Tag: Dream

The Red Shot Dream

This was such a persistently powerful dream last night. I awoke from it twice in befuddlement, sure that I’d forgotten to do something that had to do with my shots. When was I supposed to take them? There was a sequence. But wait —

In the dream, only women were originally receiving the shots. They were happy about it. We were all walking around outside, following neat sidewalks in sunshine. The shots were self-injected. A red powder in a miniature Erlenmeyer flask, I don’t know what it combatted. The injections needed to be given in a specific time sequence that was established by people’s DNA, age, and where they lived. As the women went about, happily self-injecting, I joined a hue: “Why aren’t men being injected?” The problem, whatever it was, affected everyone. It didn’t make sense for half of the population to get it and not the other half.

The powers agreed and decreed everyone should receive the shots. I was given my flasks of powder and told my injection schedule.

That’s when I awoke. Sitting up, I peered about for my flasks and tried remembering my schedule. When was I supposed to give myself the next injection? In three hours? What time would that be?

As I realized all that was a dream, I calmed and thought of the dream, then went back to sleep. And — boom — shortly thereafter, I was awake and thinking, what was I supposed to do? Where are my injections?

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The Bike Dream

Young again, my wife and I were visiting a town. Resplendent with cobblestones and old stone buildings, but in a warm environment by a large body of water, it seemed like this we were somewhere in southern Europe by the Mediterranean. A fair or festival was getting underway. Entertainment and food booths had been set up. It was briskly busy, in a pleasant way, with people enjoying themselves and one another but not so many people that moving around was difficult.

I went into a business, to a counter to make reservations for three couples. Entering, I had to follow a path prescribed by a red velvet rope, as used in theaters, and go through several checkpoints. I was a little confused about what I was doing and why, calling out to clarify and confirm it with my wife. But, yes, I was reserving three hotel rooms for six people. While this was going on, people were asking me to watch out for something I was carrying on my back. I never saw this thing in the dream but knew it was a large piece of art. The man behind the counter warned me (but in a friendly way) to watch that I didn’t break anything as I moved around, as they had glasswork hanging from the ceiling. There was much joking about all of this.

Back outside, my wife mentioned that friends said they’d been successful just getting two and a half rooms. That made no sense to me, so I asked her to repeat it. We went through this three times. As this happened, we were holding hands and walking up a hill on a cobblestone street. A man with a red bike joined us. A stranger, he was somewhat famous, and very good looking, with fine, Latina features. His English was accented but he spoke it well. He was walking his bicycle up the hill as he spoke with us, but then got on it and rode straight up the hill. As the hill was steadily steeper, his riding was impressive, especially when he did a wheelie and went up half the hill on only his back wheel. As he reached the top, my wife and I turned around to walk back down. We were talking and sightseeing while all this was transpiring.

The guy with the bike dismounted from it as he reached us and started walking his bike again, but he didn’t speak with us. He veered off, staying in parallel, and then released his bike. To our amazement, the bike stayed upright and wheeled ahead, but stayed with the guy, like the bike was a well-trained pet. His bike was red before but now it was black, puzzling me. Had I seen it wrong before, or did he change bikes?

Then, though, the man started slowing down to look at things. As he did, the bike sped up. I pointed this out to my wife; the man was paying no attention to his bike. We watched in astonishment as it went straight down the hill, crossed the busy street, and then stopped and stood still and upright in the sunshine.

Dream end.

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Unfinished Business Dream

My wife and I were young folks, in our twenties, in this dream, and very realistic to who we were in RL, including our clothes. She was busy with cleaning. I was tinkering with the kitchen faucet, which wasn’t going well. I’d change one thing and it would start spraying sideways. Something else would be adjusted, causing the water to shoot straight up. But I was determined: I will fix this. Yet, I was laughing, telling my wife as the water shot off in a new strange arc, “Check this out.” Unbelievable.

Surrendering to that temporarily because I thought I needed to think about what to do, I went off for more DIY. I’d noticed a younger person holding up a wall in the corner of another room. That might be something that I needed to address. I went in there and asked them about the situation. They were holding up the wall because it would fall over if they didn’t. “Let me see,” I said. “Step back.”

They did. The wall started toppling over.

The two of us jumped in and held it up. “But is it the wall coming down or just, like, wallpaper?” I asked. I thought that’s what I’d actually seen. We tentatively released the wall, confirming that it wasn’t the wall coming down, but just the cover.

Then I was arriving at work. Dressed in a suit with tie, I joined others in a small but well-lit office with lots of windows. “Hello, Michael, about time you got here,” I heard. Stepping into a small office where the voice seemed to emanate, I found the one accosting me was Jeffrey Donovan, of “Burn Notice” and other television shows and movies. “I’m your new boss,” he cheerfully informed me. “You’re working for me now.”

Then, I was arriving at work again, sighing because it seemed like I was just hear. “Hi Michael, good morning,” I heard from Donovan. WTH, why was he singling me out like that?

I arrived on a third morning and sighed. “Hello, Michael,” Donovan called out.

“It wasn’t me,” I shouted back, lying. Then I leaned in around his office door. “How did you know it’s me when you’re in here?”

“I have eyes everywhere,” he answered.

I was done with work. Instead, I was cutting grass and doing general landscaping chores. I was part of a crew of four others. One was a friend and the other two were strangers, but we all got on well. While we worked, we saw an area where another crew had worked; we scoffed at the job they’d done. We could do better.

The home’s owner, an elderly and tall, white woman with silver hair who looked and sounded like Bea Arthur, came out and complimented us on our work. We pointed out where the other crew had been and told her that we could improve it. After some back and forth, she agreed that we could the other area, too. Happy that we’d won more work, we set to work improving it.

A large pool was alongside our work area. Others were swimming. Four young men staged a race. We mocked them because we thought ourselves better swimmers. Then we wondered which of the four of us was the fastest swimmer.

The owner appeared. We asked if she minded if we had a race in her pool. “Go for it,” she answered.

We lined up in our trunks. After counting to three together, we dove in and raced to the far end. I came in second to my friend.

Dream end.

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A Computer Dream

In my twenties, I was working in a computer center. Pretty low-level lights, and warm. The computers were red, about seven feet tall and four feet wide, with black and silver fronts thick with instrumentation. I had a clipboard and was going about, busy checking readouts.

An alarm went off. Reaching up, I hit a large, square black button at the top of the machine before me. Almost instantly, I realized I’d made a mistake: that was the off switch for the entire computer center. I pressed the button again, thinking that if I was fast enough, it wouldn’t go off.

Another alarm began sounding. A female voice said that the system was shutting down. Groaning and cursing emerged from all over. My supervisor, a female a few inches shorter than me, came over. I told her that I’d accidently pressed the off button. She was all smiles. “It happens.”

“I can turn it back on,” I offered.

“No,” she answered. “We’ll just call it a day.”

As everyone packed up and left, I went back to the broad, flat expanse of my desk. Binders of fanfold paper were stacked on my right. It was my plan to go through them. A male co-worker came by and mentioned that he needed to find someone to sweep up the computer center “because the cleaning crew was coming in”. I said I’d do it. Finding the broom, I went through, sweeping piles of paper coffee cups and sheets together. As I did, I mused, weird to clean for the cleaning crew.

The dream ended.

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Another Work Dream

Yes, it was another work dream, but it incorporated several twists.

To begin, I’d started a new position. A young guy, I was pleased and excited to be there. They showed me my station – ‘in the basement’. Although it was down in the lower level, it had plenty of light and my workstation was huge. Featuring an enormous semi-circle for a desk, I had a large modern monitor, new laptops, and wireless mouse. When I sat in the plush black office chair, I was enormously pleased. I was ready to go to work.

SW came to me. SW was an office manager in my RL. She came by and apologized to me for not offering me better accommodations. I laughed, replying, “Are you kidding? This is a great setup, better than my last one.” Nevertheless, she insisted that she planned to get me a better location, and she was working on it. That, to me, was a twist — an apology for what I saw as a wonderful opportunity.

Meanwhile, another young employee came by, a pale female with short dark hair. She’d been sent to take me around and personally teach me everything. The way she intoned it was loaded with sexual innuendo, instantly triggering wariness in me. The young woman was in a long-sleeved red and black top, and what seemed to be a very short skirt, and was attractive. We went about the office complex together. She stayed in my space, and I would shy back, as she introduced me to people and showed me the meeting rooms, office equipment, and files. The complex was a great, modern space. Everyone I met seemed happy and acted professional. It was all inclusive as far as race, the sexes, and ethnicity. I was pleased to be part of this enterprise.

We were soon the last ones there. SW came by to ask if we were okay locking up the place for the day. No problem, we assured her. I then struggled to remember the PIN to let me in to go back down to my office. I was stunned that I couldn’t think of it. But I realized, I could just walk around the receptionist’s space and go to it. It was strange; why was a PIN even needed when it was so easily circumvented?

My personal guide asked me if I had plans for the night. I told her that I didn’t, but maybe my wife did. She kept suggesting we could have dinner together or go have a few drinks, and I kept mentioning my wife. She finally said, “Well, I should put my pants back.” Then she stood up and started pulling on black pants.

I was aghast. “You’ve been going around in your underwear?” Yes, she answered, it’s no big deal.

The dream ended.

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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.

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

Wednesday has bloomed, fresh as a middle-of-the-week day can be. The sun popped over the mountains and turned on its blaze at about 7:15 AM, immediately registering as a positive on the sky’s light and warmth levels, taking us up off our 38 degrees F low. It’s already 58 outside. Fingers crossed that we’ll reach 67 F as they forecast. Friends and I are going to sit outside at a local brewery and toss back one or three before the sun drops out, taking its heat and light with it, at 5:36 PM.

A dream I remember from last night called today’s theme music into the morning mental music stream. “In the Navy” was a 1979 hit for the Village People. It was one of those songs that suddenly arose to be played everywhere, it seemed. Of course, its simple lyrics and strong beat made it memorable, and the general goofiness to it — I mean, you couldn’t take it seriously — made it a popular dance and party song for a while. Like many eras and their memes, you really had to be there to understand.

Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, and get the vax and booster when you can. Now off to the kitchen, where I’ll sing, “In the kitchen, you can make a cup of tea,” to the tune of “In the Navy”. Cheers.

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The Navy Dream

I dreamed that I was the U.S. Navy but was preparing to get out. (Amusing to me after awakening, as I’d been in the U.S.A.F. for a career.) While I was in the Navy, I started making some improvements on some forms and processes they were using, and briefing commanders. My briefings became popular; the commanders sought me out for information, which provided a great positive vibe.

All that prompted me to think, maybe I should stay in the Navy. But my wife said, “No, don’t you want to get out and become a doctor?”

I answered, “Yes, I do, but I really want to be a writer.”

My wife replied, “You always said that you wanted to be a doctor.”

“Yes, I do,” I answered, “because I like helping people and I think I’d do it well. But I want to write. Why can’t I do both?”

She said, “There’s no reason why you can’t do both.”

We agreed I’d get out of the Navy and do both.

Dream end.

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The Landslide Dream

It began with me as a teenager visiting in a small town. I was going from house to house, slipping between hedges, visiting friends. All the friends happened to be elderly women. One was my great-grandmother. The town was lifted out of the fifties, with small houses, typically white, single levels, with shutters, and tidy yards lined with flowers. I always entered the houses through the back, kitchen door, because that’s where I knew the people would be. And I was always right. They were in their tiny kitchens — smaller than the bathrooms in my house — busy cooking, moving around a small table with four chairs. All greeted with smiles and laughter and offered eagerly accepted food, mostly cookies and donuts.

After, though, I left, and found myself wandering in old homes where no one lived any longer. The further that I went, the less there were of the houses. First absent were the flowers and lawns, and then the walks and the windows. Inside, I found empty, dusty rooms.

I was a little older now, perhaps in my twenties. Soon the houses lost their roofs and doors, their siding. I was out where the hills rose, then found myself in a quarry. A house or building, maybe part of a mining operation, had been erected to one side. Little remained of it except an oddly stout brown wall.

I went through the quarry, clambering over boulders and rocks, scaling short cliffs. I became aware that two children had entered the quarry. They were about eight, blond and fair. One was taller than the other by two or three inches.

I watched them for a moment. They had as much right to be there as me, so I continued my exploring. As I climbed a sheer wall, picking handholds on the sandstone and flint outcrops, dirt and rocks fell over me. I threw myself back and away just in time to avoid a huge granite boulder. I didn’t know where it’d come from; its size astonished and scared me. As I recovered from jumping back and away, I saw a large slab of the wall break free and fall.

Scrambling backward took me to safety. As dust rose, I thought of the children. I saw them about forty feet away. They’d climbed as I had and had reached a ledge. I shouted at them that it wasn’t safe, that we need to leave. Rocks tumbled around them. From my vantage, I saw larger, heavier rocks breaking free above them and called out a warning.

The children slipped into a small crevice about twenty feet above the quarry floor. Rocks fell without striking them. Yellow dust thickened as gravel slid down the cliff. The children were coughing. With more rocks falling around me, I made my way over rocks and stones across the quarry to help the children.

Their rock wall moved in, like it was taking a breath, carrying them in with them. The children disappeared from sight. Dodging rocks, waving away dust, I hurried to find and help the children. A rock taller than them pushed them out of the crevice. As they moved aside, it teetered for a moment before rolling down the cliff, jarring more rocks loose with its thunderous landing.

I was almost to the children. Realizing their danger, they were taking action to get down. I reached them in time to help them to the quarry floor. The walls on three sides were spasming and then stilling. I feared something more catastrophic was about to happen and raced with the children to get out. When we reached the point where we’d entered, we discovered our way blocked by collapsed rocks.

The children were panicking. So was I. Frantic to do something, I saw the brown wall. Crossing to it, I jumped up and caught the top of it. Very carefully, I tilted it backwards into the quarry. I found a huge off-white strap, inches thick and about four inches wide, which reminded me of a fire hose, that I used to help me leverage the wall back toward us.

When the wall was low enough, I directed the children over it. They climbed onto it and slid down the other side. Once they were safe, I precariously balanced the wall. More quarry fell in behind me. As it did, I used the white strap to cautiously climb up and over the wall to safety. When I was done, I pulled the brown wall back up into place and regarded it before moving on.

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Three Dream Vignettes

I experienced three highly detailed, vivid dreams last night, all in a row, flowing from one to the other. First up.

I’m in a car driving in a city in the late afternoon to early evening. I’ve come up to a large and busy intersection. The light is red. I have friends in other cars. We’re all going somewhere. My wife is with me in the car.

I think the light is green and go forward. In a flash, like it’s a film being shown, I see cutaways to friends in other cars saying, “Why is Michael going? The light is red. He shouldn’t be going.” They blow their horns.

I’m driving through the intersection. My wife shouts, “What are you doing? The light is red.”

I’m looking up through the windshield. The light is red, but I thought it was a green light. I’m certain that I saw one.

The traffic turning left against us is light. The drivers of those cars are aware that I’m not doing something right. They give me space and distance. No one is hurt except me and my pride. What is wrong with me?

I pull over to the curb. I’m alone in the car. I’m trying to understand why I thought there was a green light. I look up in time to see a young driver execute in the other direction. He’s driving a mid-sixties Pontiac GTO. Classic muscle car. It’s in impressive condition, with a well-maintained, shiny body. As I watch, this young white guy, maybe seventeen years old, does a U turn and hits the side of my car.

I can’t believe this. He’s pulled over. I get out of my car and look at the damage. My car is silver. The damage is light, toward the rear quarter panel. I approach him, and tell him, “You know the drill. License, registration, insurance.” He’s crying because he just got his license. He knows he’ll face trouble. I feel sympathy for him.

My wife comes up. I ask for the camera. She starts making demands about how this will be handled, wanting me to make promises. We get into an argument. She won’t give me the camera. Irritated, I find my computer to take pictures. I know I can, but, the computer is missing its two AA batteries needed for the camera aspect. But, I have batteries in another part of the computer, use those and take the photos needed.

Number two.

I’m talking to a friend and mentioned something about the Chevy El Camino. I ask him if he knows what they are and how they look. He’s not familiar with it, so I tell him I’ll draw a picture of one. For whatever reason, I’m referring to the fourth-generation design from the early to mid 1970s. I’m explaining the design details as I draw it, talking about the front grill, and how it went from a single headlight to a double-stacked headlight on either side. I realize that I’m drawing on top of another drawing someone has done. I’m astonished. How did I not see that?

I don’t want to draw on another’s drawing. It’s a landscape, sort of a primitive style executed in charcoal. I admire it, erase my drawing, and find another piece of paper. I think it’s blank but as I begin drawing again, I see that there is a drawing on it.

I’m amazed. Why can’t I see those drawings before I begin drawing?

Number three.

We’ve arrived at a huge factory. Besides the factory, it has a large administrative/office section. I’m with a party of friends, all male. I think there are twenty of us. None of them are people known from RL but I know all of them in the dream.

A young brunette woman with a ponytail is showing us around the building. When we walk into one part, we men all start laughing. A tall space, it’s divided into sections and cubicles and is stacked from floor to ceiling with mechanical equipment and electronic gear. I exclaim, “This is exactly the kind of place that I used to work in.” The other men are saying the same thing. We’re all laughing and agreeing, it’s just like where we used to work. We just walk around, talking about the environment. I follow the path, remembering where my cubicle would have been located. In RL, I never worked in a place like this, but in the dream, I turn a corner, and there is my old workstation. Pointing it out to the rest, I laugh. When they see my station, they go off and start finding their own old workstations. How is this possible, we wonder, because we all worked in different places?

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