Category: Dreams

Two More Dreams

I often dream about four things: being in the military (again), cars, houses, and animals. Two of those made it into the second dream. It was the main event. First, though, came a dream snippet.

I was working on rice flavors. I came up with a new, exciting idea: cinnamon rice. Awakening, I thought, cinnamon and rice? That’s been around for eons, as in, say, rice pudding. I was quite excited in the dream, though.

My boss entered. I made my announcement.

He loved the idea. “Cinnamon and rice. That’s our new potato chip flavor.”

Whaaat? I’d been working on potato chip flavors? I was aghast, horrified, and crestfallen. Then I said, move on.

My second dream found me in a huge house. My wife and I had been living there for years, but the place surprised me with its size. Besides several levels, the house featured several wings and a huge yard.

I’d been living on the main levels, I realized, and had forgotten about the other parts. Now, remembering them, I went on a re-discovery exploration. Everything was well lit, plush and well furnished, but some of the white marble steps were dusty. I had to clean those off, I told myself.

Back in the house, my black cat was clamoring for my attention, but I had a house guest. I took her to a breakfast nook off the second dining room (the more informal one). There was a table with three chairs. Two were standard dining room chairs, white with light blue padded seats. The third, in the same motif, was on wheels and featured a wicker headrest that could be folded up to extend the back.

I presented this to my friend. I hadn’t seen here in over a decade. She’d never been to my house. Dressed in light blue and white that weirdly matched the dining room and breakfast nook, she stood there with a laptop bag over her shoulder. “Perfect.” She set her bag down. “I will write and type here.”

Good. She wouldn’t bother us there. But I said, “You’ll be facing a wall.” That was anathema to me; I liked facing a window so I could look out.

“No, I like facing walls, so I’m not disturbed,” she replied.

Weird to me. Meanwhile, I had to pick up the dogs from the vet. I went out as the van arrived, bringing them back. (Yeah, that confused me for a second; I thought I had to go get them, but no, they’d been brought to me.)

I took the dogs inside and let them go. They rushed to one bathroom. Surprised, I followed them in. There, I found kittens: a gray, ginger, and two black and white. They were toddling around, their little tails straight up the air like pointers. The dogs avidly sniffed them.

I called to my wife, “Where did these kittens come from?”

She didn’t answer. That’s where the dream ended.

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A House Dream

We were in a new home. In some ways, we seemed dissatisfied. The place was large and new. Despite that, there was a feeling that we needed to change it and make it our own.

My wife left on errands. While she was gone, we were overrun by cats. We had cats, but every time I looked around, new cats had arrived. Some were afraid of me and scurried out. Others ate without care.

While this was going on, I was trying to explore the house. There wasn’t any furniture or personal things yet. Those were due to arrive. I found we had a large, green yard surrounding our house. Part of a plan, we were on a paved road with other new houses. Plenty of space was between us.

Yet, something about the house continued to bug me. As I walked around, I realized the floor was tilted. It hadn’t been that way. I inspected the rooms while talking with the cats, trying to understand why the floors were tilted. Returning to the living room, I discovered a huge bulge in the floor.

My wife arrived back home in an annoyed mood, berating me for not ‘doing things’. As she went about, I tried telling her to look at the damn floor and the bulge, but she stayed focused on other things and kept talking. I finally said, “Will you stop and look?” in a loud, dramatic manner.

Glancing toward the bulge, she dismissed it as my fault.

That irritated me. I didn’t see how it was my fault, and didn’t care; it was a new house – less than a year old, I decided – so the builder should be responsible. I had to find the building.

In my underwear, I left to find the builder. As I went, I grew more concerned that if something wasn’t done, the house would collapse, or if we waited to take care of it, the builder would weasel out of responsibility. While walking in my underwear, I carried shorts with the idea that I would put them on. Every time that I tried, something convened to interfere and stop me.

Struggling on to find the builder, I came to a market and passed through it, trying to put my shorts on as I went. I discovered a black woman naked from the waist down. Not wanting to embarrass her, I looked away. She laughed at that, but I made it a point to stand in front of her with my back to her so that she could dress with some privacy, which she did. Then I put my shorts on.

I left the market and ran into my nephew. He said that he’d been by my house and that a pillar had gone through the roof. I was horrified. He told me that the same thing had happened to his house, and we needed to find the builder and have him take care of it.

I hurried home with my nephew to tell my wife. As I approached my home, I studied the roof. I didn’t see the pillar sticking up through it. When I turned to ask my nephew, he was walking to his car and about to leave.

That’s where the dream ended, giving me a lot to think about.

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Sunday’s Theme Music

Woke up this morning and after traipsing through the dreams, urged myself, come on, get up. Seize the day.

Not uncommon words. But my brain then latched on to other words, “One more time around might do it.”

I chased the threads while I did morning business, finally realizing that Soundgarden’s song, “The Day I Tried to Live” (1994), was trying to break through.

Singing, one more time around might do it
One more time around might make it
One more time around might do it
One more time around I might make it
The day I tried to live, yeah

h/t to Genius.com

How many times have I told myself, one more time might do it over different projects and efforts over my lifetime.

I don’t usually have such trouble getting out of bed. Cats generally don’t permit such self-absorbed dawdling.

I think it’s just a sign of the times.

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

Today’s theme music came after reviewing my dreams. Empowering dreams, I enjoyed them, in part because they seemed fuller and more coherent than the last few sleeps’ fragile fragments. As I thought about them and the almost one eighty shift in lucidity, I thought, the dream police must’ve stepped in, which gave me a chuckle.

Like that, the brain said, “Oh, “The Dream Police” by Cheap Trick,” and began playing it like it was Alexa gone nuts.

So, I went with it. 1979: a good year to be young and getting older. Amusing video. I don’t think I’ve heard this song in a looonnnggg time.

 

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Busy Dreams

So much happened in dreams last night. Putting it all together…well, I probably failed that. But, here goes.

My wife and I were in a new car, a small vehicle, made of gold. I was driving, and the car pleased me. I was very happy with my new acquisition.

My wife was in the passenger seat and there were two people in the back. We were going through a tunnel, perhaps exiting a parking complex. She told me that I’d missed the turn. I couldn’t turn the car around, so I backed up. Not able to see where I was going, I hit a support pillar with the car. This upset me, but we kept going. When I finally parked, I checked the bumper for damage. There was none.

After parking, my wife and a friend were going shopping. I decided to check into a hotel. But first, I spoke with Jerry.

I haven’t seen Jerry since 1977. We were stationed together at Wright-Patterson AFB in Ohio. Smoking a cigarette (as he often did back then), he was laughing and talking about how he’d changed. “I used to be a survivalist. You wouldn’t believe the stuff that I had.”

Laughing, I said, “I find that hard to believe, knowing you.”

Dead serious, he replied, “You don’t know me. You think you do, but you don’t.”

I went into my hotel room, got into bed and went to sleep. A while later, noises in the room awoke me. It was Jerry’s wife. She said, “Hey, do you need anything, baby?”

I said, “I need you. Get into bed with me.”

She said, “No.”

Shrugging, I sat up in bed. Her long dark hair was now a short bob. Looking right, I saw a pile of hair on the floor. “Have you been in here cutting your hair?”

“Yes.”

“While I was sleeping?”

“Of course.”

My wife rushed through the room. I realized that she was going shopping again.

I dressed and hurried to work. When I arrived, I found hundreds of people milling around, waiting for something to start. The man in charge gave me several lists. “There are forty possibilities in here. You need to match them up from the different sources so that we have the information we need.”

Looking at the lists, I saw that many were printouts, but some were newspaper articles. Some had circles in red markers, but others were highlighted in orange. Another man came up to help me.

“Can you do it?” the man in charge asked.

“Yes.” I was confident that I could. He left, and I got busy. It soon became apparent that the information was more difficult to sort and mass than I realized. He expected results for forty but there were hundreds or thousands of possibilities. I struggled with finding a scalable way to do it.

The man with me said, “It can’t be done.”

“Yes, it can,” I replied.

The man in charge came up. “How’s it coming? Are you almost done?”

“No,” my helper said. “Far from it. I don’t think it can be done.” He and the man in charge argued.

I said, “I can do it. Give me time and space.”

The man in charge said, “Okay, we’re counting on you.”

End of dreams.

 

 

 

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Dream Snippets

So many diverse dream elements last night. Here’s two of five. It’s too exhausting and time-consuming to recount more. These left the greatest impression. First, the game show.

A flood had wrecked a place. I felt it could be salvaged. Seeing how it could be done, I convinced the network to give me a chance to execute.

Things immediately started going wrong but I kept persevering. I ended up with two basketball hoops at one end. Two young women were assisting. I had a nerf basketball. Then I started attempting explaining what was supposed to happen. As that’s going on, it was announced time’s up. You’re going live.

I wasn’t supposed to be on the air, but there I was, throwing the nerf ball and falling miserably to make a basket. I kept throwing the ball to the hoop; it fell well short. I then decided to bank it off the backboard. That fell well short.

“It can’t be done,” I said. “We need a different ball.”

One assistant replied, “We’ve been doing it with this ball.” Another man stepped up, threw the ball and made a basket.

Everyone was laughing at me. Embarrassment and frustration flooded me. The network said, “Hey, people are watching you. They’re enjoying this. You have a hit.”

The next segment took me into the kitchen. My wife and I were cooking. She put a pot on the stove and turned on the fire. The pot immediately boiled over. Calling my wife, I removed the pot from the stove and turned off the flame. The yellow flame didn’t go off, but spread, going over other food and dishes on the counter, horrifying me. Then the flame went out.

My wife came in. I told her what’d happened but she made a comment, took the pot, announced, “That’s done,” and left, telling me to turn something else on.

I reached for the stove. Yellow flames sprang up and spread. I withdrew my hand. The flames went out. Nothing was burning; it was just flames.

Outside now, in a new section, my wife, friends, and others were talking. My wife had won something and had a large clear bag of stuff. “I don’t know what’s in it,” she said. I suggest we open it and separate it.

We found car parts. Toilet cistern repair kits (which looked nothing like it should, but I knew what it was). I was suspicious, thinking that several piles had been mixed together, but didn’t voice that. My wife took what she wanted and tossed the rest.

A friend came by, complaining that another friend had lost some things and telling me where the other friend said he’d left them. As he went off, I called after him, “Was it car parts and toilet parts?”

The other friend kept walking away. The dream ended.

 

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Another Car Dream

Such a pleasant and satisfying dream last night. Nothing special to it.

A friend had built a car. Although it resembled a circa 1969 Porsche 911S, he’d built that body on a new 991 chassis. Its engine was a turbocharged 4.5 liter flat six. Fat tired but inconspicuous, it was a dainty jewel.

I was buying it from him, Gene, for next to nothing. The only thing that bothered me was its color, bright red. For the rest of the dream, it was a silvery slate blue that reflected everything in its high gleam.

Opening the hood, I checked out the engine bay. He’d done professional work, and the car’s finish was like Porsche had built it. I was extremely pleased.

After acquiring it, I picked up two friends. We were meeting two other friends at a restaurant and going to a concert. The car’s power and grace as I drove stunned me. It was so smooth and controlled, far beyond anything that I’d ever driven. The car’s quiet, unencumbered speed impressed my passengers.

Arriving at the restaurant, we met the other two. I checked out their cars. One was driving a current generation Lexus. The other drove an Infiniti. That pleased me. As I told the friends I’d picked up, there was five of us. We wanted to take one car to make it all easier, and couldn’t go in my new Porsche.

The restaurant was an expensive and charming place sitting by itself in a green field with a parking lot. As it’d just opened for dinner, we were the only customers. We sat down and ordered a light dinner. I had some paperwork from the car. Essentially, the builder had typed up an owner’s manual. I read through it as we ate.

Then, time to go, we headed out to the cars. Plans were made; one car was being left at the restaurant.  I was taking my car home, just up the road. We’d take the third car, the Lexus, to the concert.

Newer Porsches were now in the parking lot. None noticed my gem. I was experimenting with the accelerator, checking its responsiveness. The engine barked and snarled like a racing car, instantly answering the call for power with revs as I trundled it past the other parked cars. At one point, I had to stop to permit another to back out, which I did willingly, feeling cheerful and accommodating toward others.

Then we were exiting, turning left, going up a highway on a hill and around a curve. I quickly raced past others. The tach was redlined at 10,200, very high for a street car. The turbo was indicated on the tach as coming on at 8,200, which was also high. I remembered reading that, and also talking to the builder. He’d made it that high because he didn’t want to be dealing with turbo lag. With four and a half liters, it had power to do anything needed without the turbos.

I wanted to open the turbos and feel it. I was being cautious, though, intimidated by the power that I knew it had. I’d driven turbocharged vehicles and knew that the turbo could catch you out. You had to be aware when you used it.

I also knew that I needed to go home because that’s where the others were expecting me. Then I remembered, shit, I’d left my paperwork back at the restaurant.

Executing a u-turn, I returned to the restaurant. The dining room was now filled. Someone was at the table we’d used but I could see the paperwork. I told the hostess the issue and headed across to the table. By the time I arrived, the paperwork was gone. I addressed the people, a young man and woman there, and asked them about the paperwork. They hadn’t seen it.

Turning around, I realized that I was at the wrong table. The right one was behind me. And there was the paperwork. A businessman had just picked it up and told me that he was just moving it, it was there when he’d arrived. At my request, he handed it to me.

The dream ended.

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Two Cities Underwater Dream

Two cities had been built underwater. No, not in a dome. They were undersea but in the open.

No one yet lived in them. Shiny and new, rich with skyscrapers, monorails, and modern architecture, multiple parks and roller-coasters were also visible. Finished as mirror images, only one would exist when it was all completed. The final stage of completion was set to begin.

I was excited. I wanted to live in those cities. I marveled at the water. Amazingly pristine, I could see forever. To live in one of those cities, whichever one was chosen, seemed special. Come on, I urged, finish the city. Open it.

Enrico Colantoni, an actor, was sent out to finish the process. He was to match pieces, like a giant jigsaw, to one of the cities. That would bring it to life and banish the other one. Then people would be allowed to enter it. Fingers crossed that I could enter.

As Colantoni picked up the first huge piece and studied it (a red roller-coaster on tracks at an amusement part), talking to himself, everyone (including me) was pounding on glass windows and yelling advice at him, telling him where to put the piece, something that we were able to clearly see out there, from a distance.

A heavy, repetitive thud interrupted the proceedings. As all paused to wonder what that was, a muffled voice said, “What?”

Much more sharply, a second voice said, “It’s over. He’s called it off.”

“What? muffled voice answered.

“He changed his mind. Stop.”

Disappointment swept me. Who changed their mind? What was going on?

The dream ended.

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What A Dream

To begin, I’ve parked my car on a road by a small, rocky but sandy beach. Others are there. Someone says, “Look.” They’re pointing.

I turn and look. A large whale is being washed up onto the shore. A man is down there trying to wrestle it into place, an impossible idea. But past that, huge waves are rising and rushing toward us.

I say, “Oh my god, look at those waves.”

The first guy says, “That’s what I was talking about.”

I reply, “Run,” and start running along the beach.

Enormous waves crash behind us. Water is swirling back there. We’ve escaped. We’re on the move and still in danger. I’m with two others, males. They’re friends and younger. “We gotta go,” I say. “We need to get away from here.”

We find a rusted and repainted (gray and white) panel van. I start it and drive away. We drive and drive through the night. The van has a bench seat and no rear seats. It’s empty. The gas gauge is broken. We’re driving parallel to the ocean. Huge waves are crashing. The sea is rising. We need to go until we can turn inland.

I feel like we need gas. Finding a station open, we stop. I have forty dollars. That’s all the money between us. We’re hungry. But — I have a credit card. I talk to the attendant. I’m surprised but relieved he was open. Yes, but not for much longer, he tells me. We’re probably his last customers. I ask if I can pay with a credit card. Yes, he replies, leading me to another man. He’ll take care of us.

We eat and buy supplies, paying with gas. We’re exhausted. We talk about sleeping in the back of the van. Then, I have an idea: let’s go back in time so we can warn people. My friends like that, so that’s what we do.

We arrive at an air force base. I’m in uniform. One of the guys wants to attend a service. He’d died before; this service was for him. He wanted a chance to say good-bye to himself.

So we agree to wait for him while this happens. As I’m standing there, a U.S. flag is ceremoniously folded and handed it to me. I accept it with proper protocol and then give it to another. That was my part.

We go into a briefing room. It’s more like a theater. An officer friend is briefing about a weapon failure. I know what happened because it’d already happened. I push to the front and tell them what happened and convince them that I know the future because I came back from them. I warn them about the growing storm and the need to take action.

The dream ends.

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The Aliens Dream

It’s a frustrating dream, at once very clear but not understood. I dreamed it twice.

The first time I dreamed it, paperwork was being hunted for me. As Fred discovered it and brought it to me, I had my pecker out and was looking for somewhere to pee. Taking a hint, I woke up and went to the bathroom.

While awake, I reflected on the bizarre dream. People had been telling me that they’re been a day when aliens had contacted some. I was incredulous. It was like a big, open secret among these people.

When I returned to sleep, I dreamed it again.

I was at a friend’s home, having a beer. Somehow a conversation took place where they revealed there was a day when aliens contacted them. They’d documented it. Three primary people emerged: Pat, a person who I used to work with; Fred, father of a childhood friend; and Greta Thunberg. There was also a larger group of people that I knew but who remained vague in the dream.

Pat was a big, jovial smart guy who worked in Intel for the USAF and the NSA and DIA. Fred, my friend’s father, was also a big guy, quiet and solemn, who worked for U.S. Steel. You’re probably familiar with Greta. I’ve never her, but have seen and read about her.

A fourth person was the one telling me about it. He had a chart on graph paper showing when the aliens contacted him and what happened as a result – weather and stock market changes. There’d been a twenty-four hour period when the aliens were with humans. Most humans were completely ignorant about it.

Fred, coming in to give me another beer and ask if I was hungry, confirmed what the other guy said. Fred had also been contacted. He had written about it and had a graph like the first guy. I asked if I could see it. He agreed.

This kept going like this. More people came forward with the information, telling me the same thing. Then Pat dropped the bombshell: the aliens had contacted Greta.

I was eating and drinking beer as all of this was taking place. I wanted more information. Someone gave me an information packet that they’d put together. I asked, “Has anyone put together and contacted an entire list of who’d been involved with the aliens?”

Either no one could or no one would answer the question. As I put information together for myself, I discovered a pink sheet of paper. I noticed that everyone had charted their own involvement in a green sheet of graph paper; the pink sheet of paper on top of the package in my hand was a summary.

I sat everyone down. Twenty-two people were present. We were in a large commercial dining room with round tables. A friend, Shari, had joined us. She confirmed that she’d been contacted. I read everyone the pink summary. I can’t remember a thing that it said but all agreed that it was right. I asked if anyone had ever compiled the graphs and analyzed them; no, they all agreed.

That floored me. I decided I would do that. But, the place was closing; everyone needed to leave. They all began departing. Pat was at a table. He was making calls to find more information. I went in and used the restroom. When I returned, I began singing Joe Cocker’s cover of “She Came In Through The Bathroom Window”. Pat, sitting at a table alone, sang it with me. We sang the verses, “Didn’t anybody tell her? Didn’t anybody see? Sunday’s on the phone to Monday. Tuesday’s on the phone to me.”

I left the building. It was a long, two-story place like a U.S. motel. My car, a dark blue sedan, was parked on the street. I was in a happy mood as I walked across the unpaved parking lot and looked at the gathering dusk.

The dream ended.

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