WhyAmINaked

Part one is a short one because part two is much, much more vivid. But anyways, I continue use of my MILD mantra before dozing off.

I'm watching basketball on television in a living room at what I feel like is my parents' house (I'm the only person in this dream). I'm also aware that I'm cooking something in the adjoining kitchen, so I'm not completely engrossed in the game.

In the basketball game, I know it's the Boston Celtics against the Miami Heat -- two teams that I root against. A lot of sequences involve LeBron James guarding Jason Terry (for the 99.9999% of you who don't watch the NBA, if this was a chess match, this is like watching a world-class chess player defending against a carrot), and Jason Terry is doing frustrating Jason Terry things that is frustrating because frustrating people is how frustrating Jason Terry frustrates. He's over-dribbling, driving into crowds, doing useless spins, putting up contested fadeaways... only it's all somehow fucking working. Seeing how I dislike Miami marginally more so than Boston, I root for the carrot despite my objections as a basketball fascist.

Anyways, I remember that I have a pot of broth on the stove; and when I go check, the broth is bubbling (but not going nuts). I manage the heat a little, and then I wake up.

The odd thing is, when I woke up at whatever dumb time it was, I got this overwhelming sense of melancholy about missing my parents, watching basketball, and cooking -- except that I stayed over at my parents house, watched basketball, and helped cook dinner that exact same night.

Hey, an entry that's in (relative) real-time!

I dreamed I was in my childhood home in Canada, during one of the more pleasant times. I'm in our living room with the fuzzy carpet, and I think I'm shifting between current me and the child me that would be appropriate during that time, i.e. I'd be my full adult height, but there was a moment when I'm scaling the couch like it was the Wall of Ice like I was 9 again.

I think either my mother or father was there, or some other parental figure that lent a sense of safety, though I never saw who it was. I just knew they were there. Either way, I suddenly am eating a plate of something sweet that I knew I really like, though the contents of it were not immediately made clear. As far as I could tell, they are solid, possibly some sort of baked bread treat? Doesn't matter, really, since I'm just happily enjoying the--

Oh my God FUCK jumping spider.

So, context: I'm usually cool with most creatures, but if a spider is in MY house, then they are the agents of Devil-Satan and pump not blood like you and me, but disease-filled goo that will permanently infect your home as a final act of fuck-you should you attempt to kill them. Again, no leap of logic here, but learning about spiders with R that same night probably caused them to haunt my dreams; but of all the much more pleasant things I could have dreamed about, my brain decided "No, it's gonna be spiders, because middle finger."

ANYWAYS, the spider is about the size of my palm, and is slightly more slender than a wolf spider. This type of spider is also translucent white with hints of red in their core, and Dream Knowledge tells me that not only do they drink blood, they'll turn completely red from it. They actually remind me a little of the Wraith Spiders from the Neverwinter Nights game, and this particular one wants my goddamned food.

I make a tactical retreat, but the spider follows me, and that parental figure is nowhere to be found. I go past the kitchen, into the formal dining room, get turned around, and head back to the living room again; another one of those Wraith Spiders is waiting for me. Fuck.

The new spider leaps up towards my plate, and I instinctively use my right hand to slap it away. I could feel and hear the impact, and was a bit like slapping a plastic spider toy away. The spider goes flying, but I know that now, aside from my food, it also craves revenge. Luckily, this sequence ends before I get my comeuppance.

Dream two was less spider-y, but much more vague and less memorable. As far as I can recall, I seem to be in an office setting, but I don't work at wherever this office is. Not sure why or what I'm doing there, but I woke up before I could do whatever it was I was going to do.

I dream of a really beautiful, tropical paradise, like the Hawaii scenery you'd see on postcards. The beach is perfect, and there is exotic fauna and grassy fields. Off in the distance I can see clear skies over sapphire-blue oceans. The ends of two islands frame the edge of my view, and they are equally lush and picturesque; but I know I'm on the "main" island where everyone wants to be. The colors in this world are way to crisp and vivid to possibly exist, like someone is drunk while playing with Photoshop.

I turn around, and there is a cliff/overhang that has the sun peaking through the top. A stream and pool bubbles at the bottom, and there is a small waterfall. I had to wade through some relatively thick foliage to get through to the edge of the pool, which is an emerald green. A path has already been made in the foliage to reach it. The sunbeam perfectly illuminates a set of wooden stairs that's built into the cliff, and I notice that the moisture gives the rocky walls a nice little glisten.

I walk up the stairs, and after reaching the top of the cliff, I am now on Woburn street, across the street from my friend P's house and next to the Haggen's grocery store. This is not at all an accurate map of my old home town. I turn around, and the cliff is gone, though I'm back on the same level as the grass area of the beach. It is now more of a park now, and I can see people playing. In the middle of the field is an asphalt basketball court, and my friend E is playing on it. I jog over to join him, but the dream fades before I could reach the court.

Dream two got pretty fun! I'm in a post-apocalyptic wasteland, but the people have regrouped to a Victorian steampunk setting. It's a clear, sunny and beautiful day, because I'm zipping around in my own goddammned-right-it's-an airship! The airships in the world comes in all shapes and sizes, and seem to be relatively common. I also know being in the air is much more preferable than living in the surface, because the surface is a harsh world of destruction and mutant monsters.

My gear seems to be inspired by WWI pilots. I know I have a scarf and goggles on, and I have what appears to be a bomber jacket. I also have two belts around my waist: one is around the belt loops of my pants, and carries some light gear, while another one hangs off it and holsters a Wild West-styled six-shooter, only I know it fires lasers in a shotgun-like spread that resemble golden needles despite me not once using it in my dream. I also have a large object strapped on my back with a handle, so I assume it's a thing I use to smash jerks who got into melee range; because that totally is common in aerial dogfights.

ANYWAYS, the airship I pilot is unique in that I operate it like a motorcycle, and is custom made by -- oh yes -- Nikola Tesla (David Bowie version) himself. First, in this world, Tesla is also kind of my employer/dispatcher, and I receive jobs from him via a communicator like the one Mr. House uses in Fallout. Second, when I realize that Tesla designed my airship, the balloon part of my ship gets damaged; I'm not sure if it's a malfunction, or did someone shoot me, but either way, I say something lame to the effects of "time for plan B!" and transform my ship into an electric hovercraft like the ones used in The Matrix, complete with the electric coils. The ship is supported in the air by the electricity that ropes out, and my ship "swings" from these beams. I dive down towards the surface because NOW I'm sure I am being chased, but this sequence fades as I'm diving.

In my heart of hearts, I like to think my dream self is being challenged by my Thomas Edison-supported rival in a race across the world, and the ensuing awesome can't be comprehended until I shed my physical form.