portia de Rossi in my dream.

It was heavenly.

We never found the dress, or I can’t recall if we did or not.

Dreams are fickle that way.

We found Jane and she told me that I was always welcome to their home.

I asked if I could come back at Christmas.

They laughed and laughed and eventually said ‘no.’

I was cool with that and found myself on a shuttle train, heading to the airport to venture back home.

I guess I’ll await my next return to their glass house to visit Portia, Jane and Brandon.

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