Amusement park.. and adoption

I was at Six Flags. I walked in, and got in line for a roller coaster right away. I remember thinking "no one stopped me at the gate for a ticket." I wasn't going to notify anyone. I was looking up at a roller coaster that was going upside down and a twinge of fear started to creep in. (In real life, roller coasters are not scary to me). I saw it go through the same upside down loop twice and I seemed to be fixated on that. I got on the coaster and strapped myself in. I had my cell phone out, I wanted to take a picture upside down while in the loop. My phone was broken, I felt stressed as I tried to put the battery cover back on and the ride was already moving. I had a tight grip on it, snapped a picture and realized I had the camera facing the wrong way. I remember thinking "that was one of the few pictures of myself that I actually like." I fixed the camera, took a picture and attempted to upload it to Facebook... but the ride was too shaky.

I got off the ride and walked into a room where people had many dogs up for adoption. I was always a cat owner and had reservations about owning a dog, but something drew me to them. One of the dogs seemed to really like me, and I spoke to him while I petted his head. I considered taking him home, when someone said the other dog had been severely abused and was in many different homes already. He just needed a stable place where he could be loved. well, that did it. I was determined to take the dog home. They explained to me that the dog was abused by the previous owner. I walked into another room and saw a dog laying on top of the covers, while a woman was laying beneath them. Her head was sticking out and I saw her eyes looking at me. I asked her "why did you abuse this dog? What's wrong with you?" She didn't answer. I continued to yell at her while she looked at me, expressionless and making no attempt to answer.

I took the dog home and when I walked in, my cat seemed nervous at the sight of him. There was another dog there too, but the abused dog just wanted to go lay in a dark room and be alone. He was frightened.

Then, I woke up.

more celebrity appearances

Well. I'm tempted to restate my lack of real interest in celebrities, but since they keep showing up, I guess it would sound like a case of "doth protest too much". Here are the latest two cameo appearances.

The other night I dreamed that I was transitioning to a group living arrangement (of course). I suppose I was in school, because it was rather dorm-like, but I don't remember the details. I was supposed to be sharing accommodations with Chloe Sevigny, which startled me a little--didn't she have enough money to live in a place of her own? After my initial surprise, I thought she might be an interesting roommate. She seemed interesting, nice enough, and I figured she would probably have interesting taste and introduce me to interesting people. Being an introvert who has a hard time meeting people, the idea of a built-in source of acquaintances appealed to me.

I was still in the process of beginning to move my possessions in when Chloe presented me with an itemized rundown of all the food that she estimated I'd consumed or would consume within a certain time period. This included groceries and eating out, and I was floored by her attention to detail. It was all listed by item, estimated serving size, and price--including estimated tax. The estimated-tax part rankled me a little, and I started to think that maybe her financial fastidiousness was going to be a pain.

++++++++++++++++++

I'm not completely sure who last night's cameo was. It was either Ben Stiller, Adam Sandler, or a hybrid thereof. My husband and I were in the process of establishing ourselves in yet another group-living arrangement* (sharing a house, I think; we had our own space, at least, but it was within a larger dwelling). We had pretty much settled in, and our dogs--our real-life Doberman and a dream German Shepherd--had too, making themselves comfortable on a top bunk that our Doberman would never be able to jump up on. Despite some climate-control issues (no heat?), it was a fairly comfortable arrangement, and we took a break with a movie.

The movie was some kind of comedy featuring a gone-to-seed boys' band. They were singing a semi-choreographed song in which they wandered around a vacant lot. The lyrics included something about "until my hips get soft", which puzzled me--I wasn't sure if it was meant to be a sexy double-entendre or a wry commentary on their age (they were all 40-/50-something). They were dressed in either jeans/black leather getups or track suit/gold jewelry ensembles, and the Ben Stiller/ Adam Sandler hybrid sported a spectacularly ugly hairdo: slightly bleached (orangey) dark hair on top, curly but brushed out to fluffiness, and a darker, gelled longer layer (mulletlike but equally long all around) consisting of tiny, bouncy little curls. I was transfixed by its ugliness.



*WHAT is UP with this? What unconscious fixation keeps making me dream about group living arrangements? Am I going to have to join a kibbutz to exorcise this?

the mechanics of dream crying

I had the saddest dream last night. So sad, in fact, that I woke myself up crying (or maybe the dog barking woke me up; it was simultaneous). My husband and I were living (with other people, of course--I couldn't possibly have a dream in which I don't live in a group arrangement) in a rooftop apartment. It was really just a small box-shaped one-room building with extremely low ceilings, on top of the flat roof of an older building. I think the building itself contained a mixture of offices and apartments, and it wasn't in great shape.

We had been out and about and were returning home, if you can call such a living arrangement "home". It had been raining, and as we neared the top of the stairs leading to the roof, I noticed water pouring down the stairs from the rooftop. I made a note to let the building manager know (incidentally, the same guy who manages the building at my real-life office). It didn't really occur to me to be worried until we came out onto the roof and saw that it was completely flooded, almost up to the wall around the edges, which was about six feet tall. We could still walk through the water easily, but it was threatening to fill up the apartment to roof level. When we went inside, everyone was confusedly trying to gather up their things to evacuate. I looked around for our dogs with an increasingly sinking feeling. I asked someone about them, and just as they started to answer I brushed up against what was obviously one of their bodies floating around under the surface of the water*.

Of course no one had thought or had time to rescue our dogs, and it was terrible to think about them struggling to keep their heads above water in the middle of the crowded bunkbed setup (the room was filled with bunkbeds like a summer camp). I felt terrible realizing that if we had been there we could easily have gotten them out of there, and terrible in a different way thinking that if the roof had had proper drainage this wouldn't have happened at all.

I've always kind of wondered about the mechanics of crying in dreams, in those cases where you wake yourself up sobbing violently--how long are you actually crying in "real time" (it always seems to me like I cry for hours in the dream), and are real tears coming out? I still have no conclusion, but found it interesting that I woke up with tears in my eyes (but not streaming down my face) after what seemed like ages of crying. I also woke up slowly enough to note that I was gasping, sob-like, but my sleeping partner is a heavy enough sleeper that I've never been able to get an outside observation of whether I'm actually sobbing or just gasping.

Anyway, it was a harrowing dream, and I was very glad to hear the dogs barking when I woke up from it.


*This seems like a weird detail, that they would be floating around at a 3' depth, but I don't know enough about the physics of water and dog corpses to say whether it's really inaccurate. Another weird physics-related detail was that after we had removed the dog corpses from the flooded rooftop I was carrying them around in a garbage bag, casually slung over my shoulder--all 170 pounds of them, which I would surely not be able to do in real life, especially if racked by sobs.

Which reminds me of another gorily specific detail: I was carrying the dogs around because I hoped to find someone to flay them and preserve their hides for me, and also to remove and clean up their skulls so I could keep them as mementos**. When my husband expressed dismay at this weird and excessive desire, I said, "but think, don't you know any hunters who could do it? It would be easy for a hunter who was used to processing deer!"


**I probably shouldn't confess this, but I have considered in real life (although purely theoretically) the possibility of keeping the skull of a dead pet as a memento (in my defense, the hide idea hadn't occurred to me), although I'm sure I wouldn't due to a lack of butchering/taxidermy skills/cast-iron emotional constitution, and the fact that I don't know any local hunters.

Soldiers and Ponies

This is my first time posting on this blog, so let me warn you that I take absolutely no responsibility for what my pre/subconscious decides to make me dream about. I have stopped asking why I dream like I do. I just write the most detailed ones down. That being said, happy reading!

The dream began in the midst of a gunfight between two small groups of soldiers. It got a little odd when I realized the enemy had decided to occupy and fortify my childhood home in the middle of the North Carolina suburbs. Instead of the slightly rusted chain link fence that surrounded the back yard, I and my company of four were balked by a new glittering razorwire fence around the whole property. The front of my mind was occupied by the plan we’d come up with for infiltrating the “compound”, but a tiny mouse-voice in the back of my mind glanced around, tapped ceaselessly for attention and peeped “Hey, um. This shouldn’t be happening. Not in broad springtime daylight. Not in this neighborhood. Where are the neighbors?”

 “They’re all dead, of course. These bastards killed them all,” my “rational sense” replied. “Which is why we have to get in there and neutralize them.”

My team and I approached my house from the west; from behind the nine-foot-tall screen of magnolia bushes my elderly neighbors had planted to protect themselves from our two loud, overzealous dogs.

The razorwire fence stood just on the other side of the bushes. We crept close to the heavily-guarded gate, our M-16s at the ready. There was no door, only a gap like a missing tooth in the run of the fence. One of my fellows poked his rifle through the bushes and shot blindly; he took out two of the guards. The remaining two watched their comrades flop to the ground like dead fish, then opened fire on the bushes. I broke cover and ran at the two guards. I pointed my M-16 and shot one guard in the chest at point-blank range. He flew back in a spray of blood. The last remaining guard turned his M-9 (handgun) on me and we stared down each others’ barrels for a minute or so until I shot him high in the belly. He made a whiny sound like he’d just been interrupted and did not appreciate it. I could feel my fellows getting antsy behind me; I told them to go take the house. They burst out from the bushes and ran screaming at the house. They were instantly mown down by several M-240 machine guns. The sound was earsplitting, like steel popcorn in a tin bucket.

The wounded guard staggered, moaning, and I realized that I had shot him in the worst possible place besides maybe the groin. With a preternaturally accurate sense of geometry (and anatomy) I only possess in dreams, I calculated that my bullet had hit his stomach, large intestine, and lodged in his left kidney. No major blood vessels were damaged, so he would not bleed out quickly.

So I dropped my M-16 and approached the soldier with my hands up in an indication of harmlessness. He, wild-eyed like a trapped fox, tried to point his M-9 at me but his hand was shaking violently. I gently took the handgun and shushed him like a mother. He quieted, let out a huge, relieved sigh and said, “My name is Geoff. I’m going to die soon.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I began leading him around the interior perimeter of the fence, (somehow) out of range of the M-240s at the house, toward the driveway, which leads to the backyard. He stopped directly in front of the house. “Hang on,” he panted bashfully, painfully. “I gotta pee.”

Does it have to be now? I thought, eyeing the multiple gun barrels peeking out of the boarded house windows like the black malevolent eyes of night animals. But I didn’t verbally protest, knowing this is probably one of the last acts this dying man would undertake. Nobody should die with a full bladder.

So I disentangled myself from him and held him steady as he unbuckled his ammo belt and unbuttoned his fly. After I asked him if he’s okay to stand on his own, I politely turned away and let him do his business.

Geoff whimpered and grunted like a baby animal behind me and I felt a pang of sympathy so profound I nearly pulled his M-9 from my belt to end his misery. But my sympathy was riven in half by a shriek so otherworldly I almost realized I was dreaming. I turned to see Geoff’s face contorted with horror and pain. His urine stream was a watery red, laced with ribbons of near-black. It wasn’t trickling out steadily like urine does; it was spraying out like water from a showerhead, so forcefully that a cloud of fine spray appeared around the head of Geoff’s penis.

As if to add flavor to my growing alarm, a wind sprang up and blew the blood-laced urine onto me. I was showered with it, soaked with it, drenched with it. I let out a screech of my own and immediately regretted opening my mouth.

I suddenly bolted up the driveway toward the house, still bristling with guns, prepared in the back of my mind to be blown away, and not entirely satisfied by dying covered in a dying man’s bodily fluids.

I burst through the gate separating the back from the front lawn and ran to the hose curled up there by the back door.

My mind at this point underwent a curious halving. One half, temporarily taking control of my body, was obsessed only with getting Geoff’s blood/urine off me. The other half, waiting patiently and quietly in the back, wondered why I wasn’t being shot at and planned how to get in and retake the house in my parents’ name. After all, it was their goddamn house.

I shed my helmet, ammo belt, pack, boots, socks, and tore off my fatigues until I was completely naked. I pointed the hose at my face, had a curious double image of a gun barrel and Geoff’s penis, then the painfully cold water hit me.  I scrubbed madly at my face, my neck, arms, hair, hands, body. The water smelled sweet and earthy and I attempted to inhale it to get the acid tang of blood and urine out of my nose. This of course resulted in a racking spasm of coughs as I realized rather quickly that my lungs would not accept water as a usable source of oxygen. This broke me out of the panic-circle, and I turned off the water. Shivering, panting, sodden and naked (but clean), I stood there and let the halves of my mind swap places. Where were the soldiers? Why hadn’t they shot at me? The back door wasn’t barred. Could I get in?

I began to poke around the back of the house and found a small, newly overturned mound of earth beside the air conditioning unit. I dug like a dog and unearthed a gallon-size Ziploc bag full of magazines. Svelte women in various degrees of undress graced every single cover. I chuckled to myself. “Looks like I found my enemy’s porn stash.”

Suddenly I remembered Geoff. I had left him out in the middle of the front yard, pissing blood and screaming like a nine year old girl! I stood up and, with no regard for the soldiers and guns in the house, scurried out of the back yard and back down the driveway.

Poor Geoff was right where I’d left him, still holding his penis, which by now was just dribbling thick dark blood. He was barely upright; his shoulders and head sagged deeply. I approached him gingerly, eyeing his penis, ready to bolt if it were to start spraying again.

“I’m sorry I ran away,” I said softly, again at a loss for words. I was no good at dealing with dying people.

“’S okay,” he slurred and struggled to lift his head.

I stood there clueless for a moment, then remembered the stack of magazines in my hands.  “Hey, look,” I said to Geoff cheerily, holding out a copy of Playboy. “Titties.”

He managed a small half-smile, his eyes resting on something that was not the magazine. “Yes ma’am.”

            I struggled to follow his gaze, then realized why. He’d been looking at me. I had not reclothed myself after my hose-bath. Mortified and mortified that I’d been mortified by a dying man, I clapped the stack of magazines over my naked breast.

“Uh, I’m… I’m gonna go back up to the house to find clothes… and you some water.”

Without waiting for a reply from Geoff, I skittered back up the driveway.

At this point the dream shifted to a nighttime newly fallen. I remained in my driveway, but the house had reverted to its proper place as my parents’ house and childhood home. The chain link fence separating the front from the back yard was still intact, so I lifted the catch and opened the gate. At its familiar clink-chuk sound, my little sister turned. I smiled and waved; she waved back from her place sitting on the grass just beyond the driveway. I sat down beside her (fully clothed) and followed her eyes to a place cradled in darkness on the far side of our neighbors’ yard.

In waking reality, our neighbors to the left had planted the magnolias; our neighbors to the right had just used the portion of our fence that bordered their yard to start a fence of their own.  In dream reality, the partition between yards was no longer there. Neither was the fence between our neighbors’ and their neighbors’ yards. Ours was the end of a five-house-long strip of fenced backyard.

As I realized what stood in that pocket of darkness, the purpose of this backyard strip became clear. It was a makeshift paddock to contain two horses.

My sister and I watched them move and graze. The adrenaline-soaked anxiety that had laced the first part of my dream (a very distant memory now, like I’d dreamed it and was now awake) was eased by the presence of family and animals, but not entirely abolished. What was left was a diluted sense of unease which is, if you’ve read accounts of my other dreams, the default setting in which I operate.

“It’s so cruel to keep them here like this,” my sister said and sighed.

I agreed.  I wasn’t entirely sure which of our neighbors owned these animals, but nobody ought to be keeping two large beasts of burden in a tiny suburban neighborhood.

“Let’s get them outta here,” my sister said, the weight of conviction in her voice. We stood and gently approached the horses. They were both bay (which in Layman’s terms means their coats were deep brown except for their legs and the tips of their ears, which were black like their manes and tails). One was far larger than the other. The larger one had traces of Shire in its conformation (body shape). The smaller one, with feathered feet like its companion, was cutely ponyish, but not too small to ride. My sister ran her hands over the Shire’s glossy coat and cooed to it with something like reverence. It stood sedately, letting itself be talked to and caressed. The ponyish bay seemed to size me up and deem me worthy. Of what I wasn’t sure, but it allowed me to climb on its back once I’d helped my sister clamber onto the Shire. I leaned over and unlatched the gate and we rode the horses west down our street, away from the main part of town.

I noticed a tiny constant clicking slightly below the clip clop of hoofbeats on asphalt. I turned and saw three mongrel dogs, all the same shade of mutt-brown, all low, quiet and frightened. The clicking was the sound of their claws as they trotted. I smiled warmly down at them, mentally inviting them to stay; we’d find food for them soon.

My sister yelped.

“What?!”

She pointed; I looked. Several men were running toward us, guns leveled.

“Run!” I called to my sister and wheeled my pony around, but my sister had trouble turning the Shire without a bridle, since she was smaller than me and it was bigger than my pony.

A single roaring shot ripped the night-quiet apart. The Shire shied, stepped back, wavered, snorted, and fell. Like a stone monument. Agonizingly slowly. I prayed that since my sister had no stirrups to tangle her feet, she could jump clear of the falling ton-and-a-quarter of horse without being crushed, but instead of jumping, she froze with fear and watched herself fall with her horse.

I vaulted off my pony and began to yell for my sister. I reached the part of her that wasn’t trapped beneath the massive horse just as my wake-up alarm began to chime. Her eyes were closed and a pool of blood began to seep out from behind her head. Then I woke up.

squalid group living

I guess this dream was prompted by our recent housekeeping woes (as in, lack of) and our attempts to find a leather couch that the dogs won't dirty up so much. We (my husband and I) were sharing a house with some other people, a couple of different parties consisting of two or three people. All of them were Asian (I think one party was Indian and the other, with more members, was Korean). All were either students or had "knowledge economy" type jobs*.

Anyway, my husband and I had the living room as our area, and we had never properly moved in so everything was a huge mess (you know what happens when you've run out of steam in the end stages of a move and haven't found a proper place for everything). To make things worse, we had our two dogs with us--I think they were in an indoor-outdoor living situation, and the doberman had been inside.

[At some point in the middle of this dream, the dwelling curiously transitioned into a huge construction-parts warehouse; even while dreaming I was aware that this was my subconscious's way of voicing its displeasure/overwhelm at our real-life messy house.]

Back in the actual house (not warehouse), I was trying to tidy up while my husband, who had a cold, was lying on the couch watching TV. I wasn't really upset by his lack of help because he was sick**, but I was completely overwhelmed and questioning the utility of my endeavor. I had just discovered that the dog had thrown up in several places after chewing on a rawhide (so it was that whitish, milky post-rawhide throw-up that will be familiar to dog owners).

I was trying to find something to clean up the mess (and not finding a rag, of course). In the adjacent kitchen, a couple of the Koreans were eating their breakfast, like perfect little robots: get out the food, dish it into one dish, eat it all quickly in a focused manner, quickly rinse single dish and single glass. This only increased my feelings of inferiority, since I have never been able to eat so neatly and with such little production of dirty dishes.

Breakfast tidily put away, one of the Koreans grabbed his backpack (without fumbling, of course) and started to very quickly navigate the piles of junk on his way out the front door. I panicked and tried to warn him about the dog-vomit piles, but couldn't get it out fast enough. He landed in the biggest one with his clean be-socked foot***. He was too polite to register more than the briefest expression of surprise and discomfit before he whooshed out the door, sweeping up his shoes in one smooth motion.

I never did find a rag to clean up the vomit, I just sunk into self-recrimination and amazement that the tidy Asians hadn't already kicked us out, then woke up.


*Yeah, my subconscious hews closely to racial stereotypes.
**This does at least show a departure from the trope where I start yelling at assorted family members because I'm doing all the housework.
***Because, being clean, he didn't wear shoes in the house.

a dream about a dream about a dream

I've been having a terrible time remembering my dreams lately. I keep waking up, noting something, thinking "there's no way I'll forget this", and then forgetting it. Last night's dream, though, I could have done with forgetting.

To start with, I had a terrible time going to sleep, which is unusual for me. My fingers kept falling asleep while I was still awake, which prompted me to fidget, which woke up my grumpy sleep companion, who was also apparently not sleeping as deeply as usual.

That was the real-life part. I realized that I was fidgeting a lot and disturbing the sleep of the bed's other occupant, and this started blending into my dream: I started to dream that we were sleeping, in our usual bed, and that I was moving around a lot. He (in the dream, and possibly also in real life) kept waking up and making progressively more irritated growling noises. Of course the more I tried to stay still, the harder I found it. This dream went on and on, punctuated by short periods of waking that mirrored what was going on in the dream. At one point, I woke up and realized that I had been dreaming that I was dreaming about a bad night's sleep. To add insult to injury, our dogs kept barking (in real life), which is something they don't normally do at night.

I finally woke up not long before it was time to get up, realized I was cold, and added some covers to my side of the bed. After that I must have slept better, because I then dreamed that, twenty minutes before we were due to get up, my husband woke up, looked at me, and said, "well, then, let's just order some breakfast from IHOP" (which is an odd choice, because neither of us likes IHOP). We started discussing menu options, and I was relieved that he had decided not to blame his sleepless night on me.

The real-life post-script is that, on actually getting up, I realized that the whole horrible night of sleeplessness wasn't really my fault. For the next hour, both dogs continued to have barking fits indicating that there was some kind of animal nearby (the neighbor dogs were doing it when ours weren't), and I realized that they had been doing it for most of the night. Of course that didn't give me back my lost sleep.

harrowing pet and school dreams

I haven't had one of these dreams in a while (I used to have them fairly often), but last night I dreamed that I had some pet birds. The dream followed the usual scenario: I had gotten them and then sort of forgotten I had them*; of course that meant I had forgotten to check their food and water; out of an original number of 5-6, a couple were dead in the bottom of the cage. Another variation I've had on this dream is that the birds are not dying, but escaping from cages with too much space between the bars. I've also had rather harrowing dreams featuring other pets that I've forgotten to feed/water, usually dogs (I don't recall one where the dog actually died, but there have been some close calls).


*Interestingly, I have a vague memory of also recently having a dream in which I had forgotten about being enrolled in a math class for an entire semester. Except at the end of the dream I realized that I had actually dropped the class and there was no reason to be so frantic.

so random

Last night's series of dreams wasn't very interesting as far as the storylines go, but there were some funny details.

******************************************

I was somewhere with my parents, sister, and grandmother. We had been on some kind of outing and were getting ready to leave. We were in a weird, railroad-tunnel type structure (wood, with an elevated table-/rail-like structure running down the middle, with a small space to either side of it). We had almost gotten to the exit of it when a large javelina appeared in front of me. Either she (it was a she) knocked me over or I had already been sitting down on the middle structure--either way, she was looming over me. I was quite alarmed, having heard that javelinas could do a lot of damage. My dad indicated to me that it was my family responsibility to restrain the javelina while they got away, and then I would be able to extract myself (he wasn't throwing me under the bus, exactly; it seemed like the most sensible approach since I was last in line). So a tussle with the javelina ensued, with her eventually down in the little space beside the rails and me trying to immobilize her with my feet. The funny part was that she was speaking the whole time, although I can't remember what she was saying. I was struck by her rich vocabulary, though, and her excellent command of language (really, it was impressive, especially for a javelina).

**********************************************

I was on a _______ (that's right, Alert Reader--group trip!). I was riding in a car and we were caravanning with another car. I don't really remember who else was there; probably a combination of past acquaintances and dream people. We drove up a very steep, winding road in some wooded hills/mountains and stopped at the apartment of a group member for a bathroom break. I went into the bathroom and started out with some freshening-up. I guess I was taking a while, because another group member came in (a girl I knew in the rather distant past) and started messing with the toilet. It was then that I noticed it wasn't an ordinary toilet. To begin with, because of the remote, hilly location it was some kind of special self-contained system, some sort of chemical toilet (she told me it was quite expensive). Also, it was "wheelchair-friendly", which meant that it had a rather complicated fold-out system that produced a ramp up to the toilet itself. She had helpfully decided to start converting the toilet back into the non-wheelchair version to speed things up for me. It was a rather cumbersome process, and--grossness alert--the fold-out portion had been covered with toilet paper lain flat that was soaked with urine [at least no excrement, but still, yuck!].

***************************************************

I was on my way home from work and debating whether or not to go to a party I'd been invited to. I was very tired and had pretty much decided not to go. I stopped at a little health-food-y juice place/cafe on the way home (not a real-life place), and ordered some kind of snack. They had already started to ring me up when I decided to get a coffee too and try to go to the party after all (which I ended up clutching, un-drunk, for a good part of the dream before finally drinking it and rather shamefacedly just leaving the empty cup somewhere).The party was at a house in the country, given by a girl* I had gone to elementary and high school with. I went into a bedroom and found about 4 girls dressed up in bizarre, makeshift costumes (including something vaguely Mongolian, over jeans and tennis shoes). That made me think it was a costume party, but then I found that it was only the host's sister and a few of her friends, and the real party was outside.

On going outside I found a rather overwhelming scene. There were several folding tables with handwritten game rules on large pieces of paper (lots of cross-outs and corrections), and a huge crowd of people participating in some arcane game that I couldn't begin to grasp. It involved forming a large circle (like duck-duck-goose) and moving around it. Some people landed on spots with big, elaborate, ugly porcelain figurines of fantastical animals that were the prizes--they seemed very excited about them and lifted them up in the air. I gave up on figuring out the game and just people-watched. The most interesting thing there was a greyhound in a pastel crocheted jacket--she was very sweet.

*************************************

The last tidbit featured Picasso as a washed-up artist looking to re-launch his career. Apparently he hadn't actually died, just stopped producing. He was showing a few recent "works" which seemed to fall far short of his previous output (including some typed pages--?). I wasn't quite sure what to tell him, but he seemed very excited about re-branding himself in a new, more corporate environment.

**************************************


*An interesting detail here was that the girl and her sister were (surely still are) very pretty in real life, and my parents were excessively fond (to my mind) of pointing out how pretty they were. In this dream, they both had rather bad skin. This makes me a bit ashamed of my subconscious for being schadenfreude-y, especially since I liked them in real life and we were friends, despite my parents' harping on their looks.

extremely gross (Warning: Excrement Ahead)

Due to some snooze-button-pushing this morning I had a lot of weird dreams, although I can hardly remember most of them now. The part I do remember is exceedingly gross. You've been warned.

I probably don't need to specify it by now, but the context was a group trip. I had arrived at some intermediate destination and was just hanging around and waiting until it was time to move on. The setting was a sort of complex of makeshift buildings that had sprung up around a train station in a rural setting (the next leg of the trip was going to be by train).

I had one of my dogs with me (the well-behaved, sweet pit bull, not the giant unruly doberman). She had just been wandering around the place while I was waiting, and I hadn't been supervising her all that closely. Apparently she had "done her business" and a guy working there was looking at the results. He called me over while he was stirring around in it (with some kind of utensil), and pointed out to me that there was a smallish white worm sticking out the end of one of the *ahem* pieces. He was concerned about possible health issues that this might indicate, and somewhat chiding in his manner that I should have let me dog be infected with parasites. He abandoned his utensil and started to dig through the mess much more energetically, picking the whole thing apart with his fingers and separating out the (numerous) little worms. To make things even more grotesque, his very vigorous separating action was spraying out bits of both excrement and worms in a 10-foot radius.

I was horrified, both at the presence of the worms and the fact that I and all my possessions were now covered with a light speckling of dog excrement. I was much more calm about it than I would have been in real life, though, exhibiting a positively zen detachment. I guess that was in part because concern for my dog's health (she seemed perfectly fine, by the way) override regard for my personal hygiene, and in part because I knew that I didn't have time to clean up before the train was supposed to leave.

Having accomplished the highly unrealistic feat of rising above and ignoring my dog-doo-spattered state, once the train had started moving I went into the bathroom and set about trying to clean myself up a little. A curious detail is that normally in dreams where I'm doing personal hygiene/appearance work I'm stressed out about it because I'm starting from a point of needing to do a lot of remedial work on various skin problems (flakes, blemishes, you name it; my dream skin is almost invariably pretty bad). In this dream, though, I didn't have any problems other than excrement. Even in the dream I realized that this was an unusual and positive twist on the usual pattern.

in which my subconscious's superego punishes my subconscious's id

The other night I dreamed that my husband had branched out at work into managing not just landscaping stuff but computer/software/marketing things. It wasn't clear how he had gotten this particular project, but it seemed like he had maybe taken it over from another manager who wasn't getting things done. He was excited about having such a big project; it was something for a huge, important company, and although I didn't really get what it was, it was something fundamental like managing orders or something. That's the boring part, though. The funny part was that he introduced me to the guy who was going to be his assistant in charge of all the computer aspects: it was Sam Worthington, in a wheelchair, no less. He was grinning affably and seemed about as happy about the job as my husband was.

Perhaps I was feeling guilty about my glee that the spouse had an attractive sidekick, but the next part of the dream was extremely unpleasant. We lived in an old fixer-upper house in the country (although not our real-life house). I was rooting around in a cluttered room trying to find something when I saw a flash of color. It turned out to be a black-white-yellow-and-red reptile. At first I thought it was a coral snake and went through the little ditty in my head ["red and black, friend of Jack; red and yellow, kill a fellow"] and was alarmed to see that the red stripe was right next to the yellow stripe. Then I noticed that it had legs and thus couldn't be a snake. I was still thoroughly freaked out, though, assuming that it was some kind of equally poisonous "coral lizard". I jumped up on a chair like the stereotypical woman-confronted-with-a-mouse and tried to figure out what to do. There were three big dictionaries within reach, so I figured I could try crushing it with those. I hurled the first one at it, but it landed an inch or so away from the offending beast, prompting it to scuttle away.

Knowing that the "coral lizard" was hidden somewhere in all the junk was even more alarming, and I had no idea what to do. I knew I had to find it and kill it so one of our dogs didn't stumble on it and die (not to mention the humans). Then I looked around (still standing on the chair) and noticed that there were all kinds of big, dangerous-looking scorpions* and other insects on the walls. The whole thing was rather creepy, especially with the added layer of guilt at lusting** after my husband's coworker.

*The scorpions on the walls of my house do have some basis in reality.
**Yet another illustration of how embarrassingly G-rated my dreams tend to be: said "lusting" was really just the idea that he was cute and it would be kind of fun to make small talk with him.

movie #1 in an upcoming apocalyptic franchise

I had one of the most elaborate "movie" dreams I can remember last night. Interestingly, although it didn't last that long, the plot followed the conventional story path to an extent that none of my other remembered movie dreams have.

The beginning was fairly separated from the dreams before it (which I can only barely remember, except that a couple of old friends who recently visited me in real life were there for a visit), but I want to say that part of the previous dream involved planning to go see a movie--I could be wrong about that, though.

At any rate, there was a definite beginning to the "movie" part. It was clearly a movie, although at the same time it was participatory--I was right there in the action, participating. I was seated on some concrete steps going up to a building, in a residential neighborhood with wide streets. There were several early-20s girls there with me on the steps, and nothing much was going on. There was a girl from my elementary school there, and she was petting my doberman, who was collapsed on her lap in immobile ecstasy from all the attention [I have a hard time imagining this person appreciating a very large dog in real life].

Suddenly, one by one, all of us were overtaken by a feeling of intense dread, and just after that a sensation of loss of bodily control, like everything was slowing down and we couldn't move our limbs--but at the same time, our bodies seemed to be contorting themselves of their own accord. It was very scary. At the moment when everyone had realized that something terrible and mysterious was happening, a mist crept toward the building from the other side of the street*.

This situation lasted an indefinable amount of time, and slowly everyone went back to normal, although we were still very freaked out. Then I heard sirens from several approaching police cars (from the direction the mist had come from, coincidentally). I was crossing the street when they approached, and was nervous about getting run over, when I noticed a circa-1960s blue Bronco approaching very fast. The young woman driving it seemed to be having some kind of violent spasm, and she then drove right into a tree, very fast, completely crushing the car. Just then I realized that similar things were happening to people in other cars all over the city (and possibly to pedestrians too): people were suddenly going completely crazy and becoming out-of-control in a savage, destructive way.

The next thing I can remember is being in a room resembling a cross between an old classroom, an "alternative" coffee house, and a warehouse. There were scaffolding-like things hanging from the ceiling, which I think may have been set lighting (this is important later). The room was full of the carefully diverse combination of people one sees in apocalyptic movies [the "people who would never normally associate are thrown together in a disaster" trope as plot device]. My husband was there, and it was obvious that we were both there as observer/participants and not really as "characters". I was a little annoyed with him for some reason, and sitting a few seats away--I thought he was being hyperactive and disruptive.

An older Asian man started to address the group, and it became clear that in this scenario, the U.S. and possibly the whole world had been taken over by China, making up a sort of mega-dictatorship. The man had a professorly air, and was talking about his life's work of designing and implementing a self-sustaining underwater city. He had a really beautiful 3-d model in carved wood showing the structure: like a globe composed of an organic framework, with a lot of little hanging lily-pad-like elements for the various components needed to make up the city. I'm not really sure if the model was physically there or if it was one of those hologram things sci-fi directors are so fond of using in movies.

Anyway, as the man explained his concept I slowly became aware that this was actually the dictator (he was also an engineer, as evidenced by the "P.E." after his name**). I got the impression that he hadn't really harbored ambitions of becoming Dictator of the World, but was one of those extremely cerebral people who was completely absorbed in his mission (the underwater city) and that he had been channeled into dictatorship by other parties who thought he would be the best choice.

The only other thing of note that happened while we were all in the room was that a young Japanese artist hung himself from the ceiling scaffolding. I'm not sure exactly why he did it, but it was an act of protest of some sort.

After that, the end of the movie showed a young couple arriving at their upstairs apartment (sort of an above-garage apartment in an old house in a neighborhood with a slightly gone-to-seed San Francisco vibe). It was understood that they had reached safety, at least for the moment--the perfect ending for the first installment of an apocalyptic franchise! It's hard to explain, but of course the couple was a parallel version of my husband and me.

At the very end of the dream, I saw the title art for the movie. There was a dark red background and a couple of shadowy faces. The name of the movie was incomprehensible. I couldn't figure out if it was some kind of symbol (Greek, maybe?), or if it was a very short, invented two-letter word or name. At any rate, it was in a stylized, slightly fuzzed-at-the-edges gothic calligraphy.



*I'm pretty sure this has to do with my noting this dvd cover at Blockbuster the other day.
**Yes, I work in an engineering office.

***************************
And stay tuned for a dream from a few nights ago featuring a camero appearance by Lars von Trier.

jumping on the snippet bandwagon

Here are some of my recent snippets (no full-scale plotlines for me lately):

• I was staying in my aunt and uncle's house with my parents (aunt and uncle weren't there). My dog (the giant, hyperactive one) was there too, and my mother had stayed up all night with him in the living room watching tv. To the average layperson, this wouldn't sound so funny, but the idea of my mother staying up all night watching random tv movies with my large dog is so unlikely as to be hilarious. I had woken up early and wanted to go out to do some sightseeing (apparently my aunt and uncle's house was in Italy!). My mother wasn't ready to leave the house after her all-nighter, and I was a little impatient. While waiting to see if she was going to accompany me I noticed that the bathroom shower stall was all dirty and scuzzy, and was self-righteously scandalized that they hadn't cleaned it for incoming guests*. I tried to use some Scrubbing Bubbles product on it, but was frustrated because it didn't foam properly. Then I gave up waiting for her and went out, where I bought some overpriced and weird-looking (orange?!) Spanish tortilla and some similarly overpriced coffee from a streetside stall manned by an old man.

• Then another night I had a dream in which I missed a train due to poor time management and ended up having to spend the night at a nearby anarchist commune. In the dream, I knew a lot of the people there from past periods of my life, although I'm not sure, apart from one or two, whether these were dream people or actual real-life acquaintances. I was just getting settled in and over my frustration at having missed my train when people started saying that I guy I do know in real life had come back from a long trip (the implication was that this had been some sort of meaningful quest). They were saying that he was going to rest up and decompress before coming out to mingle, and the implication was that he was some sort of returning hero.

• Then last night the only dream bit I remember was that I was supposed to do a science project (you know, like a science-fair/ science-class project). As expected, I didn't have much time left in which to do it, but I wasn't too worried because my plan was to have "Curly Sue" and her sister help me--wait for it--capture a small crocodile. That was going to be my science project, a captive miniature crocodile. I don't really know where the location of the dream was, but it was somewhat exotic and the ground was covered with a swampy groundcover. When you looked closely you could see that at close intervals in the groundcover there were tiny crocodiles in a dormant state. I knew that once I started trying to capture one it would become active, though, which was why I needed help. I figured it wouldn't be too hard with one person to grab and hold the body and the other person to grab the snout (?) and hold it shut; a third person for backup could be nice too. Unfortunately when Curly Sue and sister showed up (with their mother and possibly some other extended family members) they were considerably less enthusiastic about the enterprise than I had expected. Due to their lack of enthusiasm, I decided that I should go with my science project backup plan, an origami model of a double helix (here again, I was somewhat hazy about the actual details involved in its fabrication).

*Ironic considering the squalor in which I usually live.

Dogs and Blood

I had another nasty dream last night. Lately I haven't been remembering my dreams, but this one was vivid.

I dreamed that my boyfriend and I were sitting on the ground, watching two dogs playing. As we watched, it became clear that it wasn't really playing anymore, but was turning into a fight. One dog looked much smaller or weaker than the other, and seemed to be losing the fight, but suddenly he just launched himself forward and grabbed the other dog's paw in his jaws.

He set his legs, and shook his head a bit, but didn't let go. Suddenly he growled loudly, and I knew that he was going to rip the paw off. BNB and I were really freaking out and we both turned away just before he made one massive effort and tore the paw off.

Somehow I knew what had happened without seeing it in the dream. The smaller dog was standing there in a pool of blood, holding the paw in his mouth and panting. The other dog was shivering on the ground, lying in his own blood.

I was shaking in the dream and a bit shaken when I woke up.

Totalitarian States and gender-stereotyped bathrooms

I had a rather alarming dream last week. I was carrying around a couple of grocery bags of stuff, at least some of which needed to be gotten rid of. I'm not sure whether I was planning on just dropping it off somewhere or whether I was going to give it to someone. I needed to stop in at the post office, which is where things got complicated.

In this dream, post offices were highly guarded, secure locations--I think they had started offering additional services, along the line of the passport services they already offer but necessitating tighter security (also, this dream was rather Totalitarian State, as you'll see later on). I was at a back service entrance, trying to figure out what to do with my bags of rejects. I couldn't bring them inside with me because of security issues, but I didn't even see a trash bin to dump them in. There was a pile of discarded stuff (a mix of outdated office equipment and just plain trash), but no official trash bin, so I guessed that it would be okay to leave them there while I went inside (and maybe forever, I thought, although I felt guilty about dumping them there sans trash bin).

There was a security guard involved in getting into the service entrance, too, and at first he seemed willing to let me in. Then things got bad really quickly. I don't know if he had actually seen me leave my bags with the pile of trash or if he just suspected, but he got very stern and started wielding the Long Arm of the Law and became very officious in his close inspection of my ID. The really alarming thing was that I realized that it wasn't my ID--it had been switched, planted, I suspected, by him or by an associate.

I don't remember the details, but there was some sort of knocking-about of a relatively mild nature but still very scary. I tried to protest that a false ID had been planted on me, but of course that only excited more suspicion and anger. Finally another security guard who had come from another area and who apparently had more authority intervened and let me go. The whole thing was very alarming, and I left as quickly as I could, still anxious about the items I had left by the door.

Then I was with my husband, somewhere in Europe. The location was ostensibly Geneva [I was talking about how pretty it was and how I missed it], although it didn't really look like the actual city, but more like how I imagine Stockholm or Copenhagen. There were a lot of 18th- and 19th-century buildings, some of them pink or yellow, and open stone plazas, mostly empty of people. It was really beautiful, and the fall atmosphere and cloudy day added to the appeal.

As we were standing in a plaza deciding what to do next, I realized that I should take advantage of the lull in activity to find a bathroom. We were next to some sort of museum, and I thought that would be a good option. I started looking around, but only found the men's restroom, and I decided to use it for the sake of speed (I was worried about my husband getting annoyed because I was taking too long, because he had already protested my preemptive and possibly unnecessary trip). It was extremely dirty, though, and there were two or three menacing looking young hoods in hoodies (!), which made me a little nervous. I decided to take my dog inside as a deterrent, hoping that she wouldn't betray her non-mean nature by being friendly to them [this is my real-life dog, who, being a pit bull with cropped ears, looks very mean at first]. Then I tried to find a suitable toilet, but they were all either clogged with paper or the seats were all dirty and wet. I wasted quite a bit of time trying to decide the best candidate for cleaning up a little, but finally gave up in despair, they were all so awful. I decided that it might be more time-efficient to just look a little harder for the women's restroom.

I found the women's restroom just around the corner, and it was completely different. It was the cleanest bathroom I'd ever seen, everything spotless and deodorized. It was all decorated with purple walls and gold trim, everything matching everything else, and the walls were covered with black-and-white pictures of Hollywood starlets from the 30s and 40s. I thought that was a weird touch. Apparently it was maintained by some kind of women's association, because there were signs (with a corny jingle that I regrettably can't remember) reminding members to clean up, and visitors of the members' hard work on their behalf.

I had happily done my business and come out of the stall when I saw that a small Italian woman had come in (how I knew she was Italian, I don't know). I was nervous that she would be alarmed by my dog and make a big scene about me having her with me, but instead she said, "Oh! A pit bull! I love pit bulls!" and started going on about the merits of pit bulls.

miscellaneous husband dreams

I dreamed I was on some kind of group outing, and the female part of the group was supposed to all be getting haircuts. I was waiting around for mine when my phone rang. It was my husband, and he sounded extremely stressed and not like himself. After some digging to find out what was wrong, he said that he had gotten into an altercation with someone at work and ended up punching the guy. I was somewhat relieved, because he sounded so upset I was afraid it would be something much worse.

He was freaking out about losing his job and maybe even going to jail over this [apparently somewhat-merited] punch, but I was pretty calm about it. I tried to remind him that he had a very good record at work, that there had been witnesses to the situation, and that probably they would just discipline him somehow instead of firing him. I figured that we were going to have to hire a lawyer, though, and that we were probably in for a couple of years of expense and complications before the whole thing got ironed out.

Also on the subject of husband-related dreams, I dreamed the other night that he offered our larger, unrulier dog to my sister (who is not in the market for such a high-maintenance beast). She was interested, but then he started to have second thoughts and specified that he only wanted her to take the dog for a couple of years--until he [the dog] calmed down and got older and easier to deal with, basically. I told him that he couldn't just try to pawn his dog off on someone for his unruly years and want him back when he was better-behaved.

canophagy?!

I can't take credit for this dream, but I found it dramatic and horrible enough to want to document. My husband dreamed that my parents were visiting and we were going to eat one of our dogs (the sweet, well-behaved one)! He had to kill her so she could be eaten, which he did by shooting the back of her head. I asked him if we actually ended up eating her, and he said he didn't know, because after that he had to go off and cry [he said he also wondered afterward, still in the dream, why we hadn't decided to eat the misbehaving dog instead]. What a terrible dream, especially for someone who hardly ever remembers his dreams!

murder and houses and babies and dogs and rainn wilson

not sure where one dream ended and the others began...

i had gotten some sort of a flier and saw a commercial simultaneously about ridiculously fancy homes with all kinds of amenities - hot tubs and lookout towers (?) - and the commercial and flier touted that these homes could be rented for super cheap. i showed the flier to my now roommates and told them that i didn't know if it was a hoax but maybe we should check it out. we went to one of the homes at night and met with the realtor lady. oh, and a big selling point was that you could have has many dogs as you'd like while living there. somewhere during the meeting/tour, it was determined that the owners of these super nice houses had all been murdered and that's why rent was so cheap. and that's when i had a flash back to a sentence on the flier that said "why let a little murder stand in the way of living your dreams"? oh, i thought, that's what that meant. i also learned during the meeting/tour that most people who have participated in this special "offer" came home to find that their dogs were killed. we decided to pass.

at some point one of my roommates was pregnant. she was very calm and collected about the whole thing, which surprised me because of the not being married and having a strict chinese mother thing. she asked if i would be ok with having a baby as a roommate as well because she didn't want to move. i was fine with it.

i was at my old place of employment (hospital) and was wandering around for some reason. i had a shopping cart. a 20 something girl came up and stood next to my shopping cart and smiled at me as she combined tomato juice and vodka in a secret container for her to drink while at the hospital. she then put the rest of the tomato juice in my cart, leaving it to drip where ever i went. i was very angry about this - like super angry and offended that she would do such a thing to me! i found the complaint desk and made a formal complaint and felt very vindicated in doing so. i think i also called her a bitch as she got into her car to drive off.

i was walking in a downtown area looking for a place to eat. i realized that i was with an ex and was confused about why we would be hanging out and having dining together. i decided we must be friends now. we had dinner at a chinese restaurant and the whole experience was rather lovely. when we left the restaurant it was raining. i did not have an umbrella, he did. he left me to walk back to the car in the rain as he ran off ahead with his umbrella. i mumbled something along the lines of wow, he is still such an ass.

i was outside of the hospital i was at a couple of sequences ago. it was night time. a man ran up to me asking me about a little boy named "walter". the man was frantic. i realized the little boy was rainn wilson's (dwight on the office) son and that the man was the boy's uncle and rainn wilson's brother. it turned out the boy had died while in his uncle's care. i felt so sorry for both rainn for losing his son and for his brother for having to carry the guilt.

DocErn and Neil Gaiman

I dreamed that I was going to attend a book signing at a bookstore owned/managed by DocErn of Sights and Ramblings. I was quite excited because I was going to meet both Neil Gaiman (whose book I would get signed) but also DocErn, who I hadn't met before (and still haven't). I got to the bookstore, bought the book, and decided I'd ask DocErn to autograph the book too. She was very busy, of course, because it was a book-signing day and she was racing all over the store.

I waited at the counter for her, as my dream gave me some kind of passing-of-time montage, sort of like in movies when the leaves fall off the trees and then grow again in spring. This montage was to show me that a lot of time passed while I was waiting at the counter. Strangely, though, I wasn't afraid that Neil Gaiman would leave.

Ern finally signed my book, which had somehow turned into a T-shirt. I then walked over to Neil Gaiman's table. He sat there alone, with no one in line, and I assumed he was tired and almost ready to leave. But as soon as I got close to the table, a lot of people materialized around me and in front of me, so I was waiting in line again.

He signed my T-shirt/book finally and he looked just as sepulchral in real life as in his pictures. He was very nice to me as he signed away.

Later the dream changed and I was at a family event at which there were presents (Christmas?). We were packing up our gifts to go home and I kept looking for different things, but was hindered by a huge fluffy dog that kept wanting to lick me. Finally I was all packed up, but everyone was still talking. I killed time by doing a yoga pose that I've NEVER been capable of doing. As I was in the dream-pose, I kept wondering if I was doing it right, since it was so unusual that I could do it.

And the dog kept licking me.

doggy diarrhea and edward gorey

** Warning: this dream contains graphic excrement and may not be appropriate for all readers. **

This was a variation on a theme I've dreamed before. I was living with my parents, sister, and grandmother (I don't remember any spouses for my sister and me, but it's possible they were there too). Somehow I had gotten myself into a position where I was doing 99% of the housework without realizing it--cooking, meal cleanup, laundry, cleaning, everything. All of the family members were sitting around the living room reading* and I was wandering around trying figure out what to do next and wishing I had time to do some project for myself, or my own reading. The dog was laying on the couch, and I realized that something wasn't quite right with her backside. On closer inspection, I saw that she was smeared with the remains of diarrhea. At first I thought none of it had gotten on the couch, and I was panicking about how to try to get her off the couch without dirtying it. I started freaking out and yelling incoherently about dog doo and having to move her, and that they needed to help me, but everyone just glanced up vaguely and went right back to their reading. Then I saw that there was a big plop of excrement that had landed in between the two couch sections, and that really set me off. I started yelling and hyperventilating, which got the dog all riled up so that she spread little bits of yellowish pea-soup-resembling doo all over everything.

Of course that got me even more agitated, and I yelled and yelled and yelled about how I was doing ALL the work for everyone, even washing their dirty laundry, and did they really think that was fair, and how had this happened, and why wouldn't anyone help me with anything, and how could they live with themselves, and why didn't they notice that dog excrement, and why did they think it was okay that *I* was going to have to be the one to clean up all the little bits smeared all around.

They just looked at me with mild surprise and concern, made a few lame excuses for not helping, and a couple of them just left the room to get away from my yelling, implying that the problem was that I was unhinged.

Then my alarm went off, and in my hazy, feeble attempts to stop hyperventilating and wake up, my brain abruptly started making up Edward Gorey-esque doggerel: "J is for Jacob, who exhibited pluck; I is for Ivan, who ran out of luck."



*My family's default setting in real life.

Bad Owner

I came home to an apartment I shared with a roommate (my ex). I was rushing to get ready to go back out again. My roommate needed the place to himself. I was trying to get ready, then suddenly remembered I had a dog. My dog was a black Labrador retriever. She came out looking a little emaciated and dehydrated. I had forgotten to leave out food and water for her all day and did not walk her before I left that morning. I was apologizing to the dog, thinking she would be mad and not come to me, but she was still very sweet and just happy for me to be home. I filled her food bowl with extra kibble from the bag and filled up two bowls of water. I still did not have enough time to go for a long walk, so I asked my roommate if he could let her out for five minutes, so she wouldn't go in the apartment. I felt guilty for rushing out again.