Category: Dreams

An Exasperating Mask & Car Dream

Last night’s dreams wove and forth, like a fabric was being made, for large parts. Elements included a new, expensive sports car, someone misconstruing what was going on, and a first for me: wearing masks.

I dream about having new and expensive, exotic sports cars often. In this instance, the car was glossy black. Too precious to have anything like a roof, it featured two separate little seating positions with their own windshields.

While I was taking possession of that, driving around, admiring it and being admired, a parallel story went on. I lived in a fancy, wealthy neighborhood. One neighbor was a woman who was the classic helicopter mother. Doing everything with her two sons, she constantly hovered around them.

Well, the boys admired my car. I let them sit in it. She thought I was trying to take her sons. Dream parts were spent in me trying to explain to her what was going on, and her trying to avoid me because I was after her sons. Truly exasperating for a dream experience.

Exasperation was a dream theme. Next, I’ve parked the car and have arrived at this large gathering of people. We’re outside. Some friends are there, but most are strangers. My friends were telling people that I’m a writer, and then described my writing in glowing statements. This embarrassed me. It reached a point that I wouldn’t answer my friends when they asked what I was working on, but turned my back on them.

They stayed with me, though. We were all now wearing masks as we walked around, and I was trying to social distance, and telling others to do the same. Young people often wouldn’t wear a mask or distance, mocking me when I called them out on it. One male teenager, a redhead, was particularly exasperating, stupidly smirking when I told him to put a mask on and step back. He then made it a point, like a joke, to try to sneak up on me. He finally went away.

We had to go up to another level. I took the stairs to that. Halfway up, I discovered arrows pointing in the opposite direction. Then I found the way blocked with tape. I realized that they apparently had set the stairs up to be one way, but they’d only done this from the top. And they’d made no apparent provisions for people who needed to go up instead of down.

Yes, exasperating. Milling among people, my friends still behind me, talking about my writing, I abruptly realized that I wasn’t wearing my mask. Horrified, I pulled it out and put it on. Then I glanced around, checking to see if anyone had noticed.

No one had noticed, and I continued milling. Then, again, my mask was off. How did this keep happening? I wondered. I didn’t remember taking it off. My mask was in my pocket again. I put it on with a warning to myself to be more vigilant.

4

Tuesday’s Theme Music

It’s a cold, wet, chilly, dull, day. Yeah, I know that cold and chilly seem redundant. I think the day calls for it.

Like, where is the sun? Out there somewhere, I surmise from ambient lighting. Just not breaking through. Not warming us up.

We’ve been wanting rain, so complaints are moot. We’ve been enjoying an October and November warm spell. I like that expression, ‘warm spell’. It was in the low seventies here last week, down into the mid forties at night with, as Alexa puts it, “a lot of sunshine throughout the day”.

Of course, we needed rain and wanted rain. Actually need snow to build up our Cascades snowpack. The snowpack is our summer water supply.

But I’m a ranter (which reminds me of the ol’ Dr. Pepper commercial, “I’m a ranter, he’s a ranter, she’s a ranter, wouldn’t you like to be a ranter, too?”). With that done, naturally, my head turned to music. What music speaks to me from this weather and this rant?

Why, the Rascals with their 1968 song, “People Got to Be Free”. Yeah, that makes total sense. Who else do you think of when all the leaves are brown and the sky is gray, right?

I think the Rascals song arrived via a Venn splice in my mental stream, where dreams, current events, and music came together. One dream featured a 1968 Camaro. I had one, once, pushing the nostalgia buttons. That may’ve called the song up on the mental shuffle.

Politically speaking, the song fits the times.

You should see, what a lovely, lovely world this would be
If everyone learned to live together
It seems to me such an easy, easy thing this would be
Why can’t you and me learn to love one another
All the world over, so easy to see
People everywhere just wanna be free
I can’t understand it, so simple to me
People everywhere just got to be free
Ah, ah, yeah . . . ah, ah, yeah
If there’s a man who is down and needs a helping hand
All it takes is you to understand and to see him through
Seems to me, we got to solve it individually
And I’ll do unto you what you do to me

h/t to Metrolyrics.

These are, of course, socialist thoughts that progressives like me push, that so many others fear. Helping others? Everyone equal and free? Why, how barbaric.

Have you read this far? Then, thanks. Have a good one. And wear a mask, please. For all of us. Merry Christmas.

What, too early?

2

Two Dreams

Thinking harder about two of the five dreams I remember from last night. Disclaimer: all were short dreams. Two seemed like brief skits. I didn’t appear to be in the third, but was an observer. Either that, or I was someone else. Not sure which. To the two.

I’m uncertain of their order, so I’ll go with the car dream first. My wife and I were in a car. It was a new Chevy Camaro. Blue with white stripes, it sparkled in the sunshine. It was a gorgeous car, and I was very proud of it. Although brand new, it looked more like the 1968 model than the current model.

We were driving down a wide, well-maintained asphalt road, going through countryside. The day was wonderful. No other traffic was met.

After stopping for gas, we resumed our journey, talking about what a wonderful day it was. I said, “And we can enjoy it more, because this is a convertible.”

So I retracted the top, and we went on through the sunshine.

Such a short and simple dream. Prompts me to think, it’s the simplest pleasures that are best.

The second dream found me traveling on business in southeast Asia. I was in a taxi, going to the airport to return home. Having time to kill, I stopped at some small place.

The taxi ride had been pleasant, with the driver and I chatting about everything and nothing. I was relaxed. When the cab left, though, I discovered that I didn’t have my phone. After thinking about it a moment, I realized that I’d left it in my briefcase, and I’d left the briefcase in the car.

Well, damn. I went into a shop, told the owner what’d happened, and asked him if he could help. He did, by figuring out what cab had brought me, and then calling him. After talking with the driver, he told me, “Bad news. He has your briefcase with your phone and airplane tickets, and he’ll bring them to him, but you must do him some favors, and take things with you.”

After a Q&A, I realized that I was being asked to smuggle. I rejected that. Instead, I’d buy a new phone, see what I could do about the tickets with the airline, and replace the briefcase. I was annoyed and disappointed, but not angry. I was also trying to understand who I could report this to.

I went around looking for a new phone to buy. Nothing satisfied me, either because of design, or cost. I returned to the original store. I’m not sure what drove me to do that, but when I entered, the owner said, “Good news. Come with me.”

I followed him to the back. There was my briefcase. I was surprised. He said, “The driver returned it. He decided that you would report him, and he’d lose business, so he dropped it off and apologized. I said that I’d give them to you. He hopes you won’t report him.”

I opened the briefcase. Everything was there. Taking my phone out, I said, “I guess I won’t report him.”

That’s where the dream ended.

0

The Clothing Dream

It began…with work. Although I work for no one but myself now, most of my dreams these days skip around work and identity. It’s an amusing glimpse into my psyche, as if I’m saying, who am I without work? (I don’t consider writing working; don’t like to use that term for writing. Seems like calling fiction writing work debases the fiction. Crazy, right?)

Working for a man somewhere. I don’t know what I was doing, but I was good at it and enjoying it. He was sending me on a business trip. I’d been to the destination before but wasn’t overly familiar with it, so he and I went over a three-D map of where I was to go, to improve my comfort zone.

I had days before I was to leave, and had no reason to hurry. I went home as part of my normal day. We were sharing a house with another family. It was an odd arrangement. We also had young cats. My wife was going around, hiding treats for the cats to find.

I decided that I needed to check my clothing for my trip. I went into the closet and went through my suits and shirts. Nothing in there satisfied me, so I went off to buy more. Nothing in the first store suited my moods and needs so I pushed through stores, seeking the right product. When I finally did find it, after a search that took me from mid-afternoon to late dusk, I held up a suit and smiled, knowing that was it.

The dream ended.

0

A Hectoring Boss Dream

General background for this dream didn’t particularly coalesce. I was somewhere with others, inside a building, busy on a project. It seemed to be about indexing things, but I’m not sure.

This man (vague and indescript in the dream, except he was white), came along and demand to know what I was doing. Without allowing time for me to answer, he told me to get busy, then told me he wanted me to write an ad for him. Annoyed, I attempted protesting and explaining that I was working on something, but he was pushy as hell. He was also the boss and very successful, so I allowed latitude for that.

Settling down, I started to work on the ad for him. For this purpose, I picked up a pad and started writing in red ink.

Red ink wouldn’t do. He shouted at me, “Who told you to use red ink?”

Pissed, I replied, “No one specified any ink, and you didn’t say not to use red. What color will work, then? Blue? Black? Purple?”

He shoved a narrow notepad at me and a black pen. “Use this.”

I moved away from him to find a new place to write, settling on my knees at a low table, but he followed, trying to peer over my shoulder and see what I wrote. The pad he’d given me was full of writing. The pages were lined and everything was handwritten. I flipped through pages, looking for white space, while complaining to him that he’d given me a full tablet.

I finally found clean pages and started writing, but he hectored me. “What are you doing? What are you writing?”

I began explaining, “I’m writing an ad for you,” but he interrupted. “I want you to write me an ad for a person who needs help for a four-year-old.”

“What kind of help?”

“Doesn’t matter. Just get their attention.”

I kept starting to write, then he’d interrupt me. I’d move, find another page to write on, and begin again, and he’d interrupt me. I don’t know how many times it happened but I reached the point where I was ready to tell him, “Fuck off,” and leave it all behind.

But the dream ended. He was such an annoying asshole.

0

Identity Dream

Surprisingly, this dream wasn’t about the military. It’s a surprise because it has the feel of one to me. I was a military brat, who then joined and served twenty years. I moved on to civilian careers after retiring from the military and did okay, but my heyday was in the military.

I was in an office. A report needed to be sent. For some reason, this was an urgent concern for which we in the office weren’t ready. Send a report? What? How? Oh, the computers were out…hmmm, that sure reflected my Sunday computer frustrations.

Improvising in the dream, I procured an old electric typewriter, sat down, and typed up a draft report. While I was typing, I needed to piss. I did it under my desk, shocking my young employee. I did this three times. His shock turned to disgust by the third time. I was also shocked by the third time that I peed under the desk, vowing not to do it again.

Then I submitted the report to my boss. He surprised me by saying, “That’s not necessary.”

“We’re not submitting it?”

“No, we were told we don’t need to.”

“Who told us that?”

“A higher power. They’re submitting it.”

“Okay, if that’s what they want.” That was a task that I didn’t need to do, so I was satisfied. After informing my staff, we called it a day. I changed clothes (right there in the office) and rushed out to meet a friend, Ted.

He was there, waiting for me. “About time,” he told me. I apologized for being late, but he laughed it off. “I’m just bustin’ your ass. I ordered food for you.” He pointed over a railing. Below was a dining room. One table was set. A large sandwich with french fries was on it.

“That’s for me?” I asked. “That’s too much, but thanks.”

“No worries. But first we need to get inside.”

Get inside? Yeah, apparently there was a process. Ted knew it. “You need to show your ID,” he told me.

I said, “Yeah, I got it. It’s just…it was in my pants, and my pants were caught in a flood. I changed pants but everything in my wallet is soaked.” Pulling out my identification, I showed Ted a limp, soaked piece of rectangular paper.

He laughed at that. I took it to the woman manning the entrance. I was embarrassed but she laughed. “No, it’s alright. I heard your story. I feel your pain. You need to get a new identification.”

Card, I wanted to correct her, but other customers were arriving. Ted hustled us through, thanking the woman as he did. We went down to the table. There was more food and drink than I’d seen before, including a large, cold beer.

Although grateful, I gaped at the food and worried. “I don’t have that much money, Ted.”

Ted waved that off. “Don’t worry about it. It’s taken care of.”

The dream ended as I sat down to eat.

0

Friday’s Theme Music

Not much thought to today’s choice. (Like there’s ever much thought behind my song choices, right? Right.)

Cats aren’t involved in this one. My dreams are. Multiple dreams, all very uplifting. In one, a man gave me a bag, telling me, “These are for you.” Inside were gold coins. Must’ve been hundreds, and all shone like Coronado’s gold. I was so happy and pleased and excited. “Why did you give me this?” I asked the man, but he was gone. Another guy came up, though, and surprised me with a gift of gold ingots. It blew me away. “Oh my God, what I can do to help the world with this.” My head was spinning.

But it wasn’t over, as another arrived with gold jewelry. Without saying a word, he put it in my bag. Gaping as I took it in, I said, “I have gold coins, ingots, and jewelry in this bag.” He answered, “Yes, you have it all.”

See what I mean about uplifting?

So, puttering into the morning, feeding the three fur beasts and dressing, I hummed a remembered song that drifted into awareness. It turned out to be “Ventura Highway” by America from 1975.

Ventura Highway in the sunshine
Where the days are longer
The nights are stronger than moonshine
You’re gonna go
I know-uh-oh-uh-oh-uh-oh-uh-oh-uh-oh-uh-oh
‘Cause the free wind is blowing through your hair
And the days surround your daylight there
Seasons crying no despair
Alligator lizards in the air, in the air

h/t to Genius.com

Those lines are uplifting to me, like my hopes.

Like my dreams.

0

The Black Robin Hood Dream

Fade in to people speaking. It’s not a large group. I’m among them. So is a black guy. We’re sitting at tables in what seems to be someone’s home. I think we’re drinking wine and beer and eating.

Sadly, not having a black friend is an oddity in this phase of life. Few blacks live in Ashland, or southern Oregon. I have no black friends outside of Facebook and memory.

In the dream, we’re talking about Black Robin Hood. Apparently, a Black person is robbing rich people and redistributing the wealth to poor blacks. This group of people approve in the dream. We even declare there should be more, perhaps a nationwide group of Black Robin Hoods, stealing from the rich, giving to the poor.

Then there’s conversation about how such a person, or persons would be vilified and hunted. I put out in the dream, Colin Kaepernick just took a knee and look at the reaction. Agreement abounds.

I float into a conversational tangent. This would be a good movie or television show premise, Black Robin Hood. It could be modern, serious, or parody. We figure it’s already been done. Surely Spike has done it.

Then the Black guy says, “I’m Black Robin Hood. I’m the one who’s been stealing from the rich and giving it out to the poor.”

That totally stopped the conversation, and ended the dream.

BTW, watched a film the other day about Colin K in the SuperBowl, and the way he played in the post season that year. It’s beyond belief that some team didn’t pick him up.

0

A Short, Sweet Dream

Working somewhere on my own, I was taking parts in. All were in so-so shape, but generally light and small. Nothing about the parts spoke to their purpose or where they would end up; most were flat pieces of metal half the size of a sheet of paper.

I’d inspect and clean the parts, then buff and polish them to a high gleam, finally matching them together to ensure they fit. Most were red or blue on one side, and bare and shiny, chrome-like, on the reverse. Then the parts were gone. This was as expected in a way, without a transition of wondering where the parts were, or a segue of giving them to another. I’d find and continue with more parts.

This went on for a bit. I was happy. The boss man came by, big, in a clean, fine suit, imposing, an unlit cigar for a prop. “Customers came by,” he said. “They’ve very pleased with your work.”

That pleased me. “Great. That’s so wonderful to hear.”

“What are you doing to them?”

He seemed honestly curios.

I was as honestly perplexed. “I’m just cleaning them up, making sure they’re in good shape, and making sure they fit together.”

The boss man nodded. “Well, whatever you’re doing, keep it up.”

“I will,” I replied. “I will.”

2

Monday Miscellany

  1. Dreamed that I was concerned about a young cat. Young, I was busy working somewhere. Constantly watching over it, I kept worrying about it having food, enough to eat, and being safe. In an odd moment in the dream, as I turned to go down a hallway and check on the cat, I thought, the cat is me. Strange dream moment. The entire dream had a quality of peeking into a different version of my existence.
  2. In the same dream, interspersed with my concerns about the cat, my cousin, Rick was planning to take me to meet his son, Danny. Like a recurring gag, Rick would appear and ask me when I was ready to go. I’d be blank: “Go where?” Then I would remember, “Oh, that’s right, to go meet…” Then I’d blank on the name and he would supply, “Danny.” Once best friends, I haven’t seen this cousin in over twenty years. We drifted into different directions, as they say. He had a son who I’ve never seen. I don’t recall the son’s name. He divorced that young woman within months of her giving birth to his son. I don’t know what all this means.
  3. An Uber self-driving car has killed someone. Uber isn’t being charged. Thinking, shades of Isaac Asimov, I conjured a story where a person is set up to be killed by a self-driving car.
  4. My wife was reading about “Death Wish” coffee. She thinks it might be a coffee that speaks to me. She reading aloud some hilarious Amazon reviews. “I bought this to keep me alert and focused at work. By my second cup I no longer needed a keyboard or mouse, as I was able to control my computer directly by thought. By the third cup I could hear colors and smell sounds. After my fourth cup, I decided to burn off some of the excess energy with a quick jog, and ended up finishing the Kessel Run in 11 parsecs flat!” Another: “Dear Death Wish, I just tried your coffee after receiving it the other day. I always start my day with about 4 cups so I thought, “Eh, why not”. After about the 3d cup I decided to start that kitchen demolition I had been wanting to do. But I forgot to turn off the water beforehand. Then I thought, “Eh, I always wanted an indoor pool”. Then I thought I should cut a hole in the roof to accommodate a skylight for the pool. Everything is going to plan but I need more coffee now. I need to start on installing the diving board.”
  5. Some serious crazy is seeping out of the GOP. Renea Turner calls herself “Trump in a skirt”. (I wonder if she grabs men by their peckers?) A woman who ran as a write-in candidate against Ohio Governor Mike DeWine in 2018, she declared herself governor of the state because she’s decided that DeWine overstepped his legal authority. She’s been implicated in a plot to kidnap and prosecute Gov. DeWine. This is at least the second such plot against a governor revealed in the last thirty days.
  6. We heard about twenty-three year-old Ryquell Armstead this weekend. Who is he? A professional running back with the Jacksonville Jaguars, he’s been out with COVID-19 the entire season. Quoting ESPN.com, “Armstead has been hospitalized twice and has suffered from a variety of complications connected to the virus, including significant respiratory issues, and has been hit harder than some expected.” That’s the issue with COVID-19: you don’t know how it will affect you. He is Black, and we know that Blacks are more susceptible, but he’s also young, and a trained athlete. It’s scary what the virus can do. He’s expected to recover and play next but the obvious caveat is that he was never expected to be out this long and have the complications that he’s experienced. As former New Jersey governor Chris Christie discovered, having COVID-19 can be a painful and exhausting experience, even if you survive. He, who did not wear masks all the times, is now a convert and urges, “Wear a mask.” I agree.
  7. My fiction writing continues to come along but it’s fitful process. As noted before, I miss the structure I created with my routines. I also miss the solitude said routines created, along with the stimulation caused by casual contacts. But I persevere because I’m stupid that way, and the tale that I’m discovering continues to entertain me. Time passes so swiftly each day, though. I find myself wondering what happened to the hours. Got my coffee, though, so it’s time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

0

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑