Category: Dreams

The 03:55 Dream

It was 03:55 in my dream. I needed to use the bathroom. So I navigated my way to it. As I did, I glanced at my watched and confirmed it was 03:55. I puzzled over the time, thinking, I think I wake up every morning at 03:55 and use the bathroom.

Opening the bathroom door, I saw myself getting out of bed and going to the bathroom. As I did, I looked at my watched and shifted to being that person and saw it was 03:55.

And again.

Awakening, I sat up in bed. What I saw was identical to the dream in every way. Getting out of bed, I looked at my watch and saw that it was 03:55. I slowed as the dream’s gravity hung on me, that I’d dreamed what I was doing, then opened the bathroom door, and chuckled.

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Friday’s Theme Music

Yesterday is past. Today is here.

Today is Friday, October 7, 2022. It’s gonna be a cool one here. A silky silvery layer insulates us from the sun and promises precipitation. Sunrise at 7:22 this morning was smooth and low-key, a gradual unveiling of the fall landscape. Sunset at 6:53 will surrender the land back to night. It’s 51 degrees F now, warmer than the week’s earlier offerings, but we’re only expecting a little beyond 13 C as the high. Meanwhile, my wife tells me our high back home was 91 F.

A dream that I was swimming through green water brought me The Neuron’s music choice. Not much of the dream remains except that the water was green but clear, with good visibility. I could see myself from an external perspective, breath held, bubbles sneaking out of me, panic rising as my air ran out. I struck for the surface and could see it far, far above me. I knew I wasn’t going to make it. Cheeks and lungs bursting, I let my air escape.

But then I discovered, oh, I can breath.

Anyway, thinking about that this morning, The Neurons said, oh, “Nightswimming” by R.E.M. from 1992 would be perfect. I dunno, I replied, because it’s a very mellow morning song. But I do like Michael Stipe’s vocal stylings, so here we are.

Stay positive and test negative. I’ve had my coffee, thanks. Loved that fresh brew smell tickling my nose and energizing anticipation. The first cup was taken out to the cool air on the back porch, where I could enjoy the woods and grass’s dark jade richness. Moments like those are salves on the soul, re-establishing my balance as I contemplate existence.

Cheers

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Vivid Dreams Again

I binged vivid dreams again last night. The most striking one found me as an alien. I didn’t look like one; I looked human as I do now, though younger.

Living among humans, I’d been hired by a secret government agency to infiltrate a group of five women and get close to them. My employers thought the women were the aliens. The five were gorgeous women, I guess in their thirties, intelligent and educated. The five didn’t know that I knew all of them. Each thought that I was having a relationship with them. I quickly became intimate with three of them. The other two held me off a bit, moving more cautiously. I was comfortable with that because I knew those two didn’t need to be intimate to spill their secrets. They just needed to trust me, and they did.

The whole time, I knew they were humans, and not aliens, but I yielded to the agency’s desires to find intelligence on them because this allowed me insight into the government’s analysis and planning.

Then, recovering one of my alien powers, I duplicated myself so that I could be with all five women simultaneously. To further my endeavor, I also created a dup of me that met with my bosses. I had one mind shared among the six so I could gather greater understanding. I treated the whole thing as a lark.

Then, dream pivot, I was called out from those locations. I was being given a prize, a high honor to recognize my great contributions. I didn’t know what they were talking about but being the devious mutt that I was, I was eager to accept these accolades. Five of my six beings had to be re-integrated into one, as easily done as walking through a door.

The worst part of it was that reintegrating into one made me appear about five years younger than before. As people saw me and remarked in astounded tones about my youthful appearance, I laughed it off and told them it came from easy living.

Dream end.

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A Prize Dream

I was in some amorphous school. I never got a good handle about what it was. People aged up into their fifties were there. We lived, worked, and played there, but also had other homes.

Some kind of reward program was initiated to honor the best and brightest. Admin wasn’t forthcoming about what was going on. Meanwhile, with my wife and others visiting, I was working on an art project, using trash and garbage to make things, really just goofing around and exploring. I’d made dozens of objects, nothing impressing to my eye, just killing time, when I was summoned to another room. There, I was told I’d won and could select any prize from anyone. Well, I still didn’t understand. Like, won what? I learned that twelve had been chosen and I was one of them. I’d been selected to receive the first prize but that didn’t mean that I was first. It just meant that I was one of the twelve.

I walked through the school’s maze, looking for a prize to select. Others congratulated me as I did. Another student told me that a male teacher was overheard saying that he hoped that I wouldn’t be one of them, because he couldn’t stand me, and then I was the first one chosen, which upset the teacher.

I hadn’t found a prize I wanted so I started changing to leave. As I got down to my shirt and boxer shorts, other students found me and told me to go with them because they found a prize which they thought I’d like. So I went and yes, the gave me a prize, which I don’t remember. I started some four-year-old boys with their father watching. He was a friend and another of the selected winners, and the prize I’d taken was something he’d made. I felt a little embarrassed about it and apologized to him, but he waved it off, telling me, those are the rules. One of the boys announced that he didn’t want to play with me because I’d soiled myself.

Flabbergasted, shocked, and embarrassed, I covered my rear and left, but I hadn’t soiled myself. At that point, I saw another of the prize winners going by. Preparing to leave, they’d selected all of my art as their prize and was taken it with them.

End dream.

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Head In A Jar Dream

We had a head in a jar. Dream knowledge told me it was a clay jar yet it was sufficiently clear to see the head inside. Not completely clear, but filmy and gauzy, as though petroleum jelly was smeared over it.

The head was in a cloudy pale-green liquid, and was male, white, and venerated. Now, on a pedestal, in the middle of scrubland, one other man and I had it. The other man was tall, spare, and mostly silent. Older, but I couldn’t give an age. He seemed to lack interest in the head jar.

I, though, tried singing to it. I thought that if we sang to it, it would sing back. Though the head’s eyes would look at me, and it would blink, it wouldn’t sing back. The other man wouldn’t sing either. That didn’t affect my mood. I remained optimistic and energetic. I then started prattling other ideas to him about the head in the jar. Maybe we should take it to a market and sell it. We could get good money for it. Or we can set it up in a square and I’ll ask others to sing with me to see if we could get the head to sing. I spoke to the head, asking it, what do you want us to do?

A hunter, armed with a compound bow and arrows, dressed in woodland camouflage vest, hat, and pants, came along. I quietly watched him. He saw the head in a jar on a pedestal, but went on, looking for animals to shoot.

The army came along, as expected. This was an army of the people. They walked, but didn’t march, in orderly rank and file. Most wore ragged clothing. All ages, races, and sexes were in it. My older, silent friend and I joined them, and the head in the jar was given to someone to carry. I was leading one large group, but in an unofficial capacity. On a road, we were supposed to keep up with the other groups but were going too slowly. Impatiently, I urged them, “Come on, we must keep up.” We’d been warned not to get separated because that would leave us exposed and vulnerable to attack. I saw the group ahead pulling away. I walked faster, thinking that my example might prod the group to walk faster. No; they instead dawdled and began chatting about trivial ideas. Exasperation building, I walked faster, becoming separated from both groups. But being in the middle, I could see them both and thought, if something were to happen to one group, I could turn to the other group to help.

We came to broad creek running low in a sandy, rocky basin. As I went to the water to drink, my group caught up to me. One said, “We know that women like you.” As I laughed at them, he continued, “We’ve all seen the way they react to you.”

End of dream.

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The Lost Shoes Dream

I dreamed I was with a bunch of people. All were nice, and seemed like friends, although nobody was recognized from real life. Some kind of outdoor function, we were socializing after eating when a man arrived. He was identified as Colonel Campbell, stealth-aircraft fighter pilot.

All of us were impressed. Pilots are one category, fighters are another, and stealth is the bleeding edge techno. He sat at a table and we gathered around to eye him. Evening was on us so I decided it was time to leave.

A dream shift found me in a Starbucks coffee shop. Busy, the place was a labyrinth of rooms, all with white walls or stone walls. Some rooms were large, where dream catchers, turquoise and silver jewelry, and black feathers were on sale. Others were rooms with tables where people could sit, drink coffee, and chat. A few halls and bathrooms finished the setup.

I got a coffee and went through the rooms until I found a table. Dissatisfied with it because I thought it too noisy and busy, I moved to another table. I eyed people as I sipped coffee. The employees interested me the most. They were familiars in the dream although again no one known in RL.

Finishing my coffee, I decided to leave, but struggled to find the exit. Each room seemed to take me into another one. In one room, I found the Starbucks employees preparing to start a celebration. They fell silent and waited for me to leave before resuming their festivities. I heard several of them say something about me but I wasn’t sure what they said. It sounded like they liked me and wished more customers were like me.

But I’d gone on. Just as I thought I’d found the exit, I realized that I’d lost my shoes. I’d been wearing sandals, I remembered, and thought that I must have kicked them off to be more comfortable. Rushing about, I tried retracing my steps to find the table where I’d been. Dodging people was required, and I almost stepped in someone’s chocolate cake, jumping over it just in time. I also had to swivel to avoid knocking over children.

Eventually I came into a room where a man was sitting at a booth. People were whispering, he’s a pilot. I approached him and asked, what does he fly? What’s his name? I wasn’t certain it was Colonel Campbell.

He wouldn’t really answer me or look at me. Announcing, “I have to go,” he leaped out of the booth and then crouched down and duckwalked out, stopping to look at toys on the floor. Catching up with him, I asked if he was okay, as another man approached to check on him. I told the other man that who I though the man was. This explanation put a silly grin on Campbell’s face (I was pretty sure it was him by then). His eyes were glassy and he started acting flighty (sorry for the pun).

Still trying to find my shoes, I went into a bathroom. Seeing my reflection, I was stopped short by how my face had changed. I knew it was me but I didn’t recognize myself. My face was large and squared off, with a towering forehead. I speculated that the mirror was distorted but saw that everything else was properly reflected.

My final thought was that I’d done something to myself.

Dream end.

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Thursday’s Theme Music

Time to rock another day. The day in question, September 29, 2022, is a Thursday. Sunlight rocked us at dawn about 7:14 this morning, slicing apart the clouds with golden blades. The clouds recovered and came together in a solid front. They say it won’t rain, and I generally trust that set of they, the weather people. It’s 44 F now, with hopes that 60 F will be touched before the sun steals away at 7:06 PM and leaves us to the night.

Mom has a few home appointments. Nurse aide coming to bath her, and a nurse coming to check her out. She’s doing well, in good spirits, with a healthy appetite. I’m beginning to plot my return home.

Thinking about sleeping and dreaming, not just nocturnal dreams, but dreams of aspirations and accomplishments provoked Les Neurons into dropping Fiona Apple into the morning mental music stream with a song outta 1997, “Sleep to Dream”. Used to hear it a bit during my daily commutes and on my radio at work in my office. I enjoy the song’s thudding, rhythmic beat and how the vocals almost fluctuate between singing and rapping, something that we’ve seen more frequently in this century.

Stay positive, test negative, give a care for Florida and their situation. I have coffee, thanks. Here’s the tune. Cheers

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A Militant Dream

I was at the bottom of a sloping paved lot. A young friend was walking further above me. Machete in hand and weird grin on his face, I shouted at him to stop. When he didn’t, I felt that I didn’t have a choice but to shoot him. I did, killing him. Oddly, there was no blood and no one saw what I did. I walked away, hugely sad by what had happened. I walked around for a while. It was some sort of quasi-military complex. Others were working but I was in charge, and they left me alone, keeping a respectful distance from me as I walked and brooded.

Watching the skies and listening, I perceived that an attack was eminent. I don’t know who was attacking. They didn’t expect us to be prepared but I had other ideas. Jumping into a sports car, I drove down a hill and slid to a stop. Another person was there. I told him, “Go tell everybody with a car who is a good driver to bring their car own here.”

The first arrived, a young, skinny black guy in a silver Starion. He did a power slide and a little drifting on his arrival. Telling him, “Stay in the car,” I directed him to drive his car into a shed. There, I directed him up a ramp. Machines attached a platform to his car’s underside. It took maybe five seconds. The platform featured engines, weapons, and wings. The kid was agog at the transformation. He drove it out of the shed as others arrived.

I announced, “An attack is coming. They think they’re coming to destroy us, but I’m going to change all your cars into aircraft, and you’re going to meet and stop them.” I then went into an explanation, flying was just like driving. Within minutes, several cars were done and the drivers were learning to control their cars in the air.

End dream

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The Mom Dream

First, I was with other men. I was younger than now but can’t say what my age was. We’d been inside doing some unspecified activity. Finishing, we headed to elevators and exits. I was with one guy. White and young, I estimate him at six foot five and two hundred fifty muscular pounds. His hair was short, brown salted with gray.

We spoke briefly about the thing we just finished, alluding to its recurring nature. I said, “You know, we meet all the time to do this. We should get together outside and do something.”

He replied, “I’d like that.”

Now I’m at my place. Some rednecks are trying to rob me. I’ve become aware of this. They’re armed. We’re outside. I’ve hidden weapons outside. I drift around under their eye until I’m by a hidden pistol. Grabbing it, I start firing. It’s a plastic pellet gun and sprays yellow balls all over the place. They pull up similar weapons and fire back. We run around like that.

Others arrive. I realize that with the others there, the rednecks aren’t going to do anything. I’m not sure how many rednecks are present. At least two, including one with a thick and glossy black beard who seems to be their leader. Other people mill and chat, wine and champagne glasses in their hands. A redneck or two constantly follows me about, keeping me under watch, but I slowly grasp that they’re not going to rob me. Still, they make me uncomfortable and I want to leave.

I go into the house. A few people are in there but I notice that no rednecks are present. Going to a window, I climb out and run down the street.

I pass through a large activity room. People are sitting at tables. I think at first that they’re playing bingo, but they’re not. I hear Mom’s voice on speaker. Mom is on stage, moderating something. She’s in her mid-forties, about forty years younger than now. I’m surprised that Mom is moderating this. I listen to her asking and answering questions. Sometimes she laughs, but she always has a smile, red lips around white teeth.

Going on, I reach a crowded bus complex and join the queue to get on a bus. It’s a bottleneck. People are trying to go several different directions. Noticing this, I step back and let people go by since my line isn’t moving. Others see what I did and do the same. The bottleneck is cleared up, freeing me to enter the bus. It’s a huge one, like something companies use for tours or cross-country travel.

The bus starts up and begins moving. We’re driving down a steep hill. I’m in the back of the bus and Mom is driving the bus! I think, Mom is amazing, when did she learn to drive a bus? Someone back by me calls her name and then asked, “Did you ever figure out the GPS problem?”

Mom, laughing and steering, braking the bus at the hill’s bottom to turn, replies, “Yes. There’s a funy story there. Let me tell you.”

Just as Mom always used to do, except she never drove a bus. This is where the dream stopped.

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The Quarters Dream

To begin, something had gone wrong with the engineering. Unexpected failures in a system were causing problems. Root cause analysis was leading nowhere.

But I, a non-engineer, had been speaking with a supplier. His comments and concerns led me to insights and conclusions. Now I just needed to prove them. To do that, I discovered that quarters put in a certain place would expose the shortcoming. I then began collecting quarters to find and then mark the failed pieces. All the parts were white and black. This assembly wasn’t large, about the size of a hand drill.

Everyone was being hostile toward me about. I’m a non-engineer. What could I know. During conversations and meetings, the supplier decided they needed to cover up their failures so they hid those units in a stack of other units. I was going through them, trying to find them.

As I did that, the engineers announced their frustration and irritation, and because of that, they were going on a trip. I told them to take quarters with them, not for testing, but to use to call back for help when a system failed, stranding them. The chief engineer, a short, angry white man with a gray burr cut, didn’t like the suggestion, didn’t like me, and told me all of this while his engineering staff stood around him, nodding their approval of his comments. The all left.

I was determined to prove myself and continued my search and uncovered a stash of failed units. Using all my quarters, I marked then, then hid them so others couldn’t hide them.

End dream.

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