by Kevin C. Carr

Created on: July 24, 2009   Last Updated: February 15, 2012

Friends come in all shapes, sizes, colors and smells. I have never been one to judge a friend, let alone myself. Though I can honestly say that those who are drawn to me are usually of the most unique and intriguing caliber to begin with. Not weird, just different. To be weird, one is usually someone who thinks, acts, and behaves outside the average (and I use that word strongly) spectrum of what society deems is normal.

To dream is human nature. My buddy, Rocco (we shall call him, for no other reason than it is a cool name), tells me his dreams on a day to day basis. Even against my wishes, he will have a total recall of what he dreamed about the night before and then share it with me. Not something I look forward to, I must say. But since he is a good friend, I always listen. Am I shocked by what he shares with me? Most definitely. Do I tell him I am? Of course. If he's bold enough to share a twisted nocturnal reverie, reserved for his own muddled subconsciousness, then I, as well, should be just as bold enough to tell him how I feel about it. And nine times out of ten, I worry about the goofball. And he's cool with that.

Rocco dreams naked quite often. Sometimes, as he will tell me with bizarre zeal, he even finds himself in public naked. And since I know my friend has never been arrested for indecent exposure I know that what he is saying resides purely in his own gray matter. Nevertheless, he then goes into a diatribe of how his own subconscious mind is actually a sieve, leaking insecurities among innumerable quantities of paranoid delusions every single night he drifts off into a slumber. I ask him if he has ever thought of placing a bowl next to his pillow and head to catch these deviant little miscreants as they spill out of his skull throughout the night. He has then told me, no....honestly...but that he has slept with his head on a sponge in order to absorb them. But he agrees the bowl might be a better idea.

How do I handle a man, especially a friend, who believes his dreams are the crustacious manifestations of his own soul screaming to get out. I say, dude, I am there for you. Always tell me your dreams if that makes you feel like a human again. Is he crazy to me? No. Weird to me? No. Different than me? A bit. A man at ease with his own fallible nature of being human? Yes. And if that makes my friend weird; then his best friend, known as me, is just as weird, if not more so, than the average bear. For I dig him for his honesty and lack of fear of being judged.

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