I’ve been keeping online journals blogs since 2002. When I was primarily using LiveJournal (instead of just feeding posts from dumoski.com there), along with memes and recipes and what-I’m-doing-today posts, I used to record the odd, memorable dream. And when I say odd, I don’t mean occasional, I mean weird, strange, and possibly disturbing.
A few days ago, I had the opportunity to scan through those LJ archives and, for some reason, decided to pull out all the dream posts and share them here. I dunno why. You all are just lucky, I guess.
This is a very long post, and I’m not sorry. If things like Naked Superman, death by ink pad, space Amazons, and two different versions of the end of the Apocalypse interest you, then read on!
Had a couple strange dreams last night.
In the first, I was going on a trip into space, but first I had to visit India to undergo an inoculation process. I don’t recall any shots, but rather we went up to the top of one of the mountains in the Himalayas, over which blew “all the winds of the world.” Supposedly, by spending some time up there I’d be exposing myself to all the current illnesses in the world, which worked something like a vaccination. Go figure.
At one point in the dream, up there on top of the mountain, the dream switched into third-person narrative, and the main figure became a man of middle-eastern nativity: I know this because of a comment made by the narrator [what, your dreams don’t have narrators?] to the effect of (I wish I had the exact words, they were much more eloquent), “From here (on top of the Himalayas) he could see the lower range of the (Something Made-Up) Mountains, leading all the way to the Mediterranean. He took comfort in knowing he could follow them all the way home.”
After that rather sublime moment (and it was sublime, really), I switched back to being myself, and had to haggle over the benefits of further inoculation by snake bite. Tell me, what possible defense against space diseases would getting bit by a snake offer?
The second dream was much less…creative. My sister Tasha and her new husband Keith were having a second wedding ceremony…I think because there were some people who hadn’t been able to attend the first. It was in a different church, and for some reason this time I was supposed to get up and make some sort of affirmation about the couple. I can’t recall what, only that I was worried about what to wear. I also remember feeling guilty that I hadn’t had Lucy’s flower girl dress cleaned, so it still had that lipstick stain on the sleeve. And then Lucy was so impatient to get her hair curled that she tried to use the curling iron to do it herself. Fortunately, dream-me was quick enough to keep her from doing herself any injury!
Last night, I dreamt that I had to go to China to rescue my oldest sister. I don’t know what we had to rescue her from, or why she was in China to begin with, but such is the nature of dreams that details like that rarely matter. No, the oddest thing about this dream were the diversions it took along the way.
For instance, as we were getting ready to go, it dawned on me that I didn’t have a passport. We (that would be me, my mother, I think my father, and a few other people who I don’t quite recall) decided that having my birth certificate and a drivers license would be sufficient to get me into the country. That my license was expired might pose a difficulty, but we had to try. So I had to go look for my birth certificate, which I knew was in a folder in the filing cabinet in my bedroom. When I went looking for it, none of the three lights in the room would turn on. I went rummaging in the file cabinet anyway, and found the certificate in a folder that also held some of Lucy’s artwork. Somewhere along the line, I realized that the light was on anyway.
The other diversion in the dream came when we were actually on the way to the airport. I realized that I’d forgotten the birth certificate at home. Mom turned the car around—I clearly remember the dark streets lined with homes and closed businesses—but after some time we realized she’d made a wrong turn somewhere and we were heading the opposite direction. We did eventually get home, where I collected the certificate, and also stuck a few more things in my backpack for the trip. Namely, a fat novel (Guy Gavriel Kay’s A Song for Arbonne) and my Alphasmart. You never know when the urge to write might strike, and I had it in my mind that I ought to keep a record for later posting here. Oh, I even remember thinking that once we got to China I ought to find a Web Cafe and post an entry starting “Well, here I am in China…”
Thus is the nature of my dreams lately, filled with rather mundane details and distractions.
I recall that I packed yogurt and Cheerios for the trip, feeling sure we’d all need some sustenance along the way, and since I dislike Chinese food, I was sure I wouldn’t find anything I wanted to eat while there.
Unfortunately, due to the lengthy nature of the preparations, we never did get to China to rescue my sister. That’s the problem with kids…they always wake you up too soon.
I had this dream last night that I was trying to kill a man who was supposed to be my husband. He was, I clearly recall, an evil man. I don’t remember why he was evil, but I had to hide the kids (actually, it was Lucy and one of her friends, I think) from him. We lived in a tall apartment building, pretty posh as I recall, and the girls were squirreled away down in the basement, helping me lay my plan. The method of assassination was going to be poisoned ink pad. I think the idea was to poison the pad, ink up a stamp, and “accidentally” stamp his skin with it. Go figure.
The earliest part of last night’s dream that comes to mind clearly is sitting in a first grade class, and being bored because the only thing we had studied all year so far was reading and math, with no history or social studies at all. But then the the teacher started talking about driving, and the lines she was drawing on the whiteboard turned into the lines on the freeway we were driving on towards the harbor.
We were going to the harbor to vote in a national election. Apparently, many of the bayside towns had their polling places there, right out on the wharf. Fortunately the lines, though lengthy, moved quickly (due to the computerized booths) and we didn’t have to wait long, and we were entertained watching some guy parasailing overhead. I finished before the person I was with and, as I waited, I noticed that the tide seemed to be coming in with a vengeance. I decided to beat a hasty retreat. Unfortunately it was too late and I found myself swamped and being dragged out to sea, beyond the reach of my companions. This is usually the point in my recurring “wave dreams” that I wake up shaking and tense.
Last night, though, I was rescued.
A naked Superman.
He swooped down and plucked me out of the ocean, and off we went. You know that scene in the first Superman movie, where he and Lois go floating around in the stars? It was a lot like that, only he was naked and we…well, let us just say that he proved himself as the Man of Steel.
Okay, the flying consummation was more suggested than actual. I recall he brought me back to his room, though, but just as we settled on the bed we discovered the place was infested with goblins. The dream continued after that, but the details are lost to dream fog.
I hate it when I get stuck in a dream. You know, when you’re having a perfectly normal dream and you get stuck on some peculiar detail like picking out clothes or sorting out a cupboard. The dream task just goes on and on and you never get to the end of it and move on in the dream.
Last night, I was at a salon. In fact, the whole family was there getting their hair done. I decided I wanted to dye my hair black, but wanted to use a particular shade that I had used once before, a “gentle” black that left natural highlights and what not. Mind you, I’ve never actually had my hair dyed black. Apparently, my stylist didn’t have one of those sample boards that shows all they different shades for the dye brands that the salon has in stock, so I had to look through catalogs trying to find the right product. I spent hours of dreamtime flipping through these books, and never did get my hair done.
What strikes me most about the dream though was the amount of detail my mind created for these catalogs. They were very elaborate, with artistic color photographs of women in costumes displaying different hair styles and colors. I recall one page of black dyes, that featured about a dozen women all with various shades of black hair in extravagant dos, all wearing various witchy or goth gowns. Another catalog, a whole line of hair products and clothing by a single designer with a naturalistic feel to it, featured a costume pattern for a sort of peasant-milkmaid. There were at least three different pages for the costume, each one featuring a model of a different size (small, medium and large), so that the customer could better see how she might look in it herself. I can still see the detail of these pictures, pretty girls with flower wreaths in their long curly hair, holding on to the vine-wrapped ropes of a swing. And these were just a few of the hundreds of pages my brain created while I was sleeping.
In the end, I determined that they didn’t make the hair dye I wanted anymore: only plain black and plain white, which you were supposed to mix together to get a lighter shade if you wanted. You’d think if my brain could come up with all that reading material, it could have invented my preferred hair dye, too. There’s no understanding the dreaming mind.
I think part of the reason I slept so well last night was that I got to make out with some cute guy in a dream. Actually, I wasn’t really myself. I was maybe 18 or 20 years old, and the guy—I think his name was Nicoli—was visiting from Europe. I believe our parents were hoping we’d hit it off, which we did, because it didn’t take long before we were making out on the sofa. Then the apocalypse happened, or something, because there were no adults left in the world, and Nicoli wanted to try and get to Europe to see if anyone in his family had survived (this whole scenario was probably inspired by Jennifer Brozek’s “Grants Pass” anthology project and the episode of the Australian show “The Tribe” that I saw the other day on tv). So we set off on a trek across the country.
Events took on a rather episodic nature after this, the details of which are rather sketchy. In one, Nicoli befriended a young boy and became a sort of protector to him as he joined us on our journey. In another we visited a town where one girl claimed to be seeing ghosts but was really having severe mental problems and eventually tried to kill herself. I think we managed to help her—I wish I could remember more of that because it was very moving. Finally, we found some sort of ramshackle flying device (reminiscent of those in the Mad Max movies) to take us across the ocean. Mid-flight, the plane started to go down—fortunately, we weren’t over the ocean after all, so we crash landed in the desert. That was about the time I woke up. It was a very cool dream!
In this dream I was in the midst of a treasure hunt with a group of allies, one of whom may have been Giles from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. The first thing I recall was figuring out the location of the penultimate clue buried amongst the roots of a tree. I excavated an old book, to which a key was attached, and raced off to the room I knew the key opened (the whole search had been for a series of keys), ahead of my compatriots. I got into the room, which was located off a landing of an outdoor, cement stairway, and secured the searched for item—I honestly don’t remember what it was, but it was small enough to hold in my arms, possibly another book—but as I headed back out I realized the bad guys had cut me off from my friends. I closed the door and locked it again, knowing that if the villains got the item, it would mean trouble. The good guys engineered a rescue and I was able to make a break for it. There was a bit of a chase down the stairs, but at the bottom I had to fight to break free, which included me getting to knock down the main villain, a woman with long, blond hair. After that, the scene cut to the obligatory wrap-up scene—the good guys sitting around dinner talking about what had happened. Oddly enough, the blond woman was with us. Apparently, she’d been pretty badly hurt and we’d kept her with us from the dual motives of feeling responsible and the old adage, “keep your enemies close.” It had been a while since the big chase and fight scene and the villain was recovered enough to surprise us by disappearing (she sort of floated up and then faded away), leaving us all with the ominous surety that we’d see her again some day.
I just love story dreams.
I had a dream last night, which is not remarkable, since I seem to have long, involved dreams most nights. I can seldom remember more than bits and pieces of them, though, the curse of being woken up by kids every morning and not having the opportunity to dwell on that dream imagery before having to become fully conscious.
Two things stick out most strongly. In one part, I was at some place with a small group of people, I don’t know who. We were going to sleep on the floor, I don’t know why. One of the others, a younger man who sort of reminded me of my first fiance (but definitely wasn’t him (I think the resemblance was mostly in the being younger) leaned over and gave me a kiss on the lips. I get the feeling that he didn’t expect me to respond, because I was married, but I did in fact kiss him back. It was a very nice kiss, not particularly deep or passionate, but intimate in a sort of connected way. When the kiss was over, we both smiled and settled down to go to sleep, close to each other but not cuddled together. There was nothing sexual about it at all, or romantic. I should mention here that lately I’ve visualized my muse as a male, so if anything it’s probably connected to that.
The other bit of the dream that stands out is working in the gardens of a sanctuary or convent, putting plants into the ground in a bed circling a small tree. I was choosing plants from a large box, and when I was done the box was locked up (was it me, or someone else who did the locking?) and reverently put away: “This is grandmother’s box. We have to be careful with it.” Some lovely goddess imagery there, don’t you think? I have always found the idea of monastic life appealing, and probably if I were Catholic I would have considered becoming a nun at some point. I think, now, I am too much of the world to give up completely. Still, I fancy the idea of a place of spiritual retreat where a person can go for a week or a month or a year and life a wholly religious existence for whatever time they need, without having to be bound for their entire life. I don’t think most of us need spend our entire lives in communion with the divine, but spending a short span of our lives like that would be good for us, and probably good for the world.
Busy getting for work right now (a 12 to 9 shift—ugh!) but I had to quickly relate the dream I had this morning, especially for Annie. It was one of those where I’m not really myself—I was a younger woman, visiting with a friend at (I think) an older aunt’s home. We were outside when, for no understandable reason, Brad Pitt showed up, and he and I started roughhousing. You know, the kind of wrestling that you really, really hope is going to lead to another kind of wrestling. Nothing happened (we were interrupted, I think) but it’s always fun to experience those “is he gonna kiss me” jitters in a dream.
The weird part is that Brad Pitt doesn’t really do much for me at all, but I know Annie likes him, which is why I’m posting this for her. Maybe I got her dream by mistake.
The end of the world, anyone? Maybe not, but it definitely got a good washing in the dream I had early this morning.
Like most of my dreams, this dream didn’t have a clear beginning; whatever I was dreaming before just drifted into this one, in which a great flood arose and wiped out most of the population of the earth. This was not a a flood caused by rain, or a great wave like a tsunami, but a steady rising of the ocean level that was referred to as “seeping” because of the way the water would start seeping into buildings as it rose.
I went ashore, and found myself in an office building, but no one was working, everyone being aware that the world was probably ending. In a back conference room, a big group of people were sitting in a circle singing songs, trying to be brave in the face of destruction. One of the people there was my friend Sol who I was very happy to see, even if the circumstances were dire. When the water started to seep through the door of the room, I decided that if I was going to go, I wanted to do it seeing the stars. So I took a small inflatable raft and went outside, and Sol decided to come with me.
We floated for a while on the new ocean, until we came back to the ship I’d been on earlier. It was deserted, but we went on board and took shelter in the posh captain’s quarters for a while. Then a huge storm struck, and the ship—which apparently was subject to the seeping too—was going to sink. Sol and I abandoned ship on our raft once more (not much more than an inner tube really). I recall I had a coil of rope around my shoulder, though I didn’t use it to secure us to our raft. We were tossed about on the stormy waters for a while, and eventually floated towards where civilization used to be.
I recall bumping against a wall that had a fireplace on it, and a gallery overhead. About that time the waters dropped away—there was a time-skip there, so I didn’t see it happen, but the next part of the dream was Sol and I crouching on the hearth of that fireplace, looking at some strange bugs scuttling around on the dirt-covered floor, apparently the only creature that had survived.
I glanced up then, and was surprised to see Marla, the co-leader of my Brownie troop, standing in a gallery overhead. She brought us up to where a handful of other survivors had gathered and were starting to get on with the business of rebuilding civilization. There was a meeting (I remember one surfer-type guy with curly blond hair) to evaluate resources, and Sol and I offered up a bucket of the little bugs as a possible food source. Yum! At some point, I said that if there were two people from my life I’d like to be left with it was Marla and Sol, at least if I couldn’t have my daughters, at which point I shed a few tears for their loss (though I hadn’t thought about them at all previously in the dream).
That’s about when my alarm went off.
In unrelated nonsense which shouldn’t mean anything to those not familiar with Castle Marrach, I dreamt last night that I was working at a bookstore (maybe patronizing…it wasn’t the bookstore I actually work at) and I found a book titled Allenya. It was a huge but cheaply printed trade paperback of perhaps 1,000 pages or more, with a garish image of a rocket ship on the front. It reminded me of either SF&F books of the early 70s (before it started to get respectable) or of contemporary e-published volumes.
The book was, I found out, the life story of the Castle Marrach character Allenya, who it turns out was a rocketship pilot before ending up on top of Mount Arden. It looked like a rollicking space adventure in the classic mode, and at some point as I was flipping through the pages it turned into a graphic novel. The panels I remember most clearly were those featuring a group of Amazons (Space Amazons!), clad in short-shorts and skimpy tops with bare midriffs (most of the Amazons had names culled from the Castle Marrach playerbase, but the only one I remember clearly is “Umi”), and then the final pages where Allenya’s rocketship is hurtling towards a mountaintop (Mount Arden, of course), passes through some sort of field that transforms Allenya from Space Chick to Medieval Babe, pink lacey gown included (her hair turned from blond to red, too, which I don’t quite understand, since Allenya’s hair is neither color). The book ended there, with the suggestion that the ship would crash on the mountain and that’s how Allenya ended up in Castle Marrach.
Oddly, I had no interest in buying the book. And I was annoyed at Chris and Shannon for not having asked me if I wanted to write a Castle Marrach book myself, instead of contracting some random person to write one. In fact, I realized as I perusing the book that it was one a series that Skotos was publishing as a cross-promotion for the game: nearby in the stack was another book that looked like it was about Prince Bertram. Sadly, dear reader, I did not pick up that book to see what treasures might lie inside. For that, you will have to use your own imagination—clearly mine is sorely overtaxed.
This morning, I woke up from a dream in which Tom Hanks was my best friend. Only, as we were out together seeing a movie, I realized that I was actually in love with him. Oh, the anxiety! Did he feel the same about me, I wondered? Was that moment when our heads bumped a failed attempt at a kiss, or just a moment of awkwardness?
Unfortunately, I never found out. My real need to use the bathroom translated to a trip (in the dream) the the theater’s co-ed restroom/kitchen, in which I spent forever trying to get the door to my stall to stay latched, and then find a sink in which to wash my hands. By the time I was done, I’m sure Tom must have given up hope.