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Sketchy Superhero Dream

I only retain a few main points of a sketchy superhero dream.

I was a superhero but have no idea what my powers were. I was using my powers to do good but what I remember of that is basically see headlines mentioning that I’d done something. You know, the headline said, “Child Saved”, with a photo of me as a superhero beside it.

The superhero organization reached out to me to help me advance and explain how it works. Apparently, I could gain others’ superpowers by defeating them. These were superheroes beyond their prime. They could help others advance and become stronger by giving them their powers when they were defeated. These aging superheroes didn’t mind doing that because they’d recover their powers and do it again.

It was sketchy to me. I struggled to comprehend. To add more confusion, the man from the organization explained to me that these aging superheroes often had multiple names and entities so they could give their powers away more often.

Huh?

Yes. All they did was add a letter or suffice to the beginning. So, I could defeat the superhero Reinaman.

Reinaman?

I recalled Reinaman in his old red and yellow costume. I didn’t recall his powers or why I would want to defeat him and take his powers.

The guy said, Reinaman was also Areinaman, Ireinaman, Preinaman, and Zedreinaman. Those are the examples I remember. The last one, Zedreinaman, sounded like the name of a flower to me, I told the rep.

That wasn’t important. Do you get the idea?

Yes, I got the idea but I remained confused. As instructed, though, I started doing this, and gained stature by defeating Ireinaman and Reinaman.

“Now you get it,” the superhero org rep said.

No, I didn’t.

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Dreams of Change

Last night’s dreams were all about change. Of what I remember, one was a vignette where I made coin change for people, including my wife and other family members. Another sequence featured me searching for and trying to change my clothes, which originally were white and light gray, and then trying to change my shoes. That moved into me trying to change the cat kibble, and being totally confused about what I was doing and why I was doing it. An additional series had me helping others change things. In one, I helped my father and friends trying to change a tire.

They’re laughable in the morning light. I realized that each scene and story shared elements.

  1. I was confused about what I was doing and why I was doing it.
  2. In the end, nothing that I set about changing required changed.

It was amazing. I’d make change for peoples’ dollars, and then they’d discover that they had the right change and didn’t need anything. They’d thank me and move on, leaving me standing there with change. The tire that we were trying to change was okay, just a little low on air, giving us a laugh. My clothes were the best choice, so I ended up not changing them, and the people with the other clothes suggestion left, and the cat kibble bowls were full, and the cats were eating them, so, confused, I realized, nothing was required of me.

Hmm, I wonder what message I’m trying to convey to myself with this night of cryptic dreams?

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Spider Update

We thought a black widow spider had started homesteading (websteading?) in the master bath. We go through these drills a few times per year. Per the household spider policy, I tried capturing it without clearly seeing it. The spider successfully retreated.

I haven’t seen it since that day. My guess is that it saw me naked and departed for somewhere else. After all, they’re more afraid of us than we are of them.

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That Nightmare

I was in conversation with the barista today when I flashed back to an early nightmare.

I lived on McNary Blvd in Wilkinsburg, PA. I think I was around eight or nine years old. I’d stayed up watching “Chiller Theater” with Bill Cardille on which I was able to see the original version of the movie, The Fly, which came out in 1958 (yeah, I looked it up). A horror film, I thought it was pretty damn entertaining.

Naturally, though, it played with my mind, resulting in a nightmare. In the nightmare, I stuck my toe into an outlet by my bed, shocking myself. Upon walking, I discovered it was storming outside. The lightning flashes did an excellent job of twisting the bedroom furniture into other beings. I was positive that the chest of drawers was a robot walking toward me.

I remember, too, Mom telling me to keep it down, or I’ll wake the baby. Ah, good times!

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Skipping Stone

Did you see it?

Did you see that stone skipping over the waves,

defying gravity as if it was nothing,

touching the water and flashing off like a blade of sunshine

never stopping?

Yes, that was me.

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Advice

Back when I was eleven, my future-self visited me to impart some advance. “Always confirm that toilet paper is available before you sit down and start your business. Sometimes others won’t be there to spare a square.”

Then he left. He’d arrived ten minutes late, of course, and left without providing the square so desperately desired.

As Alanis would sing, “Isn’t it ironic, don’t you think?”

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Conversing

You ever feel like you’re talking to someone who is having half of the conversation in their head, not saying the words but believing they had?

It can be confusing and exhausting.

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Sunday’s Theme Music

I don’t know why this song streamed into my mind this morning. I guess my neurons were bored with the chicken and avocado kibble dream.

“Road Rage” by Catatonia came out in 1998. I don’t recall hearing it, though. I encountered it in Paris a few years later when I was doing a trade show. It was always interesting to discover what other countries were listening to, and how different some of the music sounded in comparison to America’s radio blarings.

I liked the lyrics of “Road Rage” but didn’t understand them all. I was singing some of it to myself at our booth. Eventually, one of the people from the U.K. who was attached to the exposition organizers told me the song’s name.

The Internet was getting strong and healthy by then, so I hunted down the song, eventually learning about the murder it was based upon, and finally reading an interview with the singer, Cerys Matthews, about the song and her telephone conversation with the victim’s mother. It’s not a new premise, how technology drives us crazy sometimes, and sporadically ends with murder.

Anything can drive us over the edge.

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Catwich

Catwich (catfinition) – inserted or stuck between two or more felines, often in a bed or restricted space, reducing its comfort.

In use: “Once again, he found himself pinned in bed, the human lunch meat in a catwich, with two floofs on either side acting as slices of bread to hold him in. It was like they planned these things.”

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