Forever ago, I read something in a magazine - one of those magazines aimed at pre-teen girls with twenty posters inside, and stickers, and quizzes to see if “he really likes you!” It was part of an article about dreams, I think, and the point of it was to instruct the reader how to somehow insert yourself into the dreams of the person you like. I mean, really, it was idiotic. There were three or four “methods” listed, and for some reason, one of them stuck out to me, and I still remember the idea of it. The magazine explained that, when you’re in bed, ready to fall asleep, you should imagine a little door on the back of your head. Then a tiny you climbing out of the door. And this tiny you travels to whoever you’re interested in’s home, sneaks into their room, finds the door on the back of their head, and lets themselves in. And apparently, if you do all this, they will have a dream about you. 

I was never convinced that this was real. Even when I was a thirteen and reading the article for the first time, at that young, gullible age, I knew it was fake. Nevertheless, something about it appealed to me. It’s such a creative little snippet, especially coming out of that sort of reading material. And sometimes, I’d try to do it. I’d imagine the little door, situated right under my hairline, and I’d see a little me come out, but I couldn’t go past that. I’d fall asleep, or become bored with the extremely slow progress an inch-tall person makes through a normal sized world. But today, in my insomnia, I finally did it. Which is a weird thing to say “finally” about, like it’s some great achievement. Finally, I succeeded in my attempt to plant myself in your unconscious thoughts, muahahahah. 

So, it began normally, with a tiny me coming out of a tiny imaginary door. I scaled down my own neck, and then down the side of the mattress, using blankets to repel myself to the floor. I made my way through my room, down the hallway, and then realized there was the problem of getting out of the house. I couldn’t just open the door and leave, since I was the size of a quarter. I instead climbed up the curtains in my living room to the window, opened it, and jumped out onto the bushes below. I reasoned that, while I definitely needed to limit myself and not use normal exits like the front door, I could make small exceptions from reality, like opening the window, which would be impossible, or jumping down onto the bush, which would be way too far, and is full of spiders that would catch me and eat me.

I painstakingly imagined every step of the journey; I didn’t let myself skip anything. Tiny me ran down the driveway to my van, and I had to decide how transportation would work. The best option was a tiny van, parked under the real one. So I climbed in, and drove the whole way to your house. I played the entire drive in my head. I drove down the middle turning lane the whole way, so I wouldn’t be run over by the giant cars that were on their way to work. I drove on the shoulder on the highway, speeding under cars that were stuck in traffic. Tiny me was just like normal me, cursing bad drivers and mocking those caught in traffic when I was not.

I made my way to your exit, and then your street, and then was outside your house. I decided that, since I was sending my tiny self to your house, you should have a tiny self too. Under your car was a miniature car for you to take these sort of trips in. I just thought it was appropriate. I parked next to your car and then made the hike to your front door. It was pretty difficult to keep the scale in mind. There are so many obstacles when you’re that small. Like curbs. And grass. Which goes from an innocent front lawn to an endless jungle full of terrifyingly large bugs. Tiny me opted to take the long way, and walked up your driveway, somehow climbed up your front steps, and paused, because I needed to figure out how I was going to get into your house. I figured that, since it was seven-something o’clock when I was thinking about this, I could just have your dad leaving the house for work, and sneak in while he held the door open. I tackled the steps to go upstairs, dodging for cover when your mom or sister walked by. Oh, oops, I just realized today is sunday, and your dad wouldn’t be going to work. Oh well. Anyway. I eventually made it into your room, somehow climbed up onto your mattress, creeped up the blankets until I reached your head. You have a lot more hair than I do, so I had to navigate my way through that, to get to your neck. And then I opened the door. And that’s it. I suddenly stopped creating this scene in my head, and it was done. As far as I’m concerned, once the little person reaches their destination, you’re finished. There’s nothing more to imagine. 

I’m sorry if this is seems creepy, it’s really not. It was so incredibly detailed, if I wrote it all out, it’d be pages long. In the “fantasy” (for lack of a better word), I didn’t leave anything out. And I wasn’t thinking about all this in a juvenile attempt to make you dream of me. I was trying to fall asleep, and knew this would occupy my mind for a while, and maybe tire it out. 

I feel like this is horribly clumped together and I probably need to edit it, but I have no patience for that right now, so it’ll just stay as it is.