I had another dream about Nikki Taylor last night.
This occurence is perplexing me. I am not the type of chick to be obsessed with models. I don't read magazine's that have the syllables "-osmo,"-eventeen," or "-macrame" in them, so I don't really know how Nikki Taylor got past my well protected subconscience's gates.
Perhaps it was her winning smile. I don't know. But I want to make it clear that I don't give a shit about models, or celebrities, or the glamour that comes with such. The only thing I can think about ever hearing about Nikki Taylor was about that car accident she had been in and that her sister had died of an asthma attack. Tragic gal. Tragic gal with a winning smile.
My Nikki Taylor dream in more detail:
I was dating Nikki Taylor in my dream. The last dream I had about her, we were also dating, but were in the courtship stages. In this dream, we had settled into the more comfortable stage of a relationship.
It was so comfortable, in fact, that I suddenly became aware that I was gay. No, there was not any hank panky occuring in my dreams, just hand holding and shoulder leaning that occurs with time and being with a person. Lots of looks at one another that said, "Yeah, my bra strap is irritating me, too." Yes, we could read each other's minds.
Her hair smelled like Pantene.
I was a gay woman in love with Nikki Taylor in this dream.
And Nikki and I were in denial about it. The press would hound us, her mother would call wanting to know why Nikki was out with such a thing as the LadeeLeroy. Nikki and I would hold each other's hands and say, "No. No. We're not gay. We're not lesbians, we just really care about each other."
It was really really very weird and very awkward.
But at the sametime, I was so protective of Nikki Taylor in my dream. I would make her soup. I would brush her hair, I would tuck her in. I took care of her. I didn't want anything to happen to her because she was dear to me.
And I to her, I assume, although my dream didn't really reveal her inner thoughts. We mostly just spent alot of time at indoor waterparks together and talk. Maybe it was something I ate.
And we'd talk about things that were so private that I feel almost guilty revealing them here. Nikki had this interesting way of smiling while talking about painful things. It was like she was at a photoshoot and the photographer was saying things like, "Your sister died at age 18 from a freak occurence, SMILE!" And she would. "You had four of your inner organs ripped open after running into a telephone pole, you had to quit modeling and went through painful surgeries that make picking up your twins excruciatingly painful, WORK IT BABY! SHOW THOSE PEARLIES."
It was the saddest smile I ever saw. So bright, so white, so incredibly heartwrenching.
I would cry when Nikki would smile, because I knew how horrible she felt on the inside and I wanted to make her feel better and not worry about a single thing in the world, because that's what she deserved. She deserved to be able to smile without having to fake it.
So I would brush her hair, and let her lean on me and tell her that she was beautiful and had nothing to worry about.
Secretly, I was lying to Nikki Taylor because I had a sense that she would never be happy. She was doomed to smile for all eternity, as much as it hurt to do so. But you don't say such things to Nikki Taylor.
That's when I woke up and stared at the ceiling, lying next to my boyfriend that I had totally forgotten about when I was in my dream lesbian world with Nikki Taylor.
It's those moments, while you're lying there and your brain is trying to make sense of what it is going on inside of it, that stay with you as you try to lull yourself back to sleep:
"Why did I dream of Nikki Taylor?"
"What does this mean?"
"Am Nikki Taylor and I somehow connected in the strange workings of the cosmos and I somehow just comforted her through some sort of unseen vortex that occurs in REM?"
"Was I just used by Nikki Taylor's cosmos? Does she have the ability to leap into people's dreams, suck their nurturing ways from them until she is full and then leap out? Is she some sort of dream-jumping-nurture-sucking-cosmos-slut?"
And you fall back asleep and dream of giving birth to a Cabbage Patch Kid Koosus.
That's when you realize that your inner thoughts are just fucking with you.
Damned inner thoughts.