Dream Journal #7

I’m in high school again.  I’m not young again and I haven’t switch bodies with my nephew or any of that inane, Hollywood gibberish, I’m just myself, 43 years old, and I’m in high school again.  I find my home room without any effort and I don’t even notice the stares I’m getting because I’ve had 25 years of stares and I don’t even pick up on it anymore.  Whenever someone has a “funny” comment about how huge I am, I have a funnier comment to shut them up.  If they get nasty with me, I come back with something that isn’t even original and I eviscerate them, leaving them defeated and broken in my wake.  It’s so unfair, I feel bad for them.  I go to my classes and I sort of pay attention and I get an “A” on every test and my homework takes about a half hour a night unless there’s a paper I have to write, in which case it takes about an hour.  Girls want to date me because I have my own car.  And my own house.  And a credit card with a limit of more than $300.  I don’t date any of them of course, I don’t want to cheat on my wife.  Also, I’m not a pedophile.  I have a 4.0 GPA and I’m not worried about what college I’m going to next year because I’m already enrolled there.  Everyone wants to know if I’m going to prom and I’m not, because I’m going to Tahoe for the weekend.  Everything about this is so easy, what was all the anxiety about?  I have no idea why I’m here or why I’m doing any of this.  This is revenge fantasy turned up to eleven.  It’s so unfair to everyone else in school.  Enjoying this would be all kinds of wrong:  it would make me petty, shallow, and a bully.  God, I hope it happens again.

About

Tim Hatch lives in a secret volcano headquarters somewhere in the South Pacific, where he controls the world economy and writes confessional poetry about his disappointing childhood.

His poetry has been published in MungBeing, East Jasmine Review, The Pacific Review, The Vehicle, Touch: The Journal Of Healing, Apeiron Review, and he is the recipient of the 2014 Felix Valdez Award.

He finds writing about himself in the third person to be an overtly seductive invitation to tell lies.

He once captured a French Eagle at Talavera.

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