Dreaming: Not My Glass
I was at a very crowded camp. We were outside. Lot of activity going on, including food and drink being served, and eating. I was not alone but with a group of friends and casual acquaintances, but it seemed to change throughout the dream.
Two parts retain clarity. One, I was drinking red wine in goblets. Almost everyone was, so it was challenging to track what drink belonged to who. Two, a group of Black friends were talking about movies and books. I’d not heard of either one.
One showed me a book. It was thin children’s book. I think it was called Riverrun City. When he showed me the cover, it showed brown cartoon bears moving across it. I thought I’d heard of the book but admitted I’d not read it. I made promises to try to do so as they encouraged me.
I went back to get my glass of wine but couldn’t find it. I recalled that I’d just filled it and set it aside – out of the way – so nobody else would pick it up by accident. It wasn’t where I remembered I put it and thought, I either mis-remembered, or someone moved it.
I spotted another glass at a different location. It could be mine, but I wasn’t sure. I walked around looking but also understood, how the hell am I supposed to know what glass is ‘mine’? They all looked alike.
I went back to that one which ‘might’ be mine. There seemed to be brown fibers floating in it. I tasted it; it tasted like tobacco juice.
This is not my glass, I decided.
Cars, Changes, and Control: A Dream
I drove into a Trader Joe’s parking lot to park and shop. I was driving my old white BMW 2002, a car I haven’t owned since I left Germany in 1991. It made ‘dream sense’ because I was about the age I was when I owned the car.
The parking lot’s left side was completely empty, bewildering me — why wasn’t anyone parked there? A large sign, facing the wrong way, explained not to park on the left side. Oh.
I moved my car. An older couple, dressed in fancy clothes, was there. I told them as I walked away from my car, “It would help if the sign faced the entrance, you know? Is something going on here today?”
They didn’t answer me but I heard the man saw as I walked away, “He’ll find out.” The woman tittered.
The store was busy inside. I decided to put down my cloth shopping bags for a moment and put them on a chair back by the older couple. Inside, shopping, I decided that I would buy a few things and picked up a frozen dessert that attracted my eye. As I thought about buying a few more things, I remembered that I’d left my shopping bags on that chair and rushed back to get them.
The bags were gone. I searched all over, but they were definitely gone. Morose, I returned inside to buy the frozen dessert.
Going back, my car was parked elsewhere but I knew where. It was also not my white BMW, but my wife’s gray Ford Focus. I went to the car’s right side to get in. Then I stepped back out and looked again where it was parked. The car to the left was so close, that door — which should be the driver’s side door — couldn’t be opened. I thought, it’s a good thing that I don’t drive on that side. Yet, I knew, with some confused reflection, driving is done from the car’s left side, not the right.
I was driving at the point and discovered a passenger, a pregnant young woman reading a book. First, I noticed that the book had my name on the front, but, startled by her presence, I said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t notice you there.”
She replied, “I’m Gail. My daughter was with you when you were driving an SUV in a foreign land, a wild country. She wanted to visit you because she’s worried.”
Driving, I wondered and asked, “Is your daughter born yet?”
Gail answered, “No, but she’s due.”
I then turned left. The road ended and I was suddenly driving through a woods heavy with water puddles and thick, black mud. Gail said, “I want to get out here.”
“No,” I replied. “I don’t know what happened to the road but I’m turning around. I’ll take you back and let you out.”
I whipped the car around and was back on the road in a few seconds. Gail got out. I opened the hatchback to put a bicycle in because I knew it was mine. Then I wondered, why is my bike here?
Dream end.
Comedy Festival Dream
Jerry Seinfeld and George Costanza are two characters from “Seinfeld”, a television series which was originally broadcast last century. Jerry Seinfeld played himself as a comedian living in New York, alongside Jason Alexander as his best friend, George Costanza.
I ran into Jerry in a dream. Jerry and I were talking when George came up. Jerry said to me, “Hey, we’re going to a comedy festival. Should be fun. Want to come?”
I agreed. After brief discussion, we decided I would ride with Jerry in his car, and George would drive himself, due to commitments after the festival.
Jerry and I set off on a straight road toward a sunset. Looking back, I confirmed George was following. Turning back, I watched the road in silence. Jerry, behind the wheel, was absorbed with his phone. We were coming toward a tree-line section and another vehicle was closing fast when I realized we were drifting across the centerline.
I said, “Jerry, the road,” but in a calm voice.
Without saying anything, Jerry set his phone aside and took the wheel, moving us to the right side.
We arrived at the open festival and met up with George. Jerry led us to our seats in an open-roof amphitheater. I settled in and watched acts, and then concocted my own and delivered a monologue up where I stood. To my surprise, it was broadcast a few minutes later to much laughter and applause.
The show ended. People began moving toward other activities. I realized that I’d lost track of Jerry and George and began walking around, both looking for them, and taking in sights.
Coming across a large pond set in rocks with fountains spraying into the air, I went into the water, in part for fun but also to escape the crowds. When I came back out, I realized that I’d been wearing sunglasses. I searched my pockets in case I’d absently taken them off but decided that I must have lost them in the water. Beginning to retrace my steps, I shrugged it off with the realization, the loss didn’t matter because this was only a dream.
Dream end.
Michael Seidel, writer 