Thread: First lucid dream...thoughts please?

I just had my first lucid dream this morning, after taking three melatonin sublinguals last night at bedtime. It's important to note that I'm currently single, never been married, and have no children. I live in St. Paul, Minnesota.

I've diagrammed the house, from what I can remember of it, to aid in recall. I'm planning to attempt to revisit the house in future dreams. Any thoughts on the meaning of this dream, or recommendations for recall and information gathering within the dream, are appreciated.

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REAL LIFE: I woke up this morning around 7:45, got up for a drink of water, and went back to bed. I didn't expect to sleep again, but very quickly I drifted off.

I was only asleep for 40 minutes; from 8:10 to 8:50. At the end, what woke me up is that I had an itch (either in real life, or in the dream; not sure) and instinctively scratched it (in real life). I stirred a bit in bed, became aware that I was about to leave my dream entirely, felt it grow dim, and tried my damndest to concentrate. But within five seconds, it was completely gone.
I got up and immediately started typing this in order to remember.

DREAM: I stumbled upon a home in a lovely, quiet neighbourhood. The door was cracked open, and I felt as though I’d been invited inside, like I belonged there.

Two flights of stairs leading up to bedrooms. Was able to make myself climb the stairs and peek at cracks of light leading to two rooms, but couldn’t make myself go in. I stood on the landing between the two staircases for a very long time, trying to decide whether I really belonged in the house, whether I would get in trouble for being there, and trying to figure out how to make myself go back down the stairs. I don’t recall how I won the battle, but finally I went back downstairs and sped through the kitchen, turned corner into living room/den and found a man’s desk first.

It was then that I realized this was my house, and I was looking at my husband's desk.

His desk was cluttered with newspaper, receipts, magazines and brochures all addressed to “Current Resident”. No clues there. I searched for business cards, address labels, anything that would clue me in. I was trying to figure out who my husband was, whether we had children, where we lived, what we did for a living, whether we were happy.

In the living room was a sewing machine in a cabinet, and a display rack with CDs and children’s toys for sale. Perhaps I was in the middle of figuring out an arrangement for the items before delivering it somewhere for display.

I approached the back door to find it ajar. There was a middle-aged woman, short and stout, sorting recyclables on the back porch. For a split second, I thought, “Intruder!” but then I just knew she was our maid, “Consuela”; I knew her name and she knew me. She asked how the children were doing. I think I said, “Fine.” I puttered around the kitchen, searching for clues about my life in the house, my husband, my kids, and she knowingly accepted my search as though it were commonplace. Guess I should’ve just asked her about my husband and kids. Next time, I’ll try.

Found husband’s shirt, blue oxford, tossed over a chair and sniffed it. No discernable scent.

That's when I realized that the dream was in colour.

I could control my actions in this dream; at first it took lots and lots of effort to make myself climb the stairs, for instance, and look around…but after that, it quickly became easier to search and explore. It was effortless, after a short while, as though I were just living in the dream and didn’t even have to think about “making” myself do things.

There were no photographs in the house, that I could see.

At some point, I found “Ford Bay, Oregon” written somewhere and determined that was the location of the house. Googled it later, and there isn’t such a city…but there’s a Ford Bay Canada, in the NW territories. There’s also a Ford Bay in Southern California.

The coats in the coat hall were relatively orderly, but next to them was a very long kids’ toy chest that was in complete disarray. Lid propped open, toys overflowing. These were toys for children around 2-5 years of age.

In a kitchen cabinet, I searched frantically through two drawers and found only classy seasonal decorations, candles, and silver candle dishes.

The house was nice, but felt lived-in. The staircases were wide and almost grand, but didn’t feel pompous. The home - and its supposed residents - felt humble, but deserving of a few embellishments.

There was probably more to the house that I didn’t see.

There was something else, before this, that I just remembered. I remember driving to the house, mildly inebriated, trying to convince myself the whole way there that I was too drunk to drive and should just pull over. But I hadn’t been drinking alcohol, and I remember knowing that even if I were pulled over, I would blow a zero. I was tipsy from something else, some experience or trauma; a fight or a stressful day or delirium of some kind. It didn’t feel bad, just anxious and odd. It was very early in the morning when I arrived at the house; the sun was just barely beginning to come up. Dawn. I don’t remember parking and going up the driveway, or what the house looked like on the outside. Just remember driving, and then suddenly I was at the front door, with my hand on the knob.