My family was having a reunion. In reality, we have a very small extended family, but in the dream there were people there from all over the world. Apparently we had Asian and African relatives as well. They had segregated themselves, though. All the Asians sat at one table, the Africans sat at another, and all the relatives I actually knew from real life were sitting at a third table. The reunion was taking place in a yard that looked somewhat like the backyard of my old house. It seemed like summer, and everyone was seated under tents. My dad and grandpa were in charge of the cooking, grilling hamburgers and hot dogs under one of the tents. I was disgusted by the smell of cooking meat, and I escaped from the reunion for a minute. No one was paying attention to me, anyway.
I went inside. I started thinking that I wanted to show everyone that I was in pain. I wanted them to pay attention to me and realize that I wasn't okay. I wanted them to ask more questions of me than the predictable, "How's college going?"
The house into which I'd fled looked like my friend Emily's house. Since I knew my way around so well, I went straight to the back staircase that leads up to her bedroom. I felt like I was doing something mysterious and crazy.
The room at the top of the stairs wasn't Emily's bedroom at all. It looked like my old friend Melanie's bedroom (which popped up in another recent dream of mine. I still have no idea why. I haven't been to her house since high school). There was a cat in the bedroom, sitting on a chair and watching me.
I decided that if I was going to get attention, I was going to have to do something drastic. So I resolved to cut off my right hand.
I took a knife and started sawing at my wrist. Blood started flowing, but I didn't feel any pain. This disappointed me. I sawed even harder, but it made no difference. I wasn't going to get rid of my hand.
The cat was still watching me. It seemed pretty interested. What a morbid cat.
I thought of going back down to the reunion, but I hesitated and stayed in the bedroom a little while longer. At one point, I turned around and saw my ex-boyfriend Chris lying on the floor. I had no idea how long he had been there. It seemed at thought he had just appeared out of nowhere. He was only wearing boxers.
I went up to him, and he gestured for me to lie on top of him. I leaned over him instead. It was obvious that he wanted to have sex with me.
I said something along the lines of, "We're not together. You dumped me. It wouldn't be right unless you wanted to get back together with me."
But he didn't say anything: not that he missed me, not that he wanted to get back together, not even why and how he had come to be there.
I lay on top of him, just for a minute. He kissed me quickly. Then I stood up and left him there on the floor. I went back down to the family reunion with my bloody, yet completely painless, wound on my wrist.
