The Room Dream

I arrived home as a young man. Mom gave me a room. I was happy to see her and happy to be there. We were living on a train, and the room she gave me was an entire train car. Long and narrow, I had a bed, desk, dresser, bookcase, chair, and wardrobe. I set them up to provide separate sleeping and living areas, using the bookcase and vanity as a makeshift wall. As I set it up, my young sisters came in and visited. Sometimes they brought young neighbor boys that they were watching. Mom would also occasionally come by.

I stacked my books and organized my desk, made my narrow bed, and slid against one wall. One side of the train had windows, and I set my desk up under them so I could look outside.

Young people in a sixties era Chevy Impala convertible (after the fins were dropped) began driving by. Whenever they did, some of my things would get shifted, annoying me. This worsened; even as I cleaned and organized again, they drove by, knocking things over. They never reached in or anything, but I knew it was them, as they were laughing about it.

I decided I’d put a stop to that and devised a way by changing the room around. The new arrangement was less satisfying, but it was staying neat and still workable. However, one of the little neighbor boys my sisters were watching kept sneaking into my room and tearing things up. He was fair and blonde, giggling often, but crying whenever he was stopped or reprimanded. I kept putting him out, warning him not to do that, and warning others to keep him out, and then cleaning up again, and again, but he kept getting in there. Mom came to me and told me to be more patient and tolerant because he was a small child and had mental and emotional health issues. I complained to her but took her point and promised I would try.

The train with my room went on the move. That pleased me because I thought we’d moved away from the boy causing the problem. But he got in there again. I was bewildered. My sisters explained that he’d come with us. I felt that I had no choice but to close and lock my doors. After I did that, I discovered him sliding in under the door. It looked like he could completely flattened himself, becoming as pliable and flexible as a sheet of paper.

My exasperation and irritation spiked. How was I supposed to deal with that. I took hold of the boy to take him out of the room. He immediately screamed, writhing and crying in my grasp. Others came running in. I said that I hadn’t done anything to him, that he was overly sensitive, defending myself with the claim, I was just stopping him from ruining things again. My sisters took him out of my room.

Dream end.

The Mustang Dream

Dreamed my wife bought me a Mustang convertible as a surprise. Let’s get into it.

To start, it was night. I left the house and drove around with a friend in his Mustang. He had some special edition, white with fat blue stripes. As he drove, I realized we were in my current town, Ashland. Stopping in the street parallel to some apartments, he powered his window down. I was asking, “What are you doing?” Grinning, he responded, “Wait.”

What he was doing was using a remote control to open and close his trunk. He’d stopped parallel to another Mustang, which was doing the same thing. Behind my buddy’s car was another Mustang, white with blue stripes, doing the same thing. “It’s how we greet each other,” my friend said. I said, “I didn’t know there were so many Mustangs in this town.”

He dropped me off at my house, which wasn’t my RL place. It was now day. A light blue Mustang convertible with its top down was sitting in the driveway. The interior was dark blue. The car wasn’t new, but gently used. I went into the house to see who owned the car and my wife announced, “Surprise! I bought that for you.”

I had to leave to pick up friends, so I took the Mustang. I picked up friends from a military unit I served in, and we drove around. We weren’t in my town any longer, but a large city’s business district. I checked things on the Mustang and commented on it. I wondered about its price, too. I also kept going the wrong way down one-way streets. I’d catch myself almost immediately and then turn around, but it was embarrassing.

I dropped off friends and returned home. A woman was there. She said she was the car sales rep and wanted to know how I liked the car. As we talked, my wife joined me and the three of us walked over to the car dealership. I was ambivalent about keeping it — I didn’t know the mileage, the year, or the cost — and told all that. The dealership was closing. We all rushed to get out the doors before it did because we were worried that we’d be forced to stay overnight in the dealership. The rolldown doors were closed, but two workers raised them and slipped out, closing them behind them. I then did the same, holding the doors up for me and my wife to leave.

The dream ended.

The Silver Cars Dream

Again, my dream made me a young man. I was with others, driving in cars on wide, busy boulevards. Sunshine blessed us so we had the roof down on my car, which was turquoise. An entertaining time was being had. It was all about a car show. All these old model cars were there to be judged. We guessed there were hundreds, maybe thousands. Old Porsche variations and European sports cars and GTs dominated, but there were also 1960s and early 1970s American muscle — Mustangs, Camaro Z28s and SS, Firebirds (including Trans-Ams), Cougars, GTOs, Cudas, and Chargers. All the cars were silver except for a few black, white, and turquoise ones, with one other exception. Silver abounded, making us laugh.

We had a list of the cars and were driving around to see them but the cars being judged were also being driven around, creating an entertaining game. Friends had their cars entered, and so did Dad, and old silver Thunderbird. Although I was sometimes driving, I was a passenger at one point, looking at the list of cars. I call it a list, but it was like a small newspaper. The car’s make, model, and year would always be in bold. I was running my thumb along the lists, exclaiming as I noted friends and celebrities’ cars, when I looked up.

Traffic was going in three lines in each direction, very busy. Ahead of us was by several car lengths was the car, I believed, the rarest and most exotic. I said, “That’s it! Catch that car.” The driver (don’t know who it was, never saw them) accelerated. Dad, who was in another car, which was gold, the single gold car in sight, said, “You’re never gonna catch them.” I replied, “Watch us.” Our car shot forward.

But the car we were chasing — was it a Jaguar, Ferrari, Lamborghini? — accelerated more. Pulling away, like they were trying to evade us, they began cutting in and out of traffic. “They’re going to crash,” I said. Dad, from the other car said, “That car is never going to crash. It can’t crash.”

Just then, the car we chased spun and flipped. Wildly, it righted in air and landed neatly. Now facing the wrong way, straddling two lanes, and now black, it sat there as cars went around it. Then it executed a backflip with a twist, landing on its wheels, now silver again, back in the right direction, in one lane, and accelerated away.

So cool, we shouted with laughter in my car. So cool.

Two Directions Dream

The dream upset me. First was one with the usual military overtones. Superintendent of a command post, fixing it up, blah, blah, blah. I experience so many dreams of that ilk.

It segued into a road trip dream. I was in one car, a red convertible, top up, with a friend. It was a shiny, impressive car. My wife was with a female friend and a coupe in another car. The friend and I in the red car were talking about where we were going, when we were getting there, when we should leave. We agreed, we were prepared to leave; let’s go.

The other car had been parked beside us. I got out to go speak with them and discovered them gone.

Shock surprise went through me. I returned to the car. “They left,” I told my friend.

“They left?” He was as incredulous as me. “Where’d they go?”

“I don’t know.”

I called my wife. After she said, “Hello,” I asked, “Where are you guys? Where’d you go?”

She laughed. “We went to go have a party.”

“A party?” I swallowed the phrase with amazement. “We’re due to leave. We’re supposed to on the road now, starting our journey. Why did you leave? Why didn’t you say something first?”

That’s where the dream ended.

Blog at

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: