the zombie horde

I had a series of weird dreams this morning in between repeated snooze-button punchings. In the first, I had been obliged to attend a high school reunion and was not happy about being there. In hopes of avoiding being seen and having to fill people in on my current news, I escaped to the library (not my actual high-school library but a dream library). The rows of shelves were very low, about shoulder height, which dismayed me since I couldn't conceal myself without hunching over.

I was still vainly hoping that I was somewhat hidden when I noticed that a group of older people had come in. I'm not sure what they were doing there, but they had some connection with the reunion or with some other event that was going on. I sensed that they were trying to get away from the action and into a quiet spot. However, lined up evenly spaced between the rows of shelves, they just looked alarming. They all had salt-and-pepper hair in exactly the same shade, were all about the same height and weight (short-to-medium height and skinny), and they all moved very slowly and had vacant looks.

I shouted, to no one in particular, "look, it's the zombie horde!" In real life, of course, this would be extremely rude and not funny at all, but in the dream it was absolutely hilarious and I couldn't stop laughing and congratulating myself on my wit. I was also relieved to have had a bit of comedy to take my mind off my undesirable situation.

I don't remember much of the other dream, except that the protagonist was a rather nondescript man in his mid to late 30s. He had somehow gotten himself employed as a telemarketer, calling up a narrowly defined target demographic (doctors or engineers, something like that) to try to interest them in some very specialized consulting service. Of course none of them were interested, which made him hate the job even more. He was sitting at his desk trying to assemble his lunch, which consisted of sliced turkey lunch meat, sliced cheese, and some kind of flat bread*, and having a meltdown. He was yelling at his boss about having to call these people who weren't interested, how that wasn't what he wanted to do, etc. etc. I really felt sorry for him, because I knew that he was highly educated and had gotten himself into this job by mistake and necessity.


*This was undoubtedly thanks to a recent viewing of the remake of The Prisoner, wherein the only food available was "wraps" (I recommend it, by the way--the program, not necessarily the wraps).

So Close to Hoochie Class

I was carrying two very large books back to the library. Each book was about 3-4 inches thick. I could barely wrap my arms around them. There were about 5 -6 other people walking in the same direction to the library. The people ahead of me would open the door and then each person behind would hold it open for the person behind. Since the books were in my arms, I had to use my feet and hips to keep the door open until the next person could hold it open for themselves. The books kept shifting in my arms. I held onto them until I got to the library. The library had two sets of glass doors - first set went outside and the second door went into the library. There was about 6-8 feet of waiting space in between. As I walked through the waiting space, the books slipped from my arms. I held one under my chin; the other one slipped down. I tried to hold on to it as it fell past my hips and the slipped to my knees. When it finally fell on the floor, I said to myself, "I was so close."

Scene switch: I am standing in the living room of my childhood home (post renovations). I was on the laptop signing into my online class. I got to the page and it listed two course in which I was enrolled. I checked the first class (began with R) to see if the instructor posted any materials to read the day before the class began. The website was designed with pictures of scantily clad Black women (as seen in any rap video). Written on top of the pictures were greetings and questions from the students enrolled in the class - like graffiti wall. I knew I didn't want to talk this class. Messages from the instructor scrolled across the top of the page. I read that the class was fully enrolled and many people had committed to attending (which was normal). I thought I needed to drop the class soon so someone on the wait list could get in.

Blood on the Street

I don't know if Strovska's recent dreams influenced mine, or if it was the five (!) squad cards my neighbor and I passed as we drove home from school yesterday, but either way my dreams also appear to be extremely suggestible.

I was on my lunch break from some training session, and I decided to go to the bookstore or library on my time off. As I approached an intersection that I now realize was probably a version of the one where my favorite coffee shop is located, the GPS device I was holding, and which was apparently giving me directions, narrated, in an increasingly wavering and eerily prophetic voice, that there was "blood on the street at [street name] and [street name]." It was rather disturbing, especially as it referenced a location close to me.

As I was waiting on the street corner, about to cross to my destination, an emergency vehicle with a bright white light flashing above its windshield came sailing through the intersection, I think with a siren going. As it passed, I saw there was a decal on its back window that looked like one of those "crossing" signs, except the animal in it was what at the time I think I identified as a marmoset. I now think it may have been a marmot.* Anyway, I figured it was the logo of the emergency rescue operation.

I entered the bookstore/library and started browsing the shelves. I noticed that most of the books had very worn spines. Then someone pointed out that someone (one of the professors/trainers from where I had just been) had set aside a book for me--there was a label with my name on it taped to the spine. Apparently it was a gift certificate, specifically so that I could get this book. It was on Vuillard, an artist I don't really know at all but in the dream seemed to like well enough. I took it up to the counter, and they rang it up for me. I had $1.60 left on the gift certificate.

Just before, I had remembered or been reminded (sirens?) of the violence ("blood on the street"), and had looked out the side window. In the alley, I could see a car and a person sort of bent over on the street, with his back sort of torn open and bloody. I told myself that I didn't really want that image in my head, so I looked away quickly.

As I looked out the huge picture windows at the front of the store, I could see that there had been a massive car accident. Five or six cars were strewn along the street, variously crumpled. There were big oily-looking patches of some fluid, from cars or bodies. Emergency personnel appeared to be draping sheets over bodies on the street. I could see that the building just down the block from the one I was in had been damaged, with its front window shattered.

Overall, one of the more disturbing dreams I've had in a while.

*The weird thing is that when I googled marmoset just now to find out what one is, a picture showed up that someone printed out and stuck on our office wall (the one with the two babies clinging to the fingers). I didn't know those were marmosets. I have seen marmots in person.

Yes! With three-inch heels!

Another recurring dream theme I have is a scenario in which I discover that I've grossly neglected a pet (or pets). This hasn't happened for a while, but I had one last night. I was staying in a dorm that alarmingly resembled my high school dorm (which I fortunately didn't have to live in at the time). I had just realized that I had a pile of overdue books and dvds for the library (a recurring real-life theme), and I was agitated about going to return them. I think I was making pointless and confused trips up the stairs to my room and down to my car.

On one of these trips, as I was walking past the movie-set Western Town setup (?what?), I heard clomping footsteps and looked over to see a guy who looked like a 17-year-old Hayden Christensen, walking by in cowboy boots. He was doing that thing where you watch someone to gauge their reaction to you while trying to not appear to be watching. I didn't think that much about it, but he followed my trajectory for a while, gradually starting to walk beside me.

Around the time I realized he was really trying to accompany me I remembered that I had had my childhood cat (still alive, apparently) with me in the dorm, but that I hadn't fed her or even seen her for quite a while. I went back to the dorm and tried to talk to the dean about it. She tried to be reassuring, saying that cats were self-sufficient and she might have just wandered off to find a new home (or, she added, maybe she had just died and that was why I hadn't seen her).

All this time Hayden, Jr. seemed like he really wanted to talk to me. I was a little annoyed because I was already stressed about the library and the cat, and I couldn't figure out why he was so interested in me. Was he really desperate for a friend, or did he have a Thing for Older Women, or what? (Despite the living-in-the-dorm thing, I was my actual age in this dream.) He finally engaged me in conversation and asked if I had noticed him as he walked past the Western Town. I said, "yes, you were wearing cowboy boots", to which he answered triumphantly, "Yes! With three-inch heels!" Bizarre.