Dreaming like a Victorian

There I was, dressed in top coat and tails, white gloves and a top hat, with my high school girlfriend. She was dressed in a green, frilly, cuirassed bodice of the 1880’s. I even had a walking stick. It was all very Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte, by Georges Seurat. I was on bended knee in the classic, “I’m proposing”, position and she sat playfully on my bent knee, leaning up against me as I spoke to her. The way you see in all those musicals I’m sure you watch all the time; think My Fair Lady.  

There was a sense of desire present in the air. We were on a cobbled street in front of a grand old mansion, replete with the custom high iron gates and thick green shrubbery poking through. It was night time in the dream and you could see the faint glow of the oil street lamps flickering about. My old high school gal and I seemed to be flittering about, as if playing with each other passions, teasing each other with longing looks and casual, but never inappropriate touching.

Unfortunately the dream was interrupted by blasted technology as my cell phone began an eruption of text messages that were somehow not sent to me from Saturday and Sunday. My phone started to get ½ messages and then full answers to questions I asked days ago. In the end I received 25 to 30 text messages between 1:12 am till 2:36 am. It was a curse and was for a while there, very confusing.

I tried very hard to get back to my Victorian dream when the modern interruptions had passed but it may have been a lost cause. I was really enjoying myself in that dream. There was an enjoyable delicately repressed joy to the dream that I find very difficult to explain. I think it might have appealed to my own “emotional” repression and desires.

Plus, I looked pretty darn good all gussied up in that fancy garb. My old gal looked very pretty too. It was a surprise to see her in the dream I think too. I haven’t the slightest idea why she would be the one to show up and drift along with me in that Victorian reverie. If I spent any real time analyzing her place there I’m sure I could come up with any number of explanations, but I’d rather not. I’d rather just remember the way she looked at me and I at her and try to hold onto that feeling of being wanted. Like this, https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTPWHjoBy12kMWBO__mC2wHV2GTVf_drV8ePoJqVJ8pXhapbu0mcoS-Zrw1jHTpzAnLAzyHmBbpZG8jxfA3rR2feMbM0DCjlojw5d2GXndH0JrxQVnoeUtYoSkGhc0GMAUVtorTXaVyOAC/s400/victorian+couple+hand+tinted.jpg

When it was time to get out of bed I looked out onto the dreary May rains falling I thought about one of my favorite paintings of a couple walking in the rain on a cobble street somewhere. http://russellconnor.com/gallery/dancing_in_the_rain.jpg

Of course that is more Edwardian, than Victorian, but I think you get my drift.  All in all, it was a really great dream of a simpler time interrupted by the simplicities of the modern age.  Ironic I think.