I dreamed all night, but the most vivid images--and sadly the only part I can remember now--were this morning, just before I woke up.
I was climbing steep sand hills with some other people, trying to get somewhere. I was worried about two of the people with me, and how they'd make it up. One of them said it was no problem, because they had a sled and could just slide down. For some reason, this comforted me, even though it clearly wouldn't have helped them get up the hills.
At the top of the hill, though, everything changed. Suddenly, instead of golden sand, there was a lot of water. To my left was a glassy looking lake, and the colors were so bright and sharp that the overwhelming sense was Alpine. As I looked, I could see traces of bright white ice clinging to the surface in places. Then I noticed ice around long branches of what I assumed was some sort of seaweed, and my view was almost as if I were looking at the water from below its surface. Underwater vegetation usually massively creeps me out, but these, which increased into a veritable forest as I moved along, were bright red and bright yellow, and it looked like woods in their full autumnal splendor--stunningly beautiful.
Then I was in the road, but the road was water, as clear and crisp at the lake to my left, but moving with a quick current. I was fully clothed, but got in and discovered it was definitely refreshing, but not too cold. I was hesitant to put my head under, but tipped it back and was delighted with the sensation. The person I was with started swimming, and although I'm not at all a fast swimmer in real life, I discovered that with the current and my suddenly powerful strokes, I could keep up with him easily. It was elating!
He decided that we should get out and go to an indoor pool, where all of us could swim together. I was disappointed about this, but went in. There was a heated indoor pool, where quite a few people were swimming, and then, beyond a window, but perhaps contiguous with the indoor pool, was another, uncovered pool. As I watched, a few people were swimming, but then the water began to get choppy with motorboats. Two of them seemed to be having a competition, and one cut suddenly to the side of the indoor pool as I watched. But then the entire pool was moving! We were on a massive boat that contained the indoor pool, and started traveling down the river.
Sadly, I woke up before I could go swimming again.
Showing posts with label swimming. Show all posts
Showing posts with label swimming. Show all posts
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Friday, July 17, 2009
more [overflowing] baggage
I had a long, detailed, and unsettling dream this morning. I was on a group trip (sigh) with a lot of college-age kids (I was also that age), including some random former classmates from elementary school through college.
The trip was to India, and we were staying at a large, run-down resort. The hotel was very old, and pieced-together in the way of old buildings that have been added on to over and over. It was a weird mixture of good old (antiques), just run-down old, and new. There were a couple of pools outside that were especially impressive: a freshwater infinity pool and, just beside it overlooking the actual ocean, a rocky saltwater pool. The rocks were set up so that the seawater sloshed in and out over them, but swimmers wouldn't be washed out to sea. It was a really nice setup, so nice that the temptation to swim there overcame my desire to not expose my flabby belly.
There was some random exploration of the hotel, and a lot of time spent on my part preparing to swim. This involved showering, picking out the most flattering combination of a variety of unmatching two-pieces, and putting on various lotions and makeup. I was very stuck on the idea that I needed to look as good as possible for the swimming, but I also recognized that I was being obsessive, and I was frustrated that supper time was approaching and it was going to be too late to swim for more than a few minutes.
Other hotel curiosities were the stairways and elevators. The stairways were very narrow and low-ceilinged, so low-ceilinged that I was hesitant to try them. The hotel contained a lot of stories, though, so I decided to try the elevator. It seemed normal when I stepped in with another person, but morphed into a sort of minivan when we got down to ground level. She took charge and drove it, rather crazily, to another building on the resort grounds. I decided not to take the elevator again.
The whole atmosphere became a little oppressive once I started paying attention. The workers at the resort, if not openly hostile, obviously hated us all and hated the fact that we were there. Most of them were quiet about it, but not all. On an exploratory trip with some other people on a remote upstairs wing of the building, we came to a large open room decorated with lots of Indian things--rugs, hanging lamps, etc. We were interested because it seemed like The Real Thing and not something for tourist consumption, but when the man inside it saw us he got up from his folding chair and started yelling and gesticulating wildly at us to leave. A couple of younger men who could have been his sons arrived and went inside the room to start some kind of ecstatic religious dance, while the man kept on yelling at us.
After that, I think there was another mini-episode in which I was trying to sort through overflowing baggage to get ready to swim (I never did get to swim in the whole dream).
Then things switched to another story line. I was still at the resort, but it was night and the group had been given free time. I was in an upper story, very reminiscent of an airport, with little bars one after the other, not separated by walls. I was following around an older guy who was a mixture of several former professors and bosses, with a dash of David Carradine thrown in. I wasn't sure why I was following him, but I knew I was supposed to stick with him even though he wasn't interacting much with me. His demeanor was sort of your average Troubled Antihero, silent, brooding, with his mind obviously on something. He would stop at one of the bars and order two drinks (once it was a "lemon fizz" and a gin and tonic, I can't remember the others), one of which was obviously supposed to be for me. Since I was following him somewhat at a distance, though, I wasn't quite sure what to do. He never really gestured for me to come over, but his two-drink order made it clear that I was supposed to be with him. Each time, he would get the two drinks, look at them distractedly, brood for a while, push them back toward the bartender, and leave for the next bar without actually consuming anything. I got the impression that all this was leading up to some kind of action of vengeance on his part, although toward whom I wasn't sure.
This puzzling action went on for a while, and he eventually morphed into my husband. I don't remember what happened then, except that I was relieved to be back on more familiar ground.
The trip was to India, and we were staying at a large, run-down resort. The hotel was very old, and pieced-together in the way of old buildings that have been added on to over and over. It was a weird mixture of good old (antiques), just run-down old, and new. There were a couple of pools outside that were especially impressive: a freshwater infinity pool and, just beside it overlooking the actual ocean, a rocky saltwater pool. The rocks were set up so that the seawater sloshed in and out over them, but swimmers wouldn't be washed out to sea. It was a really nice setup, so nice that the temptation to swim there overcame my desire to not expose my flabby belly.
There was some random exploration of the hotel, and a lot of time spent on my part preparing to swim. This involved showering, picking out the most flattering combination of a variety of unmatching two-pieces, and putting on various lotions and makeup. I was very stuck on the idea that I needed to look as good as possible for the swimming, but I also recognized that I was being obsessive, and I was frustrated that supper time was approaching and it was going to be too late to swim for more than a few minutes.
Other hotel curiosities were the stairways and elevators. The stairways were very narrow and low-ceilinged, so low-ceilinged that I was hesitant to try them. The hotel contained a lot of stories, though, so I decided to try the elevator. It seemed normal when I stepped in with another person, but morphed into a sort of minivan when we got down to ground level. She took charge and drove it, rather crazily, to another building on the resort grounds. I decided not to take the elevator again.
The whole atmosphere became a little oppressive once I started paying attention. The workers at the resort, if not openly hostile, obviously hated us all and hated the fact that we were there. Most of them were quiet about it, but not all. On an exploratory trip with some other people on a remote upstairs wing of the building, we came to a large open room decorated with lots of Indian things--rugs, hanging lamps, etc. We were interested because it seemed like The Real Thing and not something for tourist consumption, but when the man inside it saw us he got up from his folding chair and started yelling and gesticulating wildly at us to leave. A couple of younger men who could have been his sons arrived and went inside the room to start some kind of ecstatic religious dance, while the man kept on yelling at us.
After that, I think there was another mini-episode in which I was trying to sort through overflowing baggage to get ready to swim (I never did get to swim in the whole dream).
Then things switched to another story line. I was still at the resort, but it was night and the group had been given free time. I was in an upper story, very reminiscent of an airport, with little bars one after the other, not separated by walls. I was following around an older guy who was a mixture of several former professors and bosses, with a dash of David Carradine thrown in. I wasn't sure why I was following him, but I knew I was supposed to stick with him even though he wasn't interacting much with me. His demeanor was sort of your average Troubled Antihero, silent, brooding, with his mind obviously on something. He would stop at one of the bars and order two drinks (once it was a "lemon fizz" and a gin and tonic, I can't remember the others), one of which was obviously supposed to be for me. Since I was following him somewhat at a distance, though, I wasn't quite sure what to do. He never really gestured for me to come over, but his two-drink order made it clear that I was supposed to be with him. Each time, he would get the two drinks, look at them distractedly, brood for a while, push them back toward the bartender, and leave for the next bar without actually consuming anything. I got the impression that all this was leading up to some kind of action of vengeance on his part, although toward whom I wasn't sure.
This puzzling action went on for a while, and he eventually morphed into my husband. I don't remember what happened then, except that I was relieved to be back on more familiar ground.
Friday, June 5, 2009
swimming contest
The setting for this dream was the default group/institution setting, kind of a cross between a short-term academic program and summer camp. I think everyone, including me, was a teenager, although it didn't register as being a change in age.
The only thing I remember very well is that the people in charge were organizing an athletic contest. Apparently this was a tradition for the group, and the centerpiece of the tradition was a long-distance, cold-weather swimming contest. The location was at the edge of a lake or maybe the ocean, in a Scandinavian-like climate. I think it might have been winter to boot--at least it wasn't summery, and the water was very cold.
The adults in charge of the contest were gathering people up to participate, and when they came to me they insinuated that it wasn't a big deal, something they had done for years, and not even all that difficult. I must have signed myself up, because when they came around on subsequent rounds they asked if I was getting ready for the competition. I tried to find out more about it and began to realize that I might not want to do it after all. Every time the sign-up lady came out with another informational tidbit about it it sounded more daunting. I had just assumed that we were supposed to wear swimsuits, but then she mentioned that we should wear at least two swimsuits, and probably socks. I looked down and realized that I was wearing a pea-green competition-style suit over a darker green retro halter suit with shirring. I kind of liked them both, especially the retro one, and wondered vaguely where I had gotten them*.
It had gotten near enough to the race time that people were lining up at the edge of the dock (in all kinds of weird clothing combinations), and I was getting a little apprehensive. The organizer lady came around again, and asked me if I was sure I wanted to compete. I asked what the distance was and she hemmed and hawed, but then said that it would be about an hour and a half of swimming in frigid water. I said, "Oh, in that case I'd better not. I could swim for an hour and a half, but I couldn't compete for an hour and a half." I think I was also wanting to put on some regular clothes by that time, and picturing young competitors dropping off mid-race and sinking slowly to a watery grave. The organizer was fine with my withdrawal, and I thought the staff were displaying a weird and irresponsible mix of cavalier disregard for safety on one hand and a stifling tendency to assume my incapacity on the other.
There was another part of the dream involving a very nifty old house in the middle of the desert that had been converted into a restaurant/museum and was supposedly haunted; and an episode involving rapidly rising floodwater about which I was very unconcerned--but I don't remember much about either.
*oddly, I didn't wonder why I was in good enough shape to be wandering around unselfconsciously in a swimsuit, or swimsuits, as the case may be.
The only thing I remember very well is that the people in charge were organizing an athletic contest. Apparently this was a tradition for the group, and the centerpiece of the tradition was a long-distance, cold-weather swimming contest. The location was at the edge of a lake or maybe the ocean, in a Scandinavian-like climate. I think it might have been winter to boot--at least it wasn't summery, and the water was very cold.
The adults in charge of the contest were gathering people up to participate, and when they came to me they insinuated that it wasn't a big deal, something they had done for years, and not even all that difficult. I must have signed myself up, because when they came around on subsequent rounds they asked if I was getting ready for the competition. I tried to find out more about it and began to realize that I might not want to do it after all. Every time the sign-up lady came out with another informational tidbit about it it sounded more daunting. I had just assumed that we were supposed to wear swimsuits, but then she mentioned that we should wear at least two swimsuits, and probably socks. I looked down and realized that I was wearing a pea-green competition-style suit over a darker green retro halter suit with shirring. I kind of liked them both, especially the retro one, and wondered vaguely where I had gotten them*.
It had gotten near enough to the race time that people were lining up at the edge of the dock (in all kinds of weird clothing combinations), and I was getting a little apprehensive. The organizer lady came around again, and asked me if I was sure I wanted to compete. I asked what the distance was and she hemmed and hawed, but then said that it would be about an hour and a half of swimming in frigid water. I said, "Oh, in that case I'd better not. I could swim for an hour and a half, but I couldn't compete for an hour and a half." I think I was also wanting to put on some regular clothes by that time, and picturing young competitors dropping off mid-race and sinking slowly to a watery grave. The organizer was fine with my withdrawal, and I thought the staff were displaying a weird and irresponsible mix of cavalier disregard for safety on one hand and a stifling tendency to assume my incapacity on the other.
There was another part of the dream involving a very nifty old house in the middle of the desert that had been converted into a restaurant/museum and was supposedly haunted; and an episode involving rapidly rising floodwater about which I was very unconcerned--but I don't remember much about either.
*oddly, I didn't wonder why I was in good enough shape to be wandering around unselfconsciously in a swimsuit, or swimsuits, as the case may be.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
slices of arm
Background: we have a young but very large dog who usually stays outside. It was unusually cold last night, so we let him sleep inside, but due to his boisterousness and inability to leave our other dog alone, we had to leave him in a crate, which he protested very mightily by making loud anguished noises off and on throughout the night. I think this contributed to my having one of my All-Time Most Gruesome Dreams.
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This dream was influenced by those Japanese movies in which a series of people die after learning that they're "next in line" [generally this is due to a vengeful ghost, but there was no ghost in my dream; the cause of the deaths wasn't explored at all]. I was in an indoor public swimming pool (?). I think everyone was fully clothed in the pool, to one extent or another. I was stressed about something that had happened earlier in the dream and already on edge. I noticed that a rockabilly-type girl near me had started to act strangely. She acted agitated and I somehow understood that she was perceiving music that only she could perceive, and that this was her information that she was to be the next victim. I think that she was also supposed to pick the subsequent victim on learning of her victimhood, although this was a little hazy.
Anyway, the rockabilly girl focused her attention on me, probably because I was the closest person. She started pointing at me and becoming more and more agitated. Then she took out a knife and started shaving slices off her left upper arm, like you would slice one of those Spanish hams. She then put them on top of my head, which i found horrible and reacted to somewhat hysterically. Weirdly, there was no spurting blood--the slices came off very neatly, like a food product.
****************************************
This dream was influenced by those Japanese movies in which a series of people die after learning that they're "next in line" [generally this is due to a vengeful ghost, but there was no ghost in my dream; the cause of the deaths wasn't explored at all]. I was in an indoor public swimming pool (?). I think everyone was fully clothed in the pool, to one extent or another. I was stressed about something that had happened earlier in the dream and already on edge. I noticed that a rockabilly-type girl near me had started to act strangely. She acted agitated and I somehow understood that she was perceiving music that only she could perceive, and that this was her information that she was to be the next victim. I think that she was also supposed to pick the subsequent victim on learning of her victimhood, although this was a little hazy.
Anyway, the rockabilly girl focused her attention on me, probably because I was the closest person. She started pointing at me and becoming more and more agitated. Then she took out a knife and started shaving slices off her left upper arm, like you would slice one of those Spanish hams. She then put them on top of my head, which i found horrible and reacted to somewhat hysterically. Weirdly, there was no spurting blood--the slices came off very neatly, like a food product.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Olympic Fish
I haven't posted in quite awhile because I haven't remembered many of my dreams lately and what I do remember is only just bits and pieces or really stupid. I didn't watch any of the Olympics this year at all so I don't know why I had this dream.
I was at a pool watching an event. Somebody decided it was a good idea to have people race against some fish. The fish had competed in the Olympics (I know, I don't get it either???). They were all racing to see who was faster -- the fish who had been in the Olympics or just people off the street. There were several races and the fish won almost every time. One of the people in the race was Michael Jackson. (Who would have thought that he would allow that weave of his to get wet?)
The weirdest part of the dream is that for some reason before each race, all the competitors including the fish, were rubbed down with soap. The thought was that it would be easier to see them in the water because you could just follow the trail of bubbles. Surprisingly, this did not seem to affect the fish. I noticed that the soap bubbles didn't stick with Michael. They'd rub him down, he'd jump into the water and then when he swam away, the bubbles stayed right where they were at. He was the only one they didn't stick to.
Ok, another stupid dream. But I haven't posted in awhile and just felt like adding it. So there!
I was at a pool watching an event. Somebody decided it was a good idea to have people race against some fish. The fish had competed in the Olympics (I know, I don't get it either???). They were all racing to see who was faster -- the fish who had been in the Olympics or just people off the street. There were several races and the fish won almost every time. One of the people in the race was Michael Jackson. (Who would have thought that he would allow that weave of his to get wet?)
The weirdest part of the dream is that for some reason before each race, all the competitors including the fish, were rubbed down with soap. The thought was that it would be easier to see them in the water because you could just follow the trail of bubbles. Surprisingly, this did not seem to affect the fish. I noticed that the soap bubbles didn't stick with Michael. They'd rub him down, he'd jump into the water and then when he swam away, the bubbles stayed right where they were at. He was the only one they didn't stick to.
Ok, another stupid dream. But I haven't posted in awhile and just felt like adding it. So there!
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