Thread: Spritely's Dream Journal

April 15th, 2007

(Waited too long again! Dammit.)

April 16th, 2007

Makeover

I'm lying on my bed, talking to someone who is in my room. My hand goes up to touch my hair. I can't tell because the room is fairly dark, but I'm almost certain that my hair is way shorter than it should be.

False alarm

The alarm on my cell phone rings. I have a hard time reading the face of the clock, so I can't tell if I can go back to bed. It seems to be about 8 AM. I go back to sleep anyways.

(When I woke up a bit later, it turned out it was 4 AM. Go figure.)

April 17th, 2007

Hectic morning

(Okay. This freaked me out. In reality, I ended up actually missing the bus and having to get a ride to school from my father. I miss the bus all of twice a year or so, so this is a very strange coincidence.)

I get out of bed and get dressed in the clothes I (in real life) laid out the previous evening. I remember that I had resolved (in real life, again) to watch calories, since I'm not running as regularly these days. I go downstairs and stare at the box of oatmeal, wondering if I have time enough to make it. My dad putters around in the kitchen while I eat.

The bus pulls up suddenly, and I have to run to the back hall to find shoes to wear to school. The bus driver is impatient. She pulls the bus into my driveway and turns around. I stare at the bus as it pulls away, very angry.

My grandmother pulls up in a pickup truck, which I find very odd in the dream. She's wearing an unfamiliar green suit, and (and this sounds terrible to admit, but) she's acting way more intelligent and perceptive than usual. She keeps making cryptic remarks about where she's going after she drops me off.

Writing to external memory

(Was very tired when I got home, so I ended up napping for a few hours.)

I'm in the dining hall at my sister's college, working furiously on a paper that's due soon. The computer terminal I'm at looks like a PC, but is running some weird version of OpenOffice, so I assume that it's a Mac. I finish writing and hit Ctrl + S, but I can't figure out what format to save my essay in. According to the dialog open on the screen, I'd have to burn my essay to a 7" vinyl record. I think, "this is a very strange method of data-storage!".

Invention fair

I'm at school (God, I am TIRED of dreaming about school), trying to jimmy open the locker I had a few years ago, because the combination lock won't work. An underclassman walks past. She's carrying cardboard boxes and a few things make of sheet metal. I recognize it as parts from the winning design for the school 'invention fair' (which doesn't exist in waking life). I congratulate her on winning and say wistfully that I wish I could have seen her device before she took it apart. We start talking, she's nice.

A few of my other friends drift over. I find a Hershey's bar in my purse and eat it, sharing pieces with the others. Halfway through I remember my resolution to watch what I eat. I mentally curse myself and give my friends the rest of the chocolate.

April 18th, 2007

(I had a long nap the other afternoon, so despite only getting six hours of sleep this night, my recall was great. Maybe biphasic sleep is good for dream recall? Huh. I'm rather distressed about these, though-- people dropping dead is very unusual to see inside my dreams. Maybe it's due to stress, or my watching the news too much?)

A startling discovery

I find my cat in the basement, lying on her side. I go over to pick her up and realize with horror that she's dead. Her eyes are wide open and glassy. I back away, freaked out.

A Kodak moment

There are, for some reason, three large glass tanks of cranberry juice in my back yard. It's evening, and the light is coming through the liquid, making it a glorious, shining red color and throwing light everywhere. I run to get my camera before the light fails-- I need to capture this moment. I decide the shot will look best from the upstairs bathroom window and try to pop the screen out, but once I manage this, I can't get it back it. It seems to be held there with magnets.

Take it at face value

I'm wandering through a foreign-looking marketplace. It's open-air, and there are many different stalls set up. My companion, a short, thin man who might be wearing a sort of watchman's uniform, comments that the ugly old lady beneath one of the tents eats human flesh. I tell him, "jeez, don't be so racist," or something like that. I then realize he wasn't trying to be cruel-- he was stating the truth. The lady is loading pink meat onto a scale and telling a customer that he can get a discount if he buys a few pounds more of human flesh. I'm only mildly surprised and put it down to cultural differences.

My father's hobby

It's the weekend and late spring. I go into the kitchen to look for something for breakfast and note that there's only one vehicle in the driveway-- my dad must be out somewhere. I make coffee and stare off into the woods in the back yard. Something blocks out the light. My father appears over the woods, flying and many times larger than he should be. He shrinks down to normal size. There's a loud 'BOOM' as the air rushes into the space he previously occupied. I think to myself, "woah. That is a cool hobby."

There's a year's supply of marshmallows in the cupboard where the saucepans should be, along with a bunch of snack cakes and things. I think to myself, "man, that's awesome. Oh, wait-- I can't eat this, I'll get fat."

An Easter miracle

It's Easter, and I'm in a large, white church with my family. I'm standing in a pew with my grandparents around me. My sister and cousins are sitting in the one in front of us. I'm not really listening to the service, but instead watching the kids of a family that sits behind us. One of them, a three-year-old girl with bobbed blonde hair and a frilly Easter dress, keeps standing up on the seat and leaning over the one in front of her. I'm worried for her-- she's young and her balance is bad. I wonder, "why doesn't her mother stop her?"

The little girl slips and hits her head on the floor. Everyone stands up to gape. Her mother freaks out and leaps towards her daughter, yelling, "Jordyn? Jordyn! Jordy, honey, wake up!" I can't see very well from where I'm sitting, but dream-knowledge tells me that the little girl is dead. I think, "no! It's not true, that can't be."

The universe is subtly altered, and the girl gets back up. She waves one of her hands, which flops oddly. I know now that she's okay, but that she has a broken wrist. Her mother is overjoyed. The little girl points at her sister and says sullenly, "she pushed me!"

Outward appearances

KB and I are in downtown SC. The pizza place is now a stationary store, and I mention that I need a new notebook. She says, "I have $20-- I can use $15 of it to buy you a notebook." I thank her, even though I privately think that I don't like expensive notebooks for writing in.

The store looks like a stationary store should, but the floor is still the dirty linoleum of the old pizza restaurant. I think, "this place won't last long-- it looks like they aren't planning to stay."

While we wait in line at the register, I ask KB, "hey, how should I get my hair cut?" She replies, "sort of medium-length, with layers framing your face. It would look nice." I thank her. I like this suggestion.

A harsh wind

My mother and I are going for a walk on the highway in winter. It's snowing, and the flakes are gusting around wildly. I really don't want to be out in this. We're pelted with salt from a snowplow as it goes by. As we walk past my great-aunt's house, I notice that there's a truck from the electric company parked in her yard, and that they have a man in a lift up there, working on the telephone wires. Another truck pulls up. I mention to my mother, "the shift must be changing." "No," she says, "they just don't have the right handymen here."

As we walk back to my house, I notice an ambulance pull out of my driveway. I start panicking and try to tell myself that it's probably nothing to worry about. Someone else pulls up in a car, and I yell to them, "think positively!" "You're not doing that," my mother scolds.

There are steps leading up to my house that aren't there normally. One has a date scratched into it, which I have a hard time reading. It seems to say, at one point, '870 AD.' That doesn't seem right, but I decide that I simply must be unobservant and have not noticed it before.

We go into the back hall. My father is lying on the bench there, but his eyes are wide open and blank-looking. I touch him and realize that his skin is cold, and that he is dead-- the ambulance left because the EMTs couldn't do anything. I'm shocked and numb.

A pound of flesh is usually something that's owed. Is life so cheap now you can just go out and buy it?

Good batch of dreams. I really like the visuals from the cranberry tanks, sounded spectacular. My condolences for your dream cat and father.

I was thinking of that when I was writing it down-- it's from The Merchant of Venice, isn't it? Funny that that should surface in my brain, I haven't read that play in years.

Thanks for your comments. Thankfully, both my cat and my father seem to be fine. Whew!

April 19th, 2007

A month too late!

(The leprechaun from the March Lucid Task finally appeared in one of my dreams-- unfortunately, the dream was a non-lucid, and the damn thing's appearance was a month too late. I didn't even question its existence-- aargh&#33

A leprechaun is following me as I go about my daily business. I half-listen to it, the way one might half-listen to a news broadcast on a quiet radio. As I struggle to shut my belt buckle, it tells me solemnly, "I predict that you will learn how celebrities do their makeup, but your opinion of them won't change at all."

Later in the dream, I'm driving through town with some friends. The leprechaun is there, but either no one else can see him, or they're not interested. The leprechaun points out the window and says, "I predict you will turn right here." We turn left.

Marshmallows

(Two days in a row, marshmallows have shown up in my dreams. Weird. My dreams usually have more plot than this, I think, but lately they've been very nonlinear.)

My father asks me to run out to the grocery store to grab something-- he can't, because it's finally nice out and he has to mow the lawn. I take the car keys and go out to the garage. I'm sort of doubtful, because I remember that I don't really know how to drive. I tell myself sternly that it's time to learn-- anyways, it can't be that hard, really. Everyone else seems to manage it.

My father rides past on a lawnmower. He crashes into the boy he hired to help mow our lawn, who is also on a riding mower. They get in an argument, and I decide my father is angry, so he won't even remember that he asked me to go to the store. I go back into the kitchen and open up one of the cupboards, thinking vaguely that we might already have what he wanted me to buy. Inside the cupboard, there's a bag of marshmallows, again.

My feelings

L and I have worked a long time, cooking some sort of rice-and-carrot casserole for the cafeteria at the college. It looks pretty tasty. We get in line and hold trays. I'm really curious to see if anyone will like what we cooked. The cafeteria workers, however, refuse to serve it-- the dish just sits in the back, getting cold. I mention this to L; I'm slightly annoyed, and a little offended. We put work into that thing! She ducks underneath the counter and pops up behind it. She's now wearing the same sort of uniform and apron as the workers, and she can speak in the weird language they use to chat with each other. I, however, can only catch maybe one word in three. The word that means 'microwave' is in there-- they're promising they'll heat the rice back up and serve it.

L returns to the line and explains that they didn't want to hurt my feelings. I'm happy.

I realize that this is a very strange scene to be in, and I look around me. There's a window carved into a wall nearby, and a cafeteria worker is standing there, dishing out food to students as they pass by. I have the nagging feeling that this college doesn't even have a cafeteria, at least not one that looks like this. I also think that everyone looks to young to be in college, but I brush it off.

Magic horseshoeing

Hypnapompic (just sound, no imagery):
Me: "What exactly is magic horseshoeing?"
Other person: "Well, it's putting magic horseshoes on horses."
Me: "Oh. That makes sense."

Sounds logical

More hypnapompic thoughts:
Someone else: "Contemplating the comparative size of the local seagulls is not a task that I devote most of my time to."

April 20th, 2007

Heavy courseload

(I'm almost certain this is because I'm starting to panic/study for my AP English exam, which is looming. Ack&#33

My messenger bag is packed with heavy works of literature. I go through it and realize that the books are things I've read for class this year-- The Fountainhead, Woolf's Orlando, The Handmaid's Tale. They all look several hundred pages thicker than they were when I read them for class, and I start to worry that I didn't read them as closely as I should have.

Free swim

The weather is almost supernaturally nice. The sun is out, and the green of the grass and the blue of the sky is incredibly vivid. I'm on the schoolbus, chatting with classmates. I mention that I'm either going to go swimming or sunbathing when I get home.

My brain must've picked up on the 'swimming' part, because then I'm back at school, in the hallway near the pool. I start to take off my shirt, but I realize I'm not yet in the locker room. I get embarassed and go to the locker room door. I knock on it. The door is very high-tech, with lots of bolts, locks, sensors, and LEDs on it. I'm faintly amused by this.

CM opens the door, looking paranoid. She motions me into the room, which looks more like my grandmother's basement than a pool locker room. There's a couch, an old TV, a kitchenette, and a few pots and pans strewn around. I get a faint sense of deja vu and try to stare at my hands, but they're out of focus. I shrug it off.

There's a boy in this room that I haven't met before. We start talking, and we get along together really well. He goes to the kitchenette, where there's a tray full of candle stubs. He picks one up and attempts to light it from another candle flame, but it won't light. He tries to use matches, but none of them will light. I laugh at him and tell him that not being able to light matches is a genetic disability.

He laughs and starts singing an unfamiliar rock song. The only words I pick up are "and the devil pays the rent."

April 21st, 2007

A new game

My sister, her friends and I, are in what looks like a cross between my living room and someone's attic. They all have swords made out of PVC and camping foam, and it looks like they're squaring up to start part of their live-action role play. I'm going through the 'weapons' in the front closet, but the good ones are taken. The only things left are a wooden crutch and a plunger.

I take the crutch, remembering that the plunger didn't work the last time I tried to fence with it.

George Dorn is screaming

Don't remember much of this one, but I think that at some point I'm George Dorn, from Robert Anton Wilson's Illuminatus! books. I'm talking in a department store to Carol Christmas from Wilson's Schrodinger's Cat trilogy.

Unhappy marriage

(Just remembered this on 4/23. Ack, not a fun dream&#33

I'm sitting somewhere that looks like it might be someone's kitchen. An Irish music session is going on. I know that I should be participating, but I don't have my fiddle with me, and anyways, I'm reading a new Terry Pratchett paperback and I want to finish it soon.

A boy comes up to me and asks a long, rambling question. I'm too deeply absorbed in my book to process exactly what he's saying, but I finally look up. "Did you just ask me to marry you?" I demand.

He shrugs. "Yup."

I think for a moment. "Eh, okay. Why not."

So we get married. I'm far more apathetic about it that I think I should be in the dream. The wedding dinner is held in some sort of low-ceilinged old tavern outside of town. The food looks interesting-- there's something there that everyone says is called Lobster Newburg-- but people keep interrupting me before I can speak. I don't think that I really like my new husband's friends.

Time passes, and my perspective changes. I'm not me now, but rather one of my friends. I'm talking to someone in a mall foodcourt when Spritely's husband passes by without her. I tell my friend, "he doesn't really like her. They're bored of each other already."

April 22nd, 2007

(I think my desire to go polyphasic again has seized my subconcious and is shaking it by its shoulders. I only slept in short bursts last night. I made myself sit in bed until 7 AM and try to sleep, but I've really been up since about 5:30. Huh.)

False leads

(I napped for most of the night on the couch, getting up often to check on the cat, get a drink, use the bathroom, or read. When I did sleep, my dreams were mostly a series of false awakenings.)

I get up and walk around the living room, and into the kitchen, thoroughly believing that I'm awake. I find a piece of paper on the counter and remember that I've agreed to be a special agent for Sam Vimes' City Watch, like in the Discworld series. Before I go on any missions, though, I have to write down the Laws and Ordinances of Ankh-Morpork on one side of the paper, and provide an example of a violation of that law on the other side of it.

I go out into the back hall and look at what I have written so far. The paper is in my handwriting, but the words are blotchy, like I've been using a pen that doesn't work well. The only laws I can remember are resisting arrest and docking an officer's pay for being a disgrace to the human species.

(Got up, checked the time, when back to sleep.)

I get up and go into the kitchen, once again convinced that I've actually got up. Something makes me go to the cupboards. I look to the top shelf. While there should be a few half-empty glass bottles of alcohol up there, I find plastic bottles with the lids off and only a few drops of liquid left inside. I set them upright and frown. I think, vaguely, that this is ridiculous-- no one else is in the house, and I know I didn't touch these bottles. I figure I had best go back to sleep and sort it out in the morning.

April 23rd, 2007

An immodest proposal

A. is coming to visit me. He's taking the train out of NYC (which is strange, since in RL, he lives one town over. Heh). I'm on the N-S stretch of highway that goes through town. My friends and I are strolling down the deserted stretch of sidewalk between the TacoBell and Wal-Mart. I'm not really paying attention to the conversation, since I'm attempting to read a text message A. has sent me.

My phone rings. I look up and check the highway for traffic, then run across the road to the parking lot of another restaurant. I decide I want some privacy, since when A. choses phone conversations over texting, it means he actually has some story to tell or rant to deliver.

I pick up my phone. I've barely managed to get out a "hello?" before A. starts talking. He takes a deep breath and begins his speech: "Okay, so ever since I've met you..." He goes on for a very long time, incorporating strange metaphors and symbolism, trying to get out some sort of emotion that he doesn't want to state directly. At one point, one of his metaphors includes rabbits, one pink and one blue. He finally finishes his strange rambly speech. I realize that the entire thing was a proposal for sex. I laugh.

"Look, no," I tell him. "It's not going to happen. Number one, we're not even in a formal relationship. Number two, I'm not even sure I want one with you anymore."

He agrees that this sounds fair enough.

Ministry of Backyard Affairs

Very brief WILD.

I lie in bed, watching the little hypnagogic flashes of light. They're largely green, while some are white. Eventually the light-blobs grow into trees and sunlight, and I realize that I'm in the woods in the back of my house, where went for a walk that morning. Very slowly, so I don't shock myself out of the dream, I think, "I'm dreaming. These are all dream characters." Nothing happens, so I wait and see what's going on.

A dream character has a desk set up in the forest, which strikes me as delightfully surreal. He is a portly man in a tweed suit. He leafs through a few papers. Another man, who looks faintly like John Cleese, comes down the path from somewhere else in the woods and sits down in the chair in front of the desk. I think to myself, "this is all very Flying Circus. Weird that my brain should decide to pull that out."

The two men converse in British accents for a moment, then the tall one leaves. I remember that I intended, when lucid, to ask DCs about the dream environment. I approach the man at the desk, thinking I'll ask him if he could suggest somewhere I should go.

Before I can get the question out, he points off into the woods. He doesn't look up from his paperwork, so I thank him and leave.

Parental permission

It's staff training week at the camp I work at. I wake up in a tent in the morning and start getting dressed, washing my face, etc. One of the tent flaps is open, so I can see down into a nearby gorge. There's a creek at the bottom of it, and a few children are splashing around in it, fishing, and playing in the mud. I call down to them, "hey, guys, do your parents know you're here? Do you have permission?"

About half of the kids do have permission, and about half say no. The latter group shuffles off to find permission.

Later in the dream, the rules are changed: you can participate if you don't have parental permission, as long as your grades from the last quarter are high enough.

Time lapse

I'm outside at the garden I planted on Sunday. I'm quite puzzled because I know I just planted the peas this morning, and the plants are already as high as the trelises. (Treli?) I decide the sunny weather is just making them grow faster.

As I watch, a vine zooms up the trelis, curls around one of the sticks, blossoms, and grows a peapod. I can see the peas inside it growing as I watch, like in time-lapse photography. I'm very impressed.

April 24th, 2007

Lo, the Tax Collector Cometh

I'm riding home on the schoolbus. THe front of the bus has had a big screen installed on it. Whenever the bus pauses in front of the house, the screen flashes some information about who lives there, and what that location is generally like. I watch it with interest. One of the houses on the curve in the road is called 'Dis,' which I find very strange in the dream-- who would name their house after the biggest city in hell? The sign goes on to display that the house only appears when Mars is in a certain position in the sky. This makes sense to my dream-self, since Mars was the god of war, and war is Hell.

I'm very curious to see what my house is called. As we approach, the sign flashes the words 'waz zaw.' (Note: I think this is a corruption of 'Warsaw.' I was telling someone last night that my family is from Poland, this might be a reflection of that.) I'm having trouble reading the letters on the sign. From the little more I can make out of the sign, my house has traditionally been the dwelling of tax collectors (which makes sense, my mother is the town tax assessor) and people who work with pewter (which is completely random).

The driver forgets to stop at my driveway. I stand up and shout that she missed my stop. Grumbling, she slows the bus down. I get off the bus and realize that it is very dark outside. I start walking to my house, but the wind is very strong out of the west. It's almost like being back in the dream A harsh wind from April 18th. I vaguely remember this dream, and that bad things happen if I walk to the driveway, so I jump down the ditch and walk across the lawn instead.

Potential magazines

(Apparently I am obsessed with wordplay, even in my dreams.)

A small, wiry-looking man in an overcoat approaches me, wearing a salesman's smile. "You look like a potential magazine buyer!" he exclaims. I get very snippy with him, since I don't like it when people try to sell me things when I'm minding my own business.

"What on earth is that supposed to mean?" I demand. "I look like someone who wants to possibly buy magazines, or I look like someone who wants to buy magazines that don't yet exist yet? Believe me, man, I'm not buying anything that's still in potentia; I want my reading material to be in the same timespace as me. It's as dumb as the pork futures warehouse in Ankh-Morpork--"

He watches me rant, wide-eyed. Finally he says, "you're smart. Would you like to sell potential magazines?"

April 25th, 2007

Another snow dream

I wake up and realize that, somehow, today is a Saturday. I go out of my bedroom and wander down the hallway. I raise the shade and look out the hall window. It's raining softly outside, but as I watch the raindrops turn into large snowflakes. My heart sinks; I'm very tired of the snow.

I drift towards the computer to check out the weather report that displays on my Google homepage. The forecast snows that today has a high of 42 F with snow predicted, and tomorrow is only going to be around 42 F.

I glance out the window again, looking down into the driveway. To my surprise, two sleek, chestnut-colored mongeese (mongooses?) are sitting in the driveway. Their noses twitch, and they evilly eye the fat grey squirrels that look down from the huge oak tree. I know, in this dream, that we used to have cats instead of mongeese for keeping the grey squirrels off the laws, but my father replaced them. I'm sad, I really liked the cats. The mongeese look like unfriendly animals.

The weather report online links to two webpages. The first one is about staying productive in winter, the second is about replacing part of a recipe with lemons to make a zesty winter soup. I close both pages, feeling that this is faintly ridiculous.

A Homewrecker

(Very brief dream during a nap, mid-afternoon.)

I remember a woman standing in a kitchen, chopping vegetables and saying conversationally, "Sheryl's a homewrecker." I loved the tone she said it in-- it was completely normal, just like "Sheryl's parents are Ukranian" or "Sheryl works as a secretary." Haha.

April 26th, 2007

(No recall. I'm slightly annoyed, since I got my first solid eight hours in a week last night. Ugh.)

Facebook

(Took a nap around 4:30 PM. Dreams were flitting around the edge of my brain, and I could feel myself going into SP. Urgh. I need to learn how to nap again, or start to meditate again. My mind was way too busy.)

I'm looking at my sister's Facebook page. She mentions that she runs a radio show at college with a friend. I can't remember what days the show is on, so I read the paragraph more closely. She mentions that I make flyers and advertisements for the show, and that they're always really good and creative. If anyone wants an ad made, they should contact me.

Strangely, she says my name is Jess. It most emphatically is not.

April 27th, 2007

Sticking to the Union

I am on a tourbus, riding through what might be the Italian countryside. There are houses that look vaguely like villas, cypress trees, and the same sort of tunnels I remember from when I vacationed there, once. I'm arguing with a boy who is faintly younger than me about something. The driver pulls into a tunnel, which is, strangely, triangular-shaped, rather than round. The inside is decorated rather like a low-budget airport: there's lots of cheap, scuffed linoleum on the floor, plastic-looking hanging plants, and that weird airport smell. I get off the bus with my co-workers and start unloading boxes. There are about four of us, along with someone who is our boss.

My co-workers are discontented about something, and since I'm the president of their union (one describes it as being the 'majority party leader,' like in Congress), it's my job to confront our boss about their complaint. I'm too shy to, since I have a crush on him. We all gather armfulls of brightly-colored plastic dishes and cardboard boxes and travel up an escalator.

Graffito

I'm running through a city that looks slightly like Rochester, NY. Every so often, I stop and scrawl something on the sidewalk with a huge black grease pencil. Sometimes I attack the walls of the buildings instead. I turn a corner, relieved to get out of sight of the main street-- the cops here don't take kindly to people scrawling subversive things on city property.

I cross the street to join a crowd at a bus stop. A black woman in a trench coat recognizes me, somehow. She mentions that she admires my graffiti, that I'm fighting for the people, and that I've even inspired some copycats around the city. I know I've been away from this city for a while, and that I'm slightly famous here.

Forced labor

The dream shifts. I'm somewhere outside of the same city, but in a crowd of people all around my own age, from perhaps 16 through 20. Most of them are girls, and though they don't speak much, when they do it's in a foreign language. There are ropes at the end of our procession, holding us in.

We pass a sign that says 'Rice Production Plant: Laborers Enter Here' or something close to it. I turn to a boy to my left and ask clearly, "do you speak English?" He hesitates and says, "a little." He then waves at a redheaded girl to my right. I ask her the same question. She replies that yes, she does, and that her name is Froggy. She seems unusually happy for someone forced into a gang of boughten laborers.

I mention that I'm not feeling well. The scene changes, and the boy who didn't speak English is showing me some medical charts. He can speak English now, and he looks slightly older. "This shows that you are in the first stage of pregnancy," he explains. He pokes me in the stomach. "You can't often feel it at this point, but it's there." I freak out. I don't want to have a baby or an abortion, and I don't even know how I got pregnant. Froggy and the doctor-boy are both happy for me, even though I'm upset.

April 28th, 2007

(Unseasonable snow is going to be a dreamsign I'm looking out for, now. It's such an obvious, common one, yet I never realize what it means&#33

Thanksgiving

My mother, sister and I are taking a walk around the neighborhood my grandparents live in, much like we often do after having dinner there. The weather is strange, and the wind keeps switching what direction it's coming from. We go back to my grandparent's house, and my grandmother is setting the table in the kitchen. I realize it's Thanksgiving. My grandfather comes into the little room and mentions that it's really getting bad outside. I look out: it's gone black within a space of a few minutes, and what I can see is just whirling snow.

Later in the dream, someone has two small babies. They're passing them around in a Tupperware container. My grandfather takes the container and smiles down at it. The babies are cute, but I'm faintly uneasy-- I have no idea where they came from.

New software

I get off the schoolbus in the afternoon. Another, shorter bus is behind the one I was riding, so when the first one pulls away, the other one waits until I get into the house. I check the mailbox, which has a door now-- I assume my father fixed it while I was at school. I pull out a handful of letters: a cream-colored one with a sticker that says it's about my sister's college grades, one thing from a random college for me, and to my father, a notice about helping pay for my grandfather's funeral (which, note, was eight years ago).

I go down the driveway to the back hall. It seems like a nice, late-April day, but then it starts to snow. My gym teacher, Mr. F, is sitting on the sidewalk near the back door. CM is also there. There's a small jungle-gym constructed near the back door, and I ask them what they know about it. They deny all knowledge of its existence.

I ask CM if she went to school, because I can't remember seeing her there. "Not yet," she replies. I nod. Maybe she stayed home because of the snow, I think.

Mr. F wants to see the computer. We go into the house and upstairs. The computer desk is piled with junk and clutter-- items of clothing, books, all sorts of random crap. It's hard to even see the monitor. F boots up the computer, but instead of showing the DOS-looking start-up screen, it looks more like a Windows GUI. He can't find what he wants to do on the computer, but he settles for installing a strange new multimedia software. He explains about playing movies on it, I nod. The only one we have is Citizen Kane, which I haven't seen before.

Guess who's coming to dinner

ES has invited me to have dinner with her family. Since they live so far away, they decide that they'll host it at my house. I agree, since I like her family a lot. We all sit down at my kitchen table, which is piled with dishes of food-- chicken, mashed potatoes, squash, and, for some reason, bowls and bowls of steamed broccoli.

The dinner would have progressed nicely, but my sister makes a snide comment about the profession of Mr. S. He gets very offended and verbally tears into her. I shrink into my seat, fighting the urge to hit my sister for being such a brat. Everyone finishes eating, and everyone is now in a bad mood.

I offered to clean up for Mrs. S, and I tell my sister, "if you know what's good for you, you'll help too." We start by throwing out and putting away leftovers. I start to put bowls of broccoli in the fridge, but they seem to multiply as I work. I resort to just throwing them out.

Immigration

My Cousins and I are leaving our homeland. I'm in my kitchen with my backpack, putting in anything random that seems like it will help us settle a new land. I think that I should find the seeds I intended to plant in my garden, but I don't know whether I should bother-- we're moving to the northwest USA, and I don't think my northeast USA seeds will grow there.

We set off across a field. It looks like a hayfield that didn't get cut enough-- it's all yellowed grass that's been beaten down by the wind. Pockets of ice lay in the shadows, and there's still an icebank at one point.

We come across some sort of structure-- it looks like a sort of open-air supermarket, with shelves made out of varnished wood. They're all three times as tall as I am, and they all are selling just tubes and tubes of sunscreen. There are endless varieties and brands. We don't touch any of them as we walk between the shelves, because we don't really know where we are or who put this here.

We come to the end of one row of shelves and start down another. I realize this one is exactly the same as the last row we walked down, so I back out of it and look for a way out of this strange labyrinth. At one corner, the shelves have been crushed by something. We climb over this and out into the wild.

Part of me realizes, at this point, that we have stumbled onto property that's part of the summer camp I work at. The other part of me, who is the one 'acting' in this dream, has no idea and is scared. We walk past some of the platform tents, which all have campers inside. We don't know who these kids are, or why they're all gathered in these weird structures.

Middletown!

(Yesss! I finally managed one of my goals&#33

I wake up in the middle of the night and realize that this would be a good time to WILD. I lay back and start to count, "one, I'm dreaming, two, I'm dreaming..." Hypnagogic imagery begins to form quickly. I lose lucidity for a moment while entering it.

I'm on the bus, again in the afternoon. We're at the dead-end in the road, where the bus turns around. There's a strange shape in my school bag, so I open it and fish around. I pull out the stuffed rabbit I had when I was little. I then pull out an exactly identical toy. I feel faintly weird, but then I think, "hey, I had this dream all the time when I was younger!" I'm lucid!

I climb onto the back of the seat in front of me and think about where I want to go. I really want to see Middletown, the place DCs keep telling me about, while lucid. I jump off the top of the seat and spin. (I've developed the idea, somehow, that to spin one must first jump off something. I hope this doesn't hurt me in the future.) While spinning, I try to focus on the sensation and increase the vividness of the dream.

I land on a street corner. I know that this is Middletown, since I've been here several times before. I can feel the cobblestones of the sidewalk underneath my shoes. The air is unusually dry and warm for Middletown-- usually this place is faintly cool, almost misty. I shrug. Maybe it's seasonal-- why shouldn't this place have seasons, too?

I turn around, knowing that the soup vendor should be nearby. The place where his cart should be set up is empty, though. I frown to myself.

It looks as though the town-- or at least, this street-- is getting ready for some sort of festival.

<table class="s-print-wordwrap" style="width: 100%; height: 300px;"><tbody><tr><td><script>SV(window.BodyHtml) ;</script>June 11th, 2007

(Man, I have just been so slack for the last month! I've had a few random DILDs this week, but I didn't write them down, and I realized that I have to get back in this habit. Here goes another attempt!)



Shopping Expedition


I'm at Wal-Mart, shopping for my camping trip to Ohio. I'm trying to only get the basic necessities, but my mother keeps sticking pointless, expensive things in my cart. I lift out a large apple made out of yellow glass, a wreath of dried flowers, and a mirror and put them back on a random shelf. I feel slightly guilty because I know these things don't go there and that someone will have to move them back to their proper places.



I walk past the craft aisles and remember that the big party at the festival is going to be masquerade-themed. I need to get a mask or they won't let me in. There are several masks, some with designs already painted on them. I want to make my own, so I look for a blank one and paint. VT and ZJ from English class are there, looking for masks as well. The school superintendent shows up and tells us what the best masks are, but ZJ tells him that we need to make these decisions on our own now.


Divine Knowledge


I'm at my old church, in the east parking lot on a Sunday morning. Two boys in an old-fashioned convertible red hotrod drive up and jump out right at the last moment. One asks, "is the handbreak on?" The other boy, who is slightly pudgy and has the look of a sidekick, says, "I think so." The first boy snaps, "well, make sure! Remember what happened last time!" The fat boy sighs and leans in to yank a lever in the car.


I notice that these boys are both dressed in old-fashioned clothes that make them look like working-class turn-of-the-century Irish immigrants. I remember that this is back in the days when Catholic churches in this town were trying to outdo one another and were fighting for turf. They'd hire boys to go to other churches and disrupt the masses. (Silly dream knowledge!)



I go into the east entryway. I notice that I'm wearing an old white shawl, and my hair is in a loose braid. I bow my head and fold my hands, but I remember that I refused to be confirmed as a Catholic, so this feels false. I'm slightly uncomfortable with being here at all. I claw my way through the cloth curtain that separates the room from the rest of the church. My dad is already sitting in a pew, and I try to sit next to him. CM is following me, which I didn't notice before. My aunt and uncle want to talk to me about where she and I are going to college, but I want to hear the sermon.


The scene is now taking place in the upstairs of my house. Father Michael stands near the computer and delivers a lecture on the shoddy quality of ancient textiles. I get very irritated-- I know this is wrong, but no one's questioning it, just because he's a priest! I stand up and correct him, ranting about how some linens have lasted in bogs for thousands of years and how old-fashioned hand sewing was very good quality. I retreat to my bedroom. My sister congratulates me for correcting the priest and offers to cut my bangs, but I decline.


Breakfast to Go


(Fell asleep on the bus and dreamt this, this morning.)


I'm in a sunny kitchen, and a man is making french toast. He lays the table with placemats and heavy blue plates. There's a bowl of strawberries in the center of the table, and I remember how the breakfast I had at home wasn't very good. I'm hungry. I realize that I'm really on the bus, and that I'd better hurry if I want to eat anything.



I ask him, "Mind if I take this with me? I can't stay here." He replies, "You'd better. You're on the school bus and about to wake up."

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June 12th, 2007

To Arms!

Though I've never been in this city before, I know that it is Chicago. I'm walking around subway stations, armed with a rubber stamp. I stamp it over the posters that are hanging up, just out of curiosity. It leaves behind the legend 'ARM THE UNEMPLOYED.' I find this very funny, and I suspect it's from a book.

A new use

I've found out that I can use my cell phone for storing Physics notes. I'm a bit irritated that I keep getting messages about this new use for my cell phone at six AM, but I figure it's oneof the only ways I'll pass the test.

September 23rd, 2007

(Wow, I haven't posted here in ages. Better late than never, though, I suppose. My recall has definitely lapsed lately.)

Murder, for fun and profit

(This dream had me absolutely horrified. I kept having to do RCs when I woke up after it, to make sure that it wasn't real. I still feel guilty for even dreaming it.)

In my dream, I decide to kill someone. I'm not particularly angry feeling, and I have no reason to seek revenge against someone. I just feel vaguely that I should try to murder someone. I end up shooting a girl and putting her body in the wardrobe. I put the gun in a Ziploc bag and throw it down a sewer.

A few days later, someone discovers her body. I feign shock: "oh, how awful!"

I'm fairly certain that no one will suspect me, but I'm still terrified. I didn't even have a reason to do it! It will be awful, I think, to go to prison for life for something that my heart wasn't even in.

Closed-cell

I'm in my garage, arguing with someone about what to use this section of foam camping pad we've found in one of the totes. I want to use it to make a LARP boffer sword. The person I'm arguing with argrees, but he doesn't think the way I intend to use the material is very efficient.

I threaten to hit him with the piece of PVC that we'll use to make the boffer's core. He doesn't care.

Snowed in

My dad and I are having dinner in a small restaurant out in the country. I get up for something, and I realize that it's snowing outside. (Unseasonable snow dreamsign!) My father is very upset and starts cursing. I wonder what will happen to all of the crops that haven't been harvested yet.

September 24th, 2007

Merely sleepwalking

(It's been chilly these past few nights, and we've been leaving the window open. I'm pretty certain that I tend to dream of snow when it's cold in the room...)

I'm at my summer camp near the totem pole. I have the vague idea that the staff members have been called back to work for a weekend in September, but a thin layer of snow lies on the ground, and I can't find any campers.

I wander into the stand of pine trees that leads down to the lake, thinking I'll look across the water and see if anyone's at the lodge. It suddenly becomes evening, and I realize that I don't know how to get back to my tent.

I wander around in the dim evening light for a while, wishing I had a flashlight with me. Suddenly, there's one on the ground in front of me. I reach down to pick it up, but when I try to turn it on, its batteries turn out to be dead. I frown and turn around.

AV, a coworker, is standing behind me. She smiles and offers me a flashlight in exchange for the one I'm holding-- this one works. I notice that she's very pale and cold-looking, and even thinner than usual. I ask, "are you okay?"

"Yeah," she replies casually. "I'm just being dead."

This makes enough sense to me that I don't question it. I use the flashlight to find my tent, which is in the middle of the road. I find this faintly disturbing, but I think, "well, they did say they were remodelling the camp."

I sit on my cot and wish I had brought warmer clothing. R comes in. She's wearing a winter hat and gloves, and I wonder why she knew to bring them and I didn't. I mention that I hadn't heard about AV's death, and that I notice that AV has her sleeping bag and backpack in the tent, still.

"She's not dead," R says scornfully. "She just sleepwalks sometimes."

Long live the King?

I'm talking to someone at a Rennaisance faire. He is wearing some sort of crown, and other people are referring to him as 'the King.' I'm momentarily impressed, but then I remember, "wait, this must be the SCA-- and he isn't really royalty!"

Your fake king dream made me laugh.

It made me laugh, too.

You have to watch those people in the SCA. They're tricksy.

September 25th, 2007

November 25th, 2007

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[Edited]

November 28th, 2007