Tag: recognition

A Free Food Dream Adventure

I was in a store with friends. This clean, mostly white, and well-lit place was like a fancy grocery store. No friends from real life were present but the people there were all known to me as friends. I knew that we were there for the second time. The first time, we’d made minor purchases. Liking the place, we returned to buy more.

So, we’re in line to pay, and we’re comparing how much our purchases will probably cost. Most of what we’re buying is food, especially cheese and bread, it seems like. The owner, a young and petite white woman with black curly hair and red lips, is behind a counter ringing up purchases.

I estimate to my friends that I’m buying several hundred dollars of food. Then it’s my turn and I step up to pay but the owner waves me off. She tells me that she knows who I am, that I’m a writer that she admires, and that she loves my books. I’m perplexed as I’ve only self-published a few books and had a few stories sold, so I tell her that I think she’s thinking of someone else. No, she insists, she knows me, knows who I am, and I will never need to pay for anything in her store. Her insistence stirs guilt in me; that’s not the way the system is supposed to work. I’m also flattered but doubtful. We talk more; she stays on point. I surrender and walk out without paying.

Dream end.

0

Fridaz Wandering Thoughts

Head down, I’m bulling through the story, editing to find the thread and resume my novel writing. I look up to see a man watching me. He delivers a sharp head nod. “Hello.”

I nod back. Smile.

He says, “You were on our flight last night.” He nods toward a blonde woman. Yes, I do recognize them now that they’ve revealed themselves.

“Yes,” I answer, trying to come into the moment.

They’re dressed in costumes. He is a plug. She’s a double outlet. I love it. They wish me happy Halloween and leave.

Then, ’bout an hour later…in come another man and woman.

“Hi,” she says, smiling, nodding. “You were on our flight last night.”

Shivers of deja vu had their way with me. It feels weird to be recognized and remembered like that, twice. I keep thinking, what did I do that made others notice? Drooling while I slept?

1

A Football Dream

In this dream, I was in my early teens. Our school had a football team. I was not very good but they let me be on the team. I mostly played the bench.

We’d traveled away for a game. I suddenly had a feeling, I was going to play, and I was going to score a touchdown. In fact, as I thought about it, I became convinced that I was going to score three TDs. Moreover, I knew that one of these touchdowns would be on offense. The other two would be defensive scores.

The game began and I was not playing. Both teams were lackadaisical and the game was boring. I kept waiting to get in. Then, halftime arrived. The team sat around, joking and being silly. This frustrated me. I wanted the game to get on. I wanted to be in the game.

Halftime ended. Instead of continuing the game, a disorganized and chaotic scene ensued. I kept waiting for us to get back on the field. I didn’t know why, in accordance with the game’s rules and everyone’s established expectations, this wasn’t happening. But finally, yes, word came, the teams were to take the field. And, lo, I was sent out onto the field.

Some fast, intense violence, aka football, followed. I was playing okay. Then, I was on defense when a pass was tipped. I rocketed forward and got a hand on the ball. I meant to catch it and run but I instead batted and juggled it for several intense seconds as other players closed. Finally, just as someone was about to slam into me, I got control of the ball and raced into the end zone.

Then, just a few short plays later, I was on offense as a slot wide receiver. The ball was snapped. I stepped out right and cut sharply in toward the center of the field on a slant. The quarterback hit me in stride, and I was gone, and scored my second touchdown, my first on offense. Confusion swirled among my team mates. Some were asking, “Who was that?” Others were trying to confirm if I was the one who scored on the previous fumble recovery. A few were congratulating me and complimenting me on how well I was playing that day.

I was kept in the game on the opponent’s next drive. We were behind in the score by a few points. The other team’s offense set up to drive the field. But reading the play, I intercepted a pass and ran it back for a touchdown as the game ended. Amidst the jubilation, a reporter came up for an interview and confirmed that I’d scored my team’s only three touchdowns and asking me for my bio and playing info. While still on the field, sweaty and in my yellow and black uniform, I was shown a newspaper with a photo of me making the interception.

It was all very cool.

0

Youth Encounter Dream

Dreams about being a hero or celebrity but also about being unknown or not recognized have proliferated the past dream week. One stays strongest in mind.

A minor celebrity, I was visiting somewhere after being on tour. I was my real age in this and had stopped at someone’s invitation and met a group of teenagers. I didn’t know them and they didn’t know me. They were cold, even hostile to me, which amused me. I didn’t care, but enjoyed watching what they were doing. On a stage, they were putting together a game. Their purpose and rules were totally lost on me but I was engrossed with trying to understand them. Multiple sexes, races, ethnicities, cultures were present. They were a bubbly group.

Supplies arrived. They were given to me. Seeing them, I had an idea for a game for them and began employing these stickers for the idea. The stickers were different shapes and colors. Halfway through, I realized, oh, shit, they had plans for these. I began putting the stickers back where they belong. One young woman came up and chastised me, then took the stickers, complaining that I’d ruined them. I apologized. It wasn’t accepted.

By then, I’d learned what their game was all about. I then criticized them about being insular and isolated. I told them they had some great ideas but they should share them with others. They soberly listened and then one identified me as a writer which she’d seen on television. Yeah, yeah, that’s me. They warmed to me then. One, in a white sweater and red pants, came to me and asked me about my foundation. Was it true? Did I really have it? Yes, I did, it was set up to help youth have food and shelter security and encourage education and learning. And, she asked, was I really supporting 5,000 children? The number surprised me, but I verified with my assistant, yes, that’s true. There are 5,000.

End dream

Note: Another post which WordPress refused to save or published, forcing me to do it in stages. Create a base, add and change, add and change more. Irritating AF.

0

The Promotion Dream

Twenty to thirty of us, all familiar to me in the dream, were in a very large cabin. I was in charge of this group. I’d been selected for promotion, but I didn’t know when it would happen. Frankly, I was disappointed that it was taking so long.

A bigwig came through and told me that he’d gone through my file, and I was promoted effective immediately, that the promotion should have been right away, and it would be backdated to support that, and I would receive back pay, too.

Well, that all sounded sweet. I told all my friends and co-workers, even opening a window to tell passers-by. Some were happy for me but a few disagreed. One said, “I don’t think you deserve promotion at all.” Others argued with him, defending me. I shrugged them off, thinking, it’s always that way, with disagreements emerging about who to deserves what.

Meanwhile, everyone brought wolves with them for protection. We left our cabin and met more people arriving. One man brought four wolves along and controlled them with voice commands. And elderly woman had a young wolf; I controlled the wolf for her. No wolves fought but the wolves were interested in one another, and everyone remained vigilant to keep the wolves apart.

0

A Not-quite Military Dream

Ah, young again. I was with my wife in a luxurious apartment complex. The entire floor was shared with her co-workers from the advertising agency employing her. They were all excited, plans afoot! Preparations were being made for awards ceremonies and celebrations. They wanted me to be a part of that. Keeping to my normal personality, I remained on the edge.

In comes a guy in military uniform. He’s older than me, bald, dark red mustache, with specs on. He identifies me, verifies who I am, and gives me a sheet of paper. It’s ‘welcome information’ explaining where my new quarters are, where I go for various items, operating hours, etc., because I’m a senior NCO in the USAF. Just as in RL.

He explains that I have a roommate, contrary to policy, because the guy is trouble. They’re trying to remove him but he’s elusive. I thank him for the information and he leaves. Celebration preparation continues among my wife’s group. I begin changing clothes to leave. First, which uniform should I wear? I prefer the battle dress but, wait, I only have white crew neck tee shirts, so that’s out. I’ll wear the casual blue office attire instead.

I strip down and shower. Then I discover, damn, I left my undies in the other room. Further, people are coming in here, where I’m naked. I whip a towel around me. They don’t seem to notice me at all. I slip out to another room and find undies. I put them on but these undies are uncomfortable. I think they may be somebody else’s underwear.

As I decide to change, the door opens and people flow in, chattering away. I hold the towel up and do a fast-change under it, then drop the towel. I’m in my undies and a tee shirt but put on my uniform shirt and pants.

Red stache returns. He tells me that the guy, an E5, won’t leave my quarters, but that I need to deal with him. No problem, I’ll do that. I just need to put on my boots. I consider my jump boots but then put on my dress shoes, polishing them up to an amazing shine. In full uniform now, I prepare to leave.

People stop, look at me and ask, why are you in that uniform. I explain, because I’m in the military and that I need to leave to take care of business. I plan on coming back. All are amazed by my shoes’ luster. I shrug; just mil standards.

I go to my new place. Other military personnel see me coming and step out of my way, except one tall, large guy. He tries to tell me that I don’t have the right to be there. I warn him that he’d better watch what he says next because I’m in a mood. Apologizing the other gets out of my way. I continue to my quarters. The guy I’m to evict is there. A tall, young, white guy in white underwear, he’s a babbling wreck. I figure out, he has problems and tell him, you can’t stay here, but you’re coming with me, I’m getting you help. First, you need to dress.

Dream end. Hah – was this one fraught with psychological flotsam, or what?

0

The Camp Dream

I was an adult and at a camp or retreat. Nothing posh. Many other people there. No one I know. Most were my age. A few were older. Part of the setting, a mild green tinge imbued everything. Skin, clothing, skin. All were tinged green. Not deep. But noticeable.

They made an announcement that we were going to play games. Everyone else was already in gym gear. I needed to change and told them. I had some trouble finding my gym bag. Once I found it, I sought privacy to change. The only place I could find was an old restroom. Cold and wet rough cement floor. Yellow walls — tinged green. Door that didn’t fit right. The door had a dead bolt. I was trying to close it and lock the dead bolt but others kept interrupting. I finally explained what I was trying to do. Left alone, I closed the door and bolted it. Stripped down to put on gym clothes. First set didn’t fit. They couldn’t be my clothes. But I knew those clothes and it was my bag. Next, I couldn’t get the shorts on and then I ripped them. Finally, I managed to get something on that fit. The white shorts and tight white top didn’t please me. But I had nothing else. I went with it.

I went outside to discover that they’d already begun playing. Teams were even. I couldn’t participate. That upset me. I understood that I’d been a long time and that they couldn’t wait But, mitigating what had happened, I’d been delayed. Nevertheless, that was the situation.

I moved to the side by myself and watched. The dream bounced forward from that scene. The games were over. We were gathered to hear about the next activity. Young woman of color was announcing it. I was sitting with others. We’re all tinged green. The coordinator said, “I hear that there’s a writer or novelist among you. Who is that? You’ll enjoy this activity.”

I immediately raised my hand. My hand was the only one raised. People around me turned and pointed to me while saying, “He’s the writer, he’s the novelist.”

The coordinator never looked my way. Never saw me. Then went on, “Who wants to do a fun creative exercise?” My hand was still up. Others still pointed at me. But others raised their hands. The coordinator went to them and passed out the exercise. This went on until only me and one other remained. The other was a young woman of color. She and I told the coordinator that we weren’t given an exercise.

The coordinator said, “Oh, you two can work together.” She then gave us some objective which struck me as make-work.

My partner and I went off to a table. She sat down. Rain sprinkled down. I said, “I don’t think I want to do this. It seems like a waste of time.”

She said, “Neither do I.” She called the coordinator over and said, “We’re not doing this.”

I then walked off.

Dream end.

0

Boring Dreams

Dreams have been boring of late.

I was reconciling with someone who’d angered me. I held my anger for a long time. Now I was being persuaded for the betterment of some project to make up. I didn’t want to but reluctantly agreed.

My seconds and I met with his seconds under an Interstate overpass. It was a dark, wet day. The terrain was brown dirt and highly sloped. Huge round pale pillars supported the highway. Interstate traffic thundered and roared overhead.

We approached one another. Words which I couldn’t hear were exchanged. I decked him.

Then, a voiceover: “Now let’s do it from his point of view.”

I was the other person. I knew I’d wronged me. I was sorry. I accepted that I would probably hit me. I walked into it knowing it would happen but accepted that it would.

And it did.

We were working on a project. Dad was involved. I’d done great on it. Everyone was congratulating me on my outstanding performance. I was pleased and excited but also uncomfortable with all the attention.

A celebration was set up. I was told I’d won a prize for my performance. A big white decorated sheet cake was brought in. People began taking pieces. I couldn’t get to it and get any. It was going quickly.

A new silver BMW convertible was brought in. I was confused as to whether it was my prize. I thought it was but others got in it to take it for a spin.

I was left waiting for my cake and my prize.

I was at a new military assignment. I’d just completed a prestigious assignment and had been recognized for my contributions. My OIC was a female, someone I didn’t know. She was young and I was teaching her how to set things up. Two other controllers were assigned to the location. A new one had arrived.

I was explaining processes to the new controller and explaining to him that one of the others – I think I gave a name – would be assigned to him to train him. Meanwhile, I filled out forms as templates to help him correctly process information.

I was almost done. The newbie was preparing to leave. So was I. The OIC suggested that I get an emergency number from the newbie. “Good idea,” I agreed, and called to him for one even as I thought, that would have already been done.

“How do we reach you?” I asked him. He was twenty to thirty yards away. “Do you have an emergency number?”

Walking back toward us, he replied, “I was born in Iowa.” He then began to tell us about his childhood.

The OIC and I were confused. Why was he telling us this?

The end.

So – it seems like these dreams reflect many facets. Of being recognized but not rewarded. Of needing to make up with myself and forgive. I don’t know what I’m forgiving. Past errors?

There seemed also an element of being confused about what was expected of me.

Ah, dreams.

 

0

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑