Category: Dreams

A Sandwich Dream

The trip was starting. Anticipation uplifted me excited energy. But first —

A young boy called after me. Seeing his grin, I answered with the same. “Did you get it?” I asked as he ran up to me. “Did yu get the one you wanted?”

“Better,” the boy replied. “He gave me both my first and second choices.”

I hugged him. “I’m happy for you.” Then I rushed off to my journey.

Events interrupted. I needed my recall roster.*

Where was it? Where was it? I scurried about, opening and closing drawers in search of it as others asked, “Do you have your recall roster,” or told me, “You need your recall roster.”

“I know, I know,” I kept saying. Opening an old wooden rolltop desk, I discovered two fresh sandwiches on plates. “So that’s where I put those.”

I didn’t need two sandwiches so I fed one to a friend’s dog, then took the other sandwich out and place it on a table to eat. Another sandwich of another kind was already on the table. A passing friend said, “I picked up that sandwich for you, Michael.” As I thanked them, another sandwich was put on a plate before me. “For you,” another friend said.

I protested, “I already have a sandwich. Who needs a sandwich?”

Others joined me, eager for a sandwich. As I began eating, I found I had one sandwich left over. A man sat to my right. “Mind if I eat this, Michael?”

“No.” I realized the man picking up the sandwich was my main character.

That made me laugh.

 

* Recall Roster – a telephone contact list used for mobilization and rapid notifications

 

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Friday’s Theme Music

Yeah, a free association flow today ended up with this song. It started with writing.

Yesterday morning…stalled on writing a scene. Overthinking it, my home-grown inner writing coach screamed. “Do it!”

Despite that exhortation, I resisted and fiddled. Knowing self, though, finally opened doc, went to scene, started reading and fiddling with words. Then, ah…sweet relief as sentences flowed in and out.

Then, pop: revelation. Surprise. Unseen connections and directions illuminated. Go: write like crazy.

Done with the one-handed writing for the day, the writing continued in my gray space — the brain, yeah, but also those nano vacancies visited while watching TV, petting a cat, searching the sky, scrolling the news — and new nuances proliferated. As it happened (continuing in dream material), it came at last as another piece in the characters’ stained- glass personae: desire.

Who they think they are, claim to be, try to be, fail to be, are seen to be, were before, dream to be, and are said to be punched together.

So, today’s theme music is U2’s “Desire” from 1988.

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The Energy Dream

Antsy and restless, my wife and I awaited an event. 

We were seated in chairs outdoors, on a corner, by a dark sea. She was across from me. A sharp, blustery wind and leaden sky frequently pierced by sunshine highlighted a roiling, uneven intensity.

The mood I felt permeated a growing crowd. Roving gangs and knots of teenagers prowled, seeking outlets and distractions. I frequently looked to the horizon, waiting for the change that we feared and expected. A young woman who I vaguely knew came and sat on my lap. First she tried cajoling me into buying her a car. My wife, opposite, made snarky comments about the girl to friends. The girl annoyed me. She then tried seducing me, pushing my annoyance to the point that I removed her, and got up to walk.

The girl followed me, making comments. I decided it would be important for us to have water for what was to come and went to find some. My search brought me to a welcome center. Made mostly of clean bright white plastic, a lone, awkward appearing manned the place.

He spoke to me but I mostly ignored him. Multiple water dispensers existed but there weren’t any containers. I found a tin thing which I repurposed, then filled it. I tasted the water; it was fine. Looking at it, I discovered fine black sediment suspended in it. Pouring that water out, I cleaned the vessel, refilled it, and hurried back to the corner.

The event seemed to be beginning. We all gathered, standing to watch the ocean. A tall dark storm lit by silvery white backlight sprawled across the horizon. As a general said, “Here it comes. It’s bigger than expected,” a stern wind struck.

Although the wind rocked me back, his comments soothed me. I was happy that it was finally beginning. The general said, “It’s going to take longer to come because it’s bigger than expected.”

I was nodding because I was okay with that. Now that it was beginning, everyone relaxed and watched. Drinking crystal clear water from my tin, I waited.

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

Today’s theme music, “All My Life” by the Foo Fighters (2002), is directly related to my dream.

All my life I’ve been searching for something
Something never comes, never leads to nothing
Nothing satisfies, but I’m getting close
Closer to the prize at the end of the rope
All night long I dream of the day
When it comes around, then it’s taken away
Leaves me with the feeling that I feel the most
Feel it come to life when I see your ghost

h/t to Genius.com

The extended opening riffs, followed by Grohl’s breathy, terse delivery of those first lines, convey the dream’s edgy restlessness.

Done, done, I’m on to the next one. Love that declaration.

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Night Escape Dream

I needed to get across town, at night. I worried about being caught.

I was on foot. A moonlit night blessed the mild night, a double-edged blade; I could see but could be seen.

The area was known, a small town in southern West Virginia. Going down a hill by a highway, my senses sharp, I darted from corner to corner, building to building, All were commercial buildings. Most were closed.

Then I heard someone coming. Terrified of being caught, I slipped into a building.

A private club. it was open, and packed. Walking in, seeing a full room, I slipped down some stairs…

And into another full, crowded room.

Well-lit, everyone looked at me. All were white men and women. Nodding hello, I mumbled something about being sent down here to wait. Nodding understanding, everyone resumed what they were doing. Turning, I spied a darker, quiet room and popped into it. Empty. Safe.

I stayed, resting there for a while, then exited into the night again. As I crossed a cinder parking lot, I heard someone calling me.

Running, she caught up with me. Giddy and out of breath, she said she’d go home with me. I explained that I wasn’t going home and that she wasn’t safe with me, but she insisted.

I changed plans. I’d get her home, then continue on my mission.

We pressed on.

She complained. She was tired and hungry. She wanted to rest.

Knowing of a home that belonged to an acquaintance, I detoured and broke into the house. Finding a soft surface with a blanket, we went to sleep.

Children awoke us. They weren’t scared but pleased with our presence. A black man, my acquaintance, came down. After initial surprise, he was welcoming, friendly, and reassuring. Then, just as we relaxed, he issued a warning: “Look out.” A name I didn’t catch was coming.

We pulled the blankets over our heads. Noises rose. What the hell?

A large dark dog shoved his head under the blanket. As we pulled it back, thinking, caught, my acquaintance explained that the dog was the slobber monster, that he had to smell and slobber over everything.

The dream’s tenor changed. We relaxed. As my wife watched TV with the children. I chatted with my friend, and he fried bacon and eggs for us for breakfast. I planned to get my wife home, and go on.

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The Travel Dream

Such a brief, sharp dream.

My wife and I were outside. Fat, wet snow fell, covered the ground, and blotted our vision. We were dressed for cold, so we were protected, and we were walking somewhere. A man said, “Hey, would you like some airline tickets?”

We laughed and scoffed. “Flying? Now? No, thanks.”

The man insisted, “It’s cheap and safe,” reassurances that amused me.

“Sure.”

He seemed to miss my sarcasm and doubt. “Good. Where do you want to go? You can go anywhere for just three hundred and four dollars.”

“Anywhere? Can I go to Pittsburgh for that?”

“Yes, Pittsburgh, here you are.” He held out two tickets.

“Wait, is that three oh four each? Is it round trip?”

“Yes, yes.”

I was confused. “We don’t want to go to Pittsburgh. It’ll be cold there. It’ll be just like here.”

The man said, “You can go anywhere you want.”

My wife replied, “We want somewhere warm.”

“Yes, through there, those tickets will take you.”

Through where, we were asking him, ourselves, and one another. Then we glided out. A  broad, flat green land spread out at our feet. Spokes of waterways divided the land into wedges. A metropolis served as a hub. A golden haze bathed it all.

“Where are we?” my wife and I asked.

The man answered from behind us, “Wherever you want to be.”

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The Library Dream

Randy and I were going to the library. Randy is a friend who died of colon cancer five years ago. He was a few months older than me.

In the dream, he was the Randy I always knew, although he was driving a black Mustang GT, which is unlike Randy. When, in the dream, we got out of the car, I said, “I like that car. I’ve rented one three times now, although they were the next generation. All of them were white. One was a convertible.”

Randy said, “I know, you told me.”

We went into the library. It was a modern brick and glass building. They’d called me to fix something there. Randy was just giving me a ride. Then he and I were going off to have a beer.

In the library, I sought the head librarian. She gave me blueprints. They were highlighted by supports that I needed to fix. She went off immediately. As I studied the blueprints, Randy asked, “Why are they having you do this?”

I replied, “I’ve done it before, and they know that, I guess.”

Studying the prints and the building, I found where the supports were to be fixed. But as I studied the situation, I decided that what they intended wouldn’t work.

Off I went to find the head librarian.

She was in another section with a man, working on fixing something else. Seeing me, the man said, “Oh, just fix it.”

Showing them the blueprints, I explained to them what I thought was wanted and why I didn’t think they’d work.

The head librarian said, “Well, you’ll have to take it up with him. He’s the one that sent the plans down. I’m just a messenger.”

I’m like, “Who is him? How do I get old of him?”

But the librarian was ignoring me.

I went off again to reconsider the supports and the fix. I remained convinced that they wouldn’t work.

People started entering the library. Some event was going on. Randy and I found books and then sat down to read, along with dozens of others. Most were men.

A woman introduced a man. The man, small and dark, began speaking. I stopped reading to listen to him but he was speaking so softly, I couldn’t hear and understand him.

Randy kept reading. Seeing that, the man walked over and handed Randy a card, and then walked away. He was still talking but I couldn’t hear him.

Holding up the card, Randy said, “What’s this? Let me take my glasses off.” He couldn’t do that because he had a book in his hand. He handed me the card. I read, “See what you’re missing when you don’t listen?” on it. Randy took his glasses off, handed them to me, and took the card. As he read the card and I held his glasses, I realized that my palms were sweating and his glass lenses were getting wet and smudged.

I apologized to Randy as I handed his glasses back. That’s where the dream ended.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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