The Team Dream

My dreams are frequently an odd pastiche of events and activities. For this one, it was softball, celebrating, and, of course, drinking.

I was hosting a party. Wasn’t big, but intimate, perhaps six couples. My locale was a lovely home, the kind you dream about when you think about your special place, at once in a city but with privacy, space, and a yard.

I poured wine for friends as they were coming and going, visiting and chatting. Drank some wine, too, and went off and peed. A new guy arrived, my friend M, arrived. I haven’t seen M since I left Germany in 1991, but he and I communicated via Facebook for a while.

M had been a hot major league prospect for the Cincy Reds until he tore up his knees in an accident. As that was written done, he joined the Air Force. That’s how we connected. We played racquetball together. I was a damn good player; he was in several classes above me. Our schedules rarely worked out for us to play, but when it did, he sought me out. He probably won nine games out of ten, and they weren’t generally that close. I quizzed him a few times about why he played me and he always told me, “I enjoy your company and admire your hustle.”

We talked baseball and softball in the dream. Out of that brief conversation, we decided to form a team. M made some calls while I dug out gloves, balls, and bats. The balls were cubes. None of us found that unusual, except I noticed it. Where are the balls cubes, I asked myself with amusement.

Meanwhile, I served more wine, then made margaritas and served them. Guys began arriving to try out for our team. Women were there but declined to play. Basically M would hit a ball and see if the guy could catch it.

I was out there fielding first, and caught everything hit my way without issue. The next guy misjudged the deep fly to him. So did the next, but the ball came my way, so I caught it. As I transferred the cube to my hand to throw it in, another ball, a line drive was hit toward me. I caught it in my glove’s webbing.

Hurrying in, I dropped off the balls and then went in to make more drinks. Everyone wanted wine. There were multiple empty bottles. I decided I needed to open another bottle, but what should I open? All of my cheaper, casual drinking stuff had been consumed. Should I go with the more expensive offerings? Why not? They’d been purchased to drink, right? But even though, I had to decide which bottle.

I was leaning toward a red. As I pulled out bottles, I looked at labels and remembered where, when, and why they were purchased, but just couldn’t decide which bottle to open. I could hear my friends talking, wondering where I was, and then discussing that I was inside, opening another bottle.

That’s where the dream ended.

The Leaf Dream

Standing outside, don’t know where it was. Bit dark, like false dawn was just coming on. The light was weak and faded, and color was seeping into the world. A cool wind toyed with my face, and I thought, “This is nice.”

Motion in the air took my attention up and to one side. I thought it was a bird but then gathered it was a leaf. Carried by the light wind, the leaf followed an erratic, tumbling flight. With my first gaze, I mistook it for brown but then realized, no, it’s green. I thought it was a maple leaf.

Pale blue was creeping into the sky by then. After a moment, my orientation changed. Temporarily baffled, I puzzled over what I was seeing and then realized that I was looking down. A split second later, an epiphany went through me that I was the leaf. It so surprised me that I started awake.

Awake in the dark, I stared upward, still seeing the leaf as it faded, amused by the thought, I’m a floating leaf.

The Boots Dream

Dream fade in. My wife and I had been traveling. We stopped at a little place. Turned out that an elderly couple owned it.

They were very friendly. Walking around, we visited with them. I noticed some of their yard, driveway, and parking lot was unkempt compared to their business, so I cleaned it up for them. That pleased them, as they showered me with thanks.

As I cleaned, I discovered a car for sale. An old bronze vehicle, it was circa the early sixties, long and wide, with the wing fin rear end popular among American vehicles of the era. As I checked it out, I discovered another car was inside it, and another car inside that. Three nested cars! All were bronze and white.

The man asked me if I was interested in it. I told him that I didn’t want to buy it but I wanted to drive it, if it drove. “Oh, it drives,” he replied, providing me with the keys. I drove it around the parking lot, grinning as I went. I sat inside the innermost car, which was normal size, and drove the three vehicles in one around.

Other friends arrived. My friends and I dressed to go out on the town. I was much younger now. For some reason, I was wearing ostrich leather cowboy boots with my jeans and along duster. I thought I looked great in the dream even though my consciousness within the dream was saying, “What are you thinking?”

We wandered around alleys and streets where cars weren’t permitted, poking in on shops, restaurants, and bars, trying to decide what to do as evening fell. I became separated from them for a bit and walked on my own. When I came across three of them again, I called out, “Hey, there you are. What’s going on?”

They didn’t respond, walking past as if I wasn’t there. That annoyed me. By then, I’d decided I didn’t like the boots or the duster, so I decided to head back to my hotel room. Other friends came by. They called from behind me, “Where you going?” Not up to explaining, I just said, “I’m done. I’m going on.”

I returned to the hotel room. My wife said, “Why are you wearing those boots? Where did you even get them?”

I answered, “I don’t know. They’re not me.” Then I wrenched them off and tossed them aside.

The dream ended.

The Peculiar Television Show Dream

This dream had me watching and listening to a television show. See, my eyes were closed but the television was on. On television, they were talking about pratfalls.

For a while, though my eyes were closed, I could see the television. I watched as a woman was being interviewed. Wearing a white pleated skirt, high heels, and a golden shirt, she explained how to correctly do falls. As I fell deeper asleep, the television screen faded, but the audio remained. I heard the interviewer (a man) say, “Here, you put your hand on a rail, but then flipped over the rail.”

When this was said, I could see her again. She was walking up a white sidewalk toward a green handrail. She put a hand on the rail and flipped over it.

“Yes,” the woman replied.

“Let’s see that again in slow motion,” the man said. “You can talk us through.”

I opened my eyes to watch. The sound stopped. There wasn’t a television on, of course, and no show to watch.

I felt completely perplexed. It’d seemed so real but it’d just been a dream.

The Broken Glass Dream

At the dream’s beginning, I groaned; not another military dream.

No, it isn’t, my mind rebutted. It dawned on me in the dream that I wasn’t in the military but many people were wearing uniforms.

I was heading to work with tons of other folks. I wore a light blue shirt and dark blue pants, which reminded me of my Air Force uniform, but I saw that it wasn’t. Somehow, I was first to leave and head off. A herd followed me.

I rounded a corner and stopped at a stone wall. Everyone else drew up. Checking the time, I explained, “It’s not opened yet. It’ll open in a moment.”

The wall drew aside, revealing a tunnel. Stepping forward, I drove in a car on a heavily-traveled highway, and then stepped into a busy, busy office.

While greeting others and exchanging banter, I searched for my schedule. Where was I supposed to be today? What was I supposed to be today? I’d just found my schedule and was reviewing it when the boss (a middle-aged bald guy) pulled me aside to go on a special assignment with a woman.

I resisted and complained. I was supposed to be doing something else. The change annoyed me. Boss insisted, though. The woman, who is sketchy and never clearly seen, was ignoring me, irritating me more.

Capitulating, I entered a doorway. Followed by the woman, I went up steps into a control room. It was in a giant Godzilla robot head. Guided by the woman, I began driving and controlling the huge machine.

We marched through a city, looking down on everyone. It seemed like we were just checking things, confirming that everything was going as it was supposed to be.

Shift ended, I stepped into a crowded bar. I thought it was, then saw that it was a communal home. I had a large slushy raspberry-colored drink but the glass broke. The drink contents hung in my hand without a glass. It started to slop apart, but I caught it and kept it together

I moved to set this aside while trying to catch the glass shards. They fell into a stream of fast-moving water that ran through the giant living room.

Our mother, an elderly woman, turned up, demanding to know whose drink that was hanging in the air. I told her that it was mine, that the glass had broke, and the pieces had fallen into the water. I wanted to go after the pieces. Other people said, “No, don’t worry about it,” but Mother said that she was worried about the glass in the water because others might step on it and get hurt.

Agreeing, I stepped into the water. Very warm, it carried me down to a clear, calm pool. Nobody else was present. Stopping there, I looked into the water and found the pieces.

Dream end.

Depressing Dream

The highlight of this depressing dream…

My wife and I were in a car’s backseat. A man was driving. We were on what seemed like an unpaved road. Hard to say; it was snow covered.

Suddenly, ahead – a fawn.

The driver was talking and slow to react.

Then, “I think I hit it.”

The car is stopped. We’re all looking back. I’m saying to my wife, “I’m not surprised, he wasn’t paying attention.” The car behind us avoid us.

Then, a big tanker truck arrives.

The fawn did not make it.

The tanker truck didn’t even slow.

Yeah, depressing. Definitely an anxiety dream about the present, about people not caring, not paying attention, and being helpless to do jack about it.

The Wealthy Friend Dream

I dreamed I had a wealthy friend. We were both young men. He came from a wealthy family, and I was lower middle class.

But he was friendly and generous, insisting that I take his car. His car was white; sleek and flat, it looked like a clam. It doesn’t relate to any car I’ve known in real life, but in the dream world, I knew it was rare and worth several million dollars. Dangling the white square on a chain that that was the key, he kept telling me, “Take my car, use it.” I was reluctant because of its price but because I also knew it was his father’s car.

Eventually, though, I accepted. The doors were gullwing type (as seen on the MB 300 SL coupe back in the 50s and early 60s, or the later Bricklin or Delorean). I entered. The luxurious, tech-loaded interior entranced me. Driving it was amazing. Silent and powerful, everything was effortless — and it literally flew. A press of the button took it over the traffic. Amazing.

I returned to his home. He insisted that I use the car. His mother, too, who told me, “Use it whenever you want.” Okay.

Meanwhile, they wanted to feed me. Not wanting to be seen as a moocher, I declined.

Spin the dream world. I’m now in school in a creative writing class. It’s packed. I’m new to the class and a bit withdrawn and introspective, as I tend to be.

The female instructor tells us some rules, then announces that someone has died. We all react with surprise and grief. A collection for flowers is being taken up. I go up to make a donation.

I plan to donate twenty dollars. Second thoughts strike because it’s almost all I have. The twenty-dollar bill is in my hand. The collection jar is on another male student’s desk, as it was passed over to him. He and a female student are collecting and coordinating the donations. I realize, though, that the male student seems to be pocketing some of the money. I’m not sure. decide, though, to just give ten dollars, as I’ve seen others do. Seeing a ten in the pile of money beside the jar, I attempt to surreptitiously get it and put my twenty in. The woman does something, though, and knocks the jar over. It doesn’t break, but the money is a mess and it draws unwanted attention.

Dream ends.

The Floating Dream

A brief one. I was floating in my home’s dining room, the actual place where I live. Upright, my feet were pointed toward the floor, and I was watching it pass as I floated.

Someone handed me a brown package. “This was just delivered.”

I opened it; my mother had sent me new dress shirts. The one on top was bright blue. There was also new underwear for my wife that she’d been looking for. I called out, “Mom sent me some new shirts and included new underwear for you.”

I awoke. Finding myself flat on my back on my bed, I felt disoriented. The ceiling shouldn’t be facing me, I thought. I’m floating. Sitting up, I realized that I’d been dreaming, but the floating had felt so real.

The Restaurant Dream

What I remember of this vivid string of dreams began with me at home. This home wasn’t one that I’ve ever lived in, but a big, rambling, new place.

My cats were busy being cats but the neighbor’s cat broke in. She ate, which didn’t bother me, but then peed on the floor. I had to chase her down and put her out.

(Note: this has a lot of foundation in real life. The neighbor’s cat used to have free reign, but now, on her last legs, has constant runs, so she’s banned, the poor dear.)

Back to the dream, where my wife is in another room bathing. She’s hollering through the wall, something about how she can’t finish because I’m doing something. I don’t understand at all. Trying to communicate with her wearies me. I flee to my car.

It’s a black sports car. The day is gray and overcast, a sky associated with rainstorms. I drive to a winding section of road in a small town, park and enter a restaurant. It’s a busy old place. The waitresses are young and friendly. I order and eat (nothing that I remember) and then drink a cup of coffee. I’ve been chatting with the waitresses throughout. As I’m waiting for the bill, a woman comes over and asks me out. Surprises me. While she’s attractive, I decline, telling her, I’m married.

I get my bill. There are few customers left. Most are in line to pay. A long line, all the people in line are men. The cash register is on a small knoll outside. It’s a crazy-looking system. For some reason, I now put on my shoes. As I’m doing this, a waitress comes over and chats with me. Then she asks me out. Flattered, I decline. She’s probably a third of my age. I ask her where she would’ve taken me. She tells me to see a movie, Dora. We laugh about that and talk about that movie.

The staff asks if I can help them move some things and clean because the restaurant is changing locations tomorrow. Although I have things to do and don’t want to help, I do what I can. It’s only a few things, and there’s still a line to pay.

The line winds down. I take my leave and go to pay. The owner is the cashier. I hand him my bill, which is on a clipboard. He shows me a receipt and tells me, “It’s already been paid.”

Well, cool. I don’t know how or when, but I’m thankful. There’s no clues on the receipt, and everyone is now gone.

I return to my car. It’s still a gray day. The car is blocked in by trucks. I figure if I back up a hill, I can then leave by going down the other side of a hill. I don’t know how I figured that out. But when I go do make that maneuver, I discover my car is facing the right way. All I do is release the brake and put in the clutch and I’m going down a hill and onto the road, on my way. I do so with truckers standing around, watching me.

I drive off. The dream ends.

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