Tag: confusion

The Confused Writing Dream

I was in a small building where there was a small office busy with people. It had a feel that seemed lifted from a 1950s movie. They had published something. Different authors were asked to read it and express what they thought. I was one, and my response was not like everyone else’s, triggering a new path.

Yet, I was never certain what was going on. I’d read and commented on something, but it seemed vague throughout the dream. My response made them ask me attend a conference with them. An old friend, a college professor, was going, too. He and I would go together, driving across country in a big, dark blue Lincoln Continental. He prepared to go in a hectic frenzy. I seemed baffled about everything he did and confused about what was going to happen next. Yet, soon we were in the car, driving across the country through light rain.

He was driving. I said something about seeing people needing a ride and wishing we could help them. Next thing that I knew, he pulled over for a hitchhiker. The hitchhiker climbed into the back. I offered to take a turn driving but the professor insisted that he was fine.

Seeing several more people on the side of the road, he pulled over and offered them a ride. I was leery of this, feeling that we didn’t have the room, but people crammed into the car. I looked into the back seat; it looked like a small, cluttered room. A blanket covered the rear window. That was to keep out the light so people could sleep, I guessed, but worried that it was illegal and we’d be pulled over. I again offered to drive, but he dismissed the offer.

We arrived at the conference. My impression was that it was a giant flea market, although it was indoors. People selling junk seemed to cover every square foot. Moving was done slowly, carefully, patiently. Food was being sold. I was hungry but passed on getting something to eat because I was reminded that we were having a big banquet. Someone gave me cookies, which I ate.

The head, a tall and bald white, middle-aged male wearing hornrim glasses, gave a short speech. He told everyone else that I was going to write about my impressions of the article they’d published. That startled me. Everyone applauded except me. Bewilderment was overtaking me. I was to do what, when? I didn’t understand but didn’t know how to ask the question.

Then, without me doing anything, the professor told me it was time to go. I realized that it was the weekend and that he needed to be back in order to teach Monday morning. We rushed around, packing things into the car. I offered to drive, since he’d driven us out there. He agreed. The dream ended as I entered the car and put my hands on the steering wheel.

7

The Tiny Horses Dream

We began with my wife and I in a car. I was driving. We were a young couple. Our car was a tiny but new silver import. As I went to turn right, I became aware of other cars racing up around me. Unable to see them, I just stopped the car as they went past, including a small, bright red car. Several turned right up the street that I was going to use. My wife and I talked and complained about the cars. I turned right and went up the hill into a modern housing plan. We immediately saw several wrecked cars, including the red car. As we commented that there was an accident, I realized that there were many more wrecked cars, and that there hadn’t been an accident; they had been attacked.

I stopped the car, but we stayed in it. I started to call the police on my cell phone but we heard sirens growing louder. Although we thought the police would want to question us, I was more worried about our safety and drove home.

We were in our house. It was a massive but beautiful, rambling place, with several levels. Airy, well-furnished, with many windows. Very clean.

One door led downstairs where we had several suites of rooms. These connected with other people’s places. We discovered a large, strange family had purchased one of the neighboring places. They were settling in. From their clothes and accents, it seemed like they were from a rural area and had just moved to the city. Talking to a female teenager, though, I learned that her mother just retired from the Navy and had moved there to take a new job.

Meanwhile, the new family was going into our rooms that were attached to their area. A few of them began moving some of their items in our rooms. I went upstairs and talked to my wife, confirming that those were our rooms. We then found a warning written in red marker on a brown paper bag on the floor: “I CAN FIND YOU.” The writing was terrible, but we were unnerved because it was in our house. I suspected that whoever did this came in through the downstairs part that connected to neighbors’ houses. I went down to try to make it secure so no one could get in that way. I realized that I couldn’t, and complained that this was one of the house’s shortcomings. I then told the new people that they couldn’t use those rooms because they were our rooms. They were confused and this entailed some extended conversations with different people, including the mother, before they understood. One aspect was emerged was the mother had pink skin and platinum blonde hair but two of her sons were very swarthy and hairy, and her daughters seemed Hispanic. There seemed to be about ten children running around. It was very confusing.

We got into our car to go somewhere. The car was a green golfcart. Rain started falling. I drove past railroad tracks. Glancing right, I thought I saw a tiny horse. I told my wife and then started trying to turn around to see it again. Reports came to us that a tiny horse had been spotted trapped on the railroad tracks. My wife urged me to go rescue it. Rain was pouring. Although I knew the tracks were no longer used, I agreed to rescue the horse, but thought I needed to get some tools first, so we went by our place.

When we arrived at the tracks, we discovered two tiny brown horses. Located on a sidetrack used for deliveries, these horses were smaller than cats. They weren’t trapped and didn’t need rescued. They were pretty lively, as evidenced by them starting to play with a white and calico cat that showed up.

The rain had ceased. We got out of our car to watch the two tiny horses as they played with the cat.

Dream end

SIDE NOTE: I’ve dreamed about this house, a sprawling place with a downstairs that connected to several other homes, multiple times before. It’s weirdly familiar.

5

The Graduation Dream

My wife and I were attending a graduation. We were young adults but were back to watch our high school’s latest graduation ceremony. We thought it would be ‘fun’. She and I were dressed business casual, although she wore a light blue sun hat.

We arrived and milled around, part of a large crowd in a huge cafetorium. I met a woman about my age. She wore a dark purple skirt and a lighter purple blouse. Brunette, she and I hit it off, flirting with one another.

An announcement was made for everyone to find a seat. My wife and I selected some advantageous seats up by the front, by the stage. As we looked around, we realized that we were alone in that section, which was about twenty by fifty feet, because it was marked off by tape. Somehow, we’d missed seeing the tape. Meanwhile, the woman in purple and I spotted one another across the room and exchanged waves. As I looked around, I saw that everyone was staring at us. The rest of the people were either on one narrow end of the cafetorium or were behind the tape on risers behind us. Most were dressed very casually; one young bearded man that I saw looking at me was wearing a sagging, worn yellow tee shirt. He reminded me of the actor/comedian, Chris Elliot.

“We need to move,” I told my wife. “I think we’re in the graduation area for the students.” Which, kind of made sense; why else would it be blocked off? But chairs weren’t provided for them. I didn’t see anyone in cap and gown and guessed that maybe they’d enter and stand in this section.

We stood to do so. At that point, an announcer said something that we didn’t understand. All the people behind us on the risers rose, turned and went up and out of the building. The people on the left remained, but stood and began chatting and collecting their items to leave.

“They’re not having a ceremony,” I said, realizations arriving. “It’s over. They’re all leaving.” It was the strangest thing I’d ever witnessed.

We walked around, talking to others. I didn’t seem to know anyone. My wife said something about saying hello to someone just as the woman in purple arrived and greeted us. The woman told me she found me very attractive. I thanked her and answered, “I have to go find my wife!” Then I scurried away, peering through the crowd for her. It took several minutes of walking around but then I spotted her hat. For some reason, I then said to her, “I can’t believe that you slept in that hat.”

The dream ended.

0

The Grandparents Dream

I dreamed of Grandma Kitty, Grandpa Paul, and Grandma McCune (who was my great grandmother, but was called Grandma McCune). All have passed away at least four decades ago.

In my dream, I was a young man in a city. I wandered about, looking for food and exploring places. The city, packed with small concrete buildings abutting one another, had many narrow alleys and roads. I explored to sate my curiosity about what the city held, peeking in throug windows, entering buildings, and walking through rooms.

Eventually I went into a large house. This belonged to my family. Large rooms with golden pillars. Pale gold walls, white ceilings, soft, low golden light, and deep red carpeting. A mansion, I realized with surprise, that belonged to my family. I had not realized their wealth, I thought in the dream, because in RL there wasn’t such wealth. The family was solid middle class.

People were busy with activities when I entered. I was now a teenager. It wasn’t many people and seemed to be family. I don’t know what they were doing. As I walked through, taking it all in, I saw Grandpa Paul, just as he was when I last saw him, smile, and turn away. As I went on, I spied the back of Grandma Kitty bustling around a large kitchen area. Grandma McCune (a tiny, thin woman, barely taller than me whenI was a little boy) passed and gave me a meek wave and a small smile, as she always did (she passed when I was five or so).

What next transpired is muddled. I ended up learning from Grandma Kitty that I would not receive Grandma McCune’s legacy unless I told her that I love her, because she was upset with me. I knew that she was due to pass on. I tried approaching Grandma McCune but then returned to Grandma Kitty. I told her, “I don’t know how to tell Grandma McCune that I love her.” When I spoke, I’d begun sobbing. Grandma Kitty took me in her arms and hugged me with a smile, telling me, “Don’t worry, it’ll be alright. She knows.”

I left and wandered the city. I was trying to return to where I was before. I thought I knew the way sufficiently that a shortcut was warranted. But when I entered the space, I realized that I didn’t have a mask. Exiting, I walked along a broken drainage ditch, thinking about how to get a mask, trying to remember where I’d left it. I decided that I’d sneak in one way and try to get back to my place. Thinking I knew the right door, I entered a pink hovel.

Inside were several men in a small, dark room. I nodded at them as I passed through. Reaching the other side, I opened the door. I expected to leave; instead, it was a tiny bathroom occupied by a man taking a piss.

I backed away and shut the door. Certain that I’d passed through here before and that I could return to where I had been, I walked around, hunting for another door. None were there. There was only the one, to the bathroom.

The man using it exited. I entered the bathroom and searched for a secret door. I didn’t find one. Yet, I remained confident that I was right.

I stepped back out to the other room. Four men were still there, older, bearded, sitting. I stood in the room’s center, thinking. I decided that I would wait for the men to leave and see how they left. Meanwhile, I’d keep thinking about the room and looking for a door where I was. As I decided this, one of the sitting men said, “Hey, is anyone else waiting for the john? I thought you were all waiting for it. If you’re not, then I’m going to go ahead and use it, if you don’t mind.” He had an Australian accent. As he passed me, I turned, and thought I caught sight of the door I sought in a corner.

The dream ended.

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The Map & Tiles Dream

A hodgepodge of dream remnants, like leftovers pulled from the refrigerator, made up the dream sequences last night. Most vividly, I was trying to install tiles. First it was on a floor, but, oh, wait, no, they’re on the wall. Well, did I think they were on the floor? People were walking on them. Were they walking on the walls?

The rectangular tiles were about the size of a brick’s side. First, they were clear; then they were white. All seemed the same shape. You’d think fitting them together would be easy, but I ran out of the wits to do it and kept starting over to get it right. Yet, it wouldn’t come right.

Then a tall and thin white man, bald and stooping, with sunglasses (and in a suit with tie) came by to inform me that I’m following the wrong map. He walked on even as I said with heaping bewilderment, “Map? What map?” I went to resume placing tiles but the stacks of tiles were gone. I began walking around, looking for them, because I was certain that they were right beside me. I hadn’t moved, so how did they move? Where did they move to? Someone must have taken them but that would have taken effort. Wouldn’t I have noticed that?

The tall thin man returned. Annoyed, he said, “Look.” He held a map on a clipboard up. I looked. The map was white with a bold red line. “This is the path that you’re supposed to be following. Follow it and you’ll be fine. Look at it. Memorize it.” Before I could do those things, he moved on.

I then saw the stacks of tiles. They seemed to be where I thought they were supposed to be. But the tiling was all done. I was left asking, what am I doing?

That segment ended but another began.

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A Ragtag Dream

I was staying in a disheveled sort of place, a ramshackle series of hotels connected to a large, decrepit aircraft hangar. The hangar was white; the hotels were pale green and light pink. A number of friends and my wife were there. We seemed like refugees trying to pull it together and move on.

Activities were taking place in all of the hangar. One person with us was S, a short, energetic woman who’d been an office manager where I’d worked. S and I met up by an aircraft in the hangar. The jet was something like a 737. We planned to take it to leave. But before we could board, S said, “We need to have all the rivets sealed.” She had a rag and some stuff. Showing them to me, she went on, “A little of this needs to be rubbed on each one.”

Looking up at the aircraft, I answered, “We would need to start at the top and work our way down, section by section.”

S said, “It needs to be done in about an hour. Can you organize people and get this done?”

I replied, “Sure, okay.”

She thanked me. We parted.

After we walked away, I thought, we don’t need to do that. That’s overkill. I’ll talk to S about that.

I kept going. I saw some other friends just arriving. They had some clothes. I recognized the clothes as some stuff I’d left behind. They were returning them to me.

But we didn’t meet up. I needed to get back to my room to get my wife ready to go. As I wend through people across the hangar to my hotel section, I saw another pile of my clothes on the cement floor and scooped them up to wear, then went to the room.

My wife was still in bed. I roused her. Our room was small and cramped, with a bed and a tiny bathroom. She was confused about what was to happen. I went about, explaining it to her while packing. She climbed out of bed; she was wearing gray pajamas. As she started moving and looking for clothes, she went into the bathroom. In there, I saw a huge cobweb with a dead mosquito eater hanging in it. I pointed it out to her, saying, “That’s been here the whole time that we’ve been here.”

She agreed, then as she moved around it, we saw other, larger ones.

We exited the bathroom. She said, “I need to think.” She took out four small gray rectangles from a bag, then set them on the floor, spacing them about four feet from one another. I didn’t know what she was doing.

Bending to the first one, she pressed a button on it. Music began playing. She repeated this with the next two. I recognized the music with each. She began dancing and singing to the music coming from the third. It was an old pop song by Abba, “Dancing Queen”. Then she moved to the fourth and pressed its button. She stopped dancing and singing, listening. I realized that it was playing “Another One Bites the Dust” by Queen and sang along with it. She seemed unable to hear the music and stood listening.

Dream end.

3

Another Lost Dream

Here I go again. I’m in a military service but it’s again not the USAF in which I served twenty years. Some other dream-imagined service. I was enlisted as in my USAF but very senior. Wherever I went, my rank brought me respect, honor, and VIP treatment. I was a happy camper.

I’d been away. Now I was returning to my base. My base was a huge indoor structure. Civilians lived there as well as military. The structure also housed schools, a mall, shopping, and a train system with several stations.

Arriving back, I’m informed that they changed my rooms. Sorry, but they moved everything for me. My new room number was 316. Oh, no problem, thanks, I’ll go there. I went to where I had been housed, expecting my new room to be part of that area. Wrong; that room wasn’t there. After some fiddling and walking about, I was able to contact the housing officer. Oh, sorry for the mix-up, I’m told, that’s 316 but it’s in another area. Someone is sent to lead me over there.

This is a dream, so this young kid is immediately there. White, lanky, short blonde hair, doesn’t look like he’s ever shaved. He’s in awe of my rank, which actually makes it hard to deal with him. I joke with him to put him at ease as we walk around. We arrive at the correct area. I go to room 316. My stuff isn’t there. Two other, lower-ranked people are there. My assigned handler is appalled; the two in ‘my’ room are alarmed. I want to know where my stuff is. I’m angry at this point. I’ve been traveling; I’ve been moved without prior notice; my stuff is gone; no one seems to know where it is.

I’m given the names of the people who moved me so I can get answers. They’re students in college. Zip, in dream-fashion, I’m in the school part of the structure. Children of all ages are running around from class to class, level to level — there a number of stairs and levels, all under a huge glass dome where sunshine streams in. We walk around, looking for the college section, following signs and directions from people stopping to help us. I learn the three who moved me on are another moving job. My handler and I jump on the train. We’re transported to the mall section. It teems with shoppers. There’s a growers’ market underway as well. All this complicates my search efforts.

At last they’re found. They insist they put my stuff in room 316 in the cited area. My anger grows: I was there and my stuff wasn’t there. The five of us now — three movers, my handler, and me — all round a corner; we’re right back in the housing area where I’m supposed to reside. The two people in room 316 are confronted. Oh, they moved my stuff. Someone gave them permission because I wasn’t there so they thought it would be okay, and this room is much nicer than their assigned room.

The handler takes over as I steam. Arrangements are made to get them out of my room and get my stuff back into it.

Dream end.

0

Another Mask Dream

Anyone need a dream? I had a surfeit of them last night. Convoluted and crazy. Too many to sit and remember, write, and analyze them. It would have taken hours that I don’t have. I instead stayed with one making the largest impression.

I can’t say where I was. Couldn’t make sense of it. In one part I was driving in a car with my wife. Darkness fell suddenly. The headlights didn’t go on as expected. It wasn’t a familiar car. Brown or tan sedan reminiscent of the old Chrysler K cars of the early 1980s, Lee Iacocca’s brain child. I started scrambling to find the headlight controls while verbalizing this to my spouse. Meanwhile, the ride changed from smooth to rough and bouncy. I immediately exclaimed, “We’re off the road. We need to find the road.” Seeing a clear space that could be it, thinking I’d simply veered off, I jerked the wheel left toward the opening.

We went over a hill through heavier bush and woods. Not the road! But, weirdly, POV changed; I could see the car from outside ourselves and the car, and saw that we were heading for an abandoned, weeded asphalt parking lot at the bottom of the hill. While it wasn’t where we wanted to go, it was good enough for now because I could also see that it was separated from the road we wanted by a small median strip. We could get to the parking lot, cross the strip, then drive to our destination, which I could also see in the gloomy dusk.

Now we’re in a room of some sort where we’re to wait. Narrow beds with disheveled blankets and sheets. Mine had cats burrowing through the covers as they played. A woman coming by said, “Yes, some of them have cats. Many don’t.” Okay. I asked her what to expect. She replied, “Find the script, read it, and wait.”

What? I found dog-eared and torn papers stapled together. I began reading, not sure what to expect nor why I was doing it, and thinking, that’s how life is. Meanwhile, the cats were feisty. I thought they hungry. I went about finding food for them. I found food but then couldn’t find the cats. That raised concerns about them.

Then — not sure why — I decided to fashion a mask for myself out of paper towels. I pinched out two holes for eyes and held them over my face. The white paper towels were raggedly torn. I began searching for some way to fasten them around my head but then I saw one of the cats go through.

Then, they demanded I read. Who? Why, it was the director. They’re auditioning people, trying to fill roles. Pick up one of the scripts and read. I did while holding the mask up around my face. The director loved it. Don’t practice; don’t change. Just walk forward, pick up scripts, and read them when you’re told. WTH. I was confused but decided I’d go along with it. I discovered two young actors had been cast as Romeo and Juliet. I was reading other parts. Then they would do their roles. Oh. I tossed the mask aside, feeling that it was a hindrance. A woman rushed up and told me, “No, no, the director liked that raw touch. He thought it was unusual and different and wants you to keep holding the mask as you read.”

So I went forward, holding up my mask, reading scripts when, seeing cats, and trying to feed them.

Dream end.

0

Friday’s Theme Music

It was two A.M. The bladder mumbled something. Didn’t need to hear exactly. Knowing what he wanted, I ambled through sleep and dark to the voiding station. A precipitation orchestra was tuning up. Plink plink. Plink.

Rain. By the time my bladder had finished his business, a solid downpour was underway. The cats and I — my flooftourage had followed me, of course (what’s he doing, where’s he going?) — slipped to a door to enjoy the rain and fresh air. But the smoke remained, thick as oatmeal, scratching at my eyes and nose. Still, it had rained.

Today is Friday, September 10, 2021, the second of four Fridays in September. We will have five Wednesday and Thursdays in September. A tepid imitation of sunrise took place at 6:45 AM. Last night gave us an an almost normal sunset as the smoke cleared enough for standardized views. Who will know tonight? The smoke comes from all directions. If you want to see the sunset in Ashland, look west — outside or through a window — at 7:29 PM.

The Dutch band, Golden Earring, had a 1982 hit called “Twilight Zone”. The song begins with a man talking. Then he says, “It’s two A.M.” The vocalist then begins singing with that line, “It’s two A.M.” He then goes on, “The fear has gone, I’m sitting here waiting, the gun’s still warm, maybe my connection is tired of taking chances.”

More lyrics (h/t AZLyrics.com):

Yeah there’s a storm on the loose, sirens in my head
Wrapped up in silence, all circuits are dead
Cannot decode, my whole life spins into a frenzy

Help I’m steppin’ into the twilight zone
Place is a madhouse, feels like being cloned
My beacon’s been moved under moon and star
Where am I to go, now that I’ve gone too far
Help I’m steppin’ into the twilight zone
Place is a madhouse, feels like being cloned
My beacon’s been moved under moon and star
Where am I to go, now that I’ve gone too far

Soon you will come to know
When the bullet hits the bone
Soon you will come to know
When the bullet hits the bone

I’m falling down the spiral, destination unknown
Double-crossed messenger, all alone
Can’t get no connection, can’t get through, where are you

Well the night weighs heavy on his guilty mind
This far from the borderline
When the hitman comes
He knows damn well he has been cheated

It’s all about wondering who you are, what’s going on. Whether you’re losing your connection with reality. What’s going to happen next.

Stay positive. Test negative. Wear a mask as needed. Get the vax. Enjoy your Friday. Fetch me a coffee, please. Never mind, I’ll get it myself. Here’s the music.

Cheers

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Dream and Dream Again

First dream was one of those short, sharp ones my mind has been recently providing.

My wife and I have a home. Two stories. Not a house but part of a building. The outer walls are open to the other places. We’re making improvements. I’m pleased with the progress. As I go about, though, I discover that a neighbor has installed a central vac system. There’s an open outlet on a kitchen wall that sucks in air whenever they turn their system on. Well, that’s not acceptable. Who wants a hole making news and sucking air out of your place? I was in a good mood though. Heard the neighbors and went over and informed them of the error.

Off I went again. That was all upstairs. I went downstairs. Confusion reigned of the Abbott & Costello ‘Who’s On First’ variety. Used to be that there was a room opposite the stairs when you went down. Thought it was the kitchen. But I just left the kitchen. Are there two flights of stairs? Did we used to have two flights of stairs or is this new? Do we have two kitchens. I darted about looking for answers that didn’t come before the brief dream ended.

Second dream was long, involved, and anxiety driven. Mild understatement.

Wife and I were vacationing. Our last day. We somehow get separated. Where is she? I’m looking everywhere. Panic is rising like a thermometer on a hot day. I can’t find her and we need to check out and catch our flight. With time passing, worse fears that something has happened to her is growing.

I hurry past buses disgorging tourists. Among them is Jennifer Aniston as Rachel from “Friends”. She’s in a dress with messages attached to her with safety pins. Don’t know what that’s about. Deciding it’s not related to me, I go on.

Stopping to tie my shoe, I set my glasses down. A young boy with his father pulls his suitcase into me and then picks up my glasses. The father picks up his son and apologizes to me. I accept those apologies but where are my glasses? I need those, thanks. The child doesn’t have them. I discover them sticking out of the father’s shirt pocket. “My son must have put them there,” the father exclaims, proud, amused, appalled, apologetic. No problem. I take my glasses and hasten on. I must find my wife.

Anxiety growing, so does confusion and bewilderment. Where is our hotel? What room is it? What day is it? I can’t remember these things. I can’t remember our airline or flight numbers, or what time we need to be there. I can’t find the tickets or room key. Can’t recall how to work the electronic device in my hand. Seems to be a phone but it looks weird to me. Can’t recall what email account I used. And can’t find my wife.

Somehow, I acquire all our bags. I’m carrying something in each hand, on each shoulder, and on my back. Then, there’s my wife. She’s been shopping. I’m outraged. “I’ve been looking for you. We need to go.” She’s vague, disconnected. She’s been right here. She doesn’t understand the problem.

Never mind, we need to go. I find our rental car. We’re in it and driving with other traffic but there are no lane markers or directions. The road is slick and smooth. There’s no traction. The car is sliding all over. I discern that there are some markers but it’s all faded away. Never mind, we’ll follow other cars.

We reach a parking garage and stop. It’s inside a building lined with stores. I’m thinking, now they’re putting stores in parking garages, too. I remember my email account and suddenly understand how to use the phone to retrieve my email but, oh, no, we forgot to check out of the hotel.

Dream ends.

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