End of World Dreams
I’m covering two of my three end of world dreams from last night. First, these dreams had very dark settings. Most of the first one took place underground or at night.
Another aspect that fascinated me about the dreams was how it combined elements of my military career with my IBM employment. Trippy mind work going on there. And now, the dreams.
I was working for IBM and it wasn’t going well. Exhausted from working and trying to save our division, many of us were sleeping at work, going twenty-four hours to try to save it. But we’d run out of time and knew the division was going to be shut down. Worse, and more surreally, we realized that the world was ending. How and why it was ending, the dream never covered. But this was something I knew, and was continually in the back of my dream mind.
To start, I’d been sleeping on the floor in my work office. It’s totally dark. I have a few private possessions and clothing, and that’s it. Voices awaken me. I listen and recognize our division director dismally describing the situation: world ending, division ending, shutting down. We were hanging on to our jobs because it gave us some hope that something could be done to stop the end of the world. Now he’s saying, we failed.
His comments stir me into a restless fit. I pace, trying to brainstorm about what we can do. Crazy ideas emerge but nothing sensible. I want to go talk to him about it, so I dress and head out, tracking him down.
The office area is built on a rock-strewn coastline. I clamber over rocks to find the director. He vaguely knows me. I throw out some ideas and he thanks me but tells me, they’ve already shot down those ideas because we don’t have the resources. It’s all dark doom and gloom.
I wander into another section and find an unused office. Turns out, the IBM offices are built on top of an old military base. The office used to be a missile control center. Finding a key, I put it into a dusty receptacle and turn it.
From elsewhere, I hear alarmed chatter that there are lights on: a missile is firing. I’m horrified to discover that I’ve turned a key to launch a nuclear missile. I’m also shocked; apparently, this one was overlooked when the nukes were removed. I frantically attempt to turn back the key but fail. Finding the director and other people, I try to reassure them that the nuke won’t detonate because it wasn’t armed, but I’m not sure. I’m pretty certain that high explosive are in the warhead and will detonate. I speculate that could cause the nuke to go off.
I run out to watch it. The missile launches into the dark sky. Huge ocean waves are crashing into the buildings, tearing them down. Shouting warnings to others, I climb the slippery rocks and escape.
Time slips past. I’m now surviving with three other men in the remaining office complex. We walk around setting small fires to keep warm and looking for food. We’ve found a cache, so we’re not too worried. I’ve also found a radio and keep tuning it, attempting to pick up radio stations and get some news. I worry about some of the fires they’ve set because they’ve put them under wall calendars and posters, which are catching fire.
“So?” Others ask. “What’s going to happen? We’ll burn down the building? It’s the end of the world.” Although I understand what they’re saying, I’m thinking that they have a bad attitude about surviving.
We drift out of the building to find other survivors. We end up in an underground tunnel in a yellow taxi. I’m driving. The tunnel is dully lit with dim yellow lights. To proceed further, we need to stop at a toll gate. There are three lines. Two lines are hugely backed up. The third has no one waiting. We pull up to the gate for the third ine. I get out to talk to the gate attendant, a short, swarthy guy, and ask him, “Can we use this gate? We don’t have any money — “
He interrupts me by showing me a finger, wait. As this happens, a blond woman in a green skirt comes up and reminds the gate attendant that the gate we’re at is to only be used by VIPs and emergency personnel. She leaves and he turns to me and says, “Now you can.” I understand him to mean we can use it because she’s gone. I thank him and asks, “But how much does it cost?” He replies, “No charge.”
I awaken and think all that through. Falling back asleep, I have another dream about the end of the world. It’s burning, and I know it’s ending.
Another dream begins, and I’m with the other three men again. We’re just leaving the toll gate and enter a building. In there, we find some other people and plentiful supplies, including alcohol. We basically decide to drink and get drunk. Why not? The world is ending.
We’re sitting around drinking and hear the outer door open. Investigating, we find four woman entering. They tell us they were looking for someone to party with since the world is ending. We tell them that we have alcohol and invite them to join us. They agree, and men and women pair off.
My companion is a short, chubby woman. She and I begin making out but she becomes morose about the of the world and starts crying. I try consoling her with hugs and some positive statements but she goes on about how so many people are gone and it’ll all be over soon, which is why she and her friends were looking for someone to party with. She and I go back to the main room, where the others are also arriving. All have had the same situation, that the women are sad and crying. They live.
Dream end. I awoke and realized with surprise that it was part of the first dream because of the background situation, my companions, and the setting.
The Writing Moment
It was the best of stuff and the worse of crap.
I’m working on two items in parallel: a new novel and a finished novel now undergoing its fifth revision.
The new project has that exciting blush attached. Unencumbered by an ending, story and characters emerge through flash floods of thoughts and poured through fingers and keyboards into the ‘puter, evolving into a novel. Great, let’s keep it going. It’s the fun, creative part, where anything goes. I’ll see if it works later.
Meanwhile, on the editing side, I’m facing the dark side of my process. The chapter under the knife in the finished novel makes me gag and cringe. What happened here? Why isn’t it working, I whine to myself. Can no one save me? Or it?
No, this is up to me. After working on it the other day, I shut it down and told myself, leave it for a bit. Let it vacate my mind. Let it ferment untouched and see what happens after the interval. Perhaps insights will arrive; or maybe it won’t seem as bad.
Good plan but when I took it back up, insights were like peace talks with Russia: nothing there. And it was just as bad as before. As waiting didn’t work, I’ve concluded, I’ll increase focus and concentration, drop back one chapter, and read back into it. On reflection, after writing that, I can see that I was confused about what I was writing about, feeling through it, and unsuccessfully capturing and refining what I know, what I’m showing, and its impact on the story. Part of that is that although the novel is in its fifth cycle of revision and editing, this chapter was added in during the fourth round. I thought it was needed; I still feel it might be, but I’m flexible on the matter. I’ll see how it flows.
Alright, time to coffee up so I can novel up and work through this revision.
Happy writing, y’all. Cheers
Two Long, Vivid Dreams
Two long and vivid dreams have stayed with me last night. The first intrigued me because of its approach; the second was almost another variation on the many dreams that hook up to my military career.
In the first, we were in a dystopian existence. I’d been hiking along some low mountains by the seashore when I found this huge steel-lined bunker in a mountain side. Calling it huge is an understatement; I walked in and looked up and gaped: it was as large as a football stadium but fully enclosed. After whistling, I said, “We can survive here.” I began making plans for a settlement.
What had happened and who would survive wasn’t fully clear. I seemed to be leading a small group of survivors, and had connected with other groups. Here’s where the approach changed. Instead of experiencing it as myself in the dream, my dream-me began treating it like I was binging on a novel-writing brainstorming session. I was saying, “Now, this happens, and then that.” Then I created or encountered an individual, male, with different ideas, who was going to betray the growing settlement and plotted to kill all dissenters. While it seems like echoes from some things said by Trump during this political season, nothing of those politics were heard or felt by me during the dream. Instead, the guy looked like a character, Murtry, from the fourth season of the TV show, The Expanse.
As part of the whole thing, I found five electric vehicles which flew through the air at my disposal to bring people and supplies in, but no one except me knew how to fly them, which meant I became a defacto flight instructor. That led to some harrowing flights among the mountains where several crashes were imminent. I declared at one point, “If a crash doesn’t kill me, I’m going to die of a heart attack.”
With the second dream, I was employed in some tech start up. One person from my first post-military civilian employment, Cathy, was there. Cathy had been director of ops. She seemed to have the same job but at a company meeting held in a break room, she announced that the company had been stymied in its previous efforts, so the company was going in a new direction. She went on to say that almost everyone would be retained. Looking around as she said that, I supplied the unsaid amendment, “Except marketing.” I was in marketing as a product manager. If there was no product at that point, no marketing or product manager was needed, I’d heard during my corporate life; the engineers would be their own product manager.
Sure enough, Cathy found me and said, “Except marketing,” and apologized to me, saying that they needed to let me go. However, they were giving me a six month severance package and letters of recommendation. I shrugged, accepting, because that’s how it goes.
Now the weird thing. I went back to my space to pack up. I’m not certain if it was a cubicle or an office. Co-workers came by to talk to me, say good-bye, etc. But these co-workers were all from one of my military assignments and were all in flight suits. I was good-natured and unworried about it all, figuring I’d land on my feet because I always did.
I was putting things into my brown leather briefcase. A gift from my wife, I’d used it for years before it fell apart. After putting things in it, my friend left and then I realized I couldn’t find my briefcase. I recalled seeing my friend pick it up but thought he was moving it. Now, looking across the room, I saw him carrying it out the door.
Calling out, I hurried after him. He didn’t stop. I saw him turn the corner and ran down to catch him. But other friends stopped me to say good-bye. I told them I couldn’t stop and explained why as they asked questions, agitated that I was wasting time. Racing after my buddy, I rounded the corner but didn’t see him. I began asking others if they’d just seen him, where he went, etc., and had to answer their queries about why I was looking for him, telling them that he’d taken my briefcase.
And that’s how it ended.
Wednesday’s Wandering Thought
I haven’t been employed for about seven years, and today I find myself nostalgic for that old corporate work routine when I worked from home from 2005 to 2015. I think it’s because I was alone in the house, on my computer, and it was quiet and rainy.
Good times.
Sunday’s Wandering Thoughts
He and his wife made some plans for cleaning, organizing, and purging. “Can we do this after you come back from your writing?” she asked.
“Yes,” he answered with confidence. He had other plans as well. He could do it all, couldn’t he? Of course he could, right?
“That’s been taken under review,” his neurons replied. “We’ll see.”
The Job Dream
I was in an ocean with others. Waves bobbed, moving me, but the water rose to my chest and I was standing on the sea floor. We were all waiting to hear if we were released by our company. We were all almost certain we were, so we were eager for a new position somewhere.
I’d learned of an opening and applaud, writing up a small resume of my skills and experience. The water shifted into a large room. People were at workstations, busy with their tasks. I’d never worked in an environment like that, I thought. Always had at least a cubicle but mostly had an office. Someone from the potential new company said, “We’ve set up a mock up of the new position workstation.” We all went up to take a look.
The station looked like a toy. Small green desk, tiny green chair, hardback, with a cushioned seat, and a small task lamp. A man was asleep beside it. No computer or phone. Someone asked if there would be a computer provided. “No,” was the answer given, “computers aren’t needed for this position.”
Disappointment roiled through me. I knew, I’m not getting that position. After soaking in that for a few minutes, I learned that I didn’t get the position. I also learned of friends and co-workers and their positions. I decided I would appeal to them. See if they could put in a word for me, knew of an opening, or hire me as their assistant.
Dream end.
A Dream About Previous Work
It was such a long, uninterrupted dream. It involved Michele, an ex-coworker, and the BlackICE computer security product we sold and supported.
I came across Michele. She and I had worked together for ten years. She told me that BlackICE was working again. I was surprised; did it ever stop working? Not that I knew. She told me that it had ceased and then disappeared from the market. Then, suddenly, it was back. She, along with others, were trying to learn who brought it back.
I offered to help, which was gratefully accepted. She led me down a narrow path through a short field past a few trees. Going through a gray metal door, we entered a two-story place. A minimalist place, constructed from cinder blocks, it had two dirty windows. Old wooden workbenches with old, old, large computer pieces lined the walls. Up narrow metal stairs which shook when we walked up them, was a loft with an old gray desk, monitor and computer on it. Two people, men who I knew were engineers, were working, one downstairs, one up. Both greeted me.
“There it is,” one man said. “It’s live again.”
Michele had explained to me that they hoped that it would go live, allowing them to trace it. That’s what they started doing. She told me a more senior engineer was due and asked me to go outside and wait for him so I could bring him in. As I went to leave, he entered, slender with a gray beard and hair, wearing a tan trench coat, carrying a brown attaché. Someone said, “That’s Alexc,” to which I replied, “I know.” Seeing me, Alexsaid, “Oh, you.”
It sounded a little derogatory. I replied, “You know me, Alex. We’ve met before.”
He nodded, I guess acknowledging that.
Alex went to a computer, studied it, and then directed some activity. We were to continue monitoring the systems for further activity. Michele was told to go upstairs. She did. Though I wasn’t officially involved, I went up after her. There was another room up there which I hadn’t noticed before. Very dark, it lacked furniture but was loaded with stacked servers, keyboards and monitors, and was very cold. She settled on the floor in near darkness and used her jacket as a blanket. I told her, “I’ll stay up here with you if you want.”
She answered, “I appreciate that.”
I sat on the floor beside her, our backs against the wall. Alex came up to check on her. He said, “It’s going to take a very long time. We’re setting up another place. When it’s ready, I’ll send for you.” He then thanked me for helping and departed.
Michele and I began falling asleep. We decided to nudge each other to stay awake. One of the monitors leaped into life. Numbers and graphs danced across it. Jumping up, I said, “Michele, look.” Her eyes were closed and she was snoring. I shook her awake. Another engineer came up and said, “We’re set up at the new place. Come on.”
We arrived at the new place after a short walk through the night. This new facility was low and modern, cement, with blacked out glass windows. The three of us entered. Long consoles loaded with gear were manned. People greeted us. Michele was shown to her workstation. Alex asked me if I wanted to stay and be a part of it. This is where the dream ended.
Depressing Dreams
The first found me alone, waiting for my wife. She’d been with me and then went off with her friends without saying anything. Her absence deeply aggravated me. As time passed and she didn’t appear, I began collecting papers. Don’t know what they were in RL but they were real and meaningful to me in the dream. At one point, I thought that I would kill one of her friends, blaming her for my wife’s absence. Although I wrote up plans, I knew that was wrong. I wasn’t going to kill anyone else. Maybe I should kill myself, though, the dream me thought.
My wife returned, bubbly, happy, late. Outraged stirred me. Her friend saw my notes and said, “Oh my god, he’s planning to kill me.”
I threw papers aside. “I’m not. Don’t you understand? I was on the verge of killing myself.” Sobs hit me with that declaration.
My wife was stricken. She stared in shock for several long seconds, and then she was gone again. That infuriated me but the dream ended.
I was at work as some corporate drone. I complained to my boss and co-workers that I felt useless, underemployed, and dissatisfied, and that it was draining me. My boss responded by trading me to another company. As the trade was completed, I expressed disbelief, and then was told to go to my new place of employment, which was in another city.
I went there with two other people, who already worked for my new employer. Arriving, I was given a desk and equipment. I complained, though, excuse me, what is my role? Who is my supervisor? Do I supervise anyone? I was answered, “What do you want to do? What have you done in the past?”
I tried answering, enumerating my different positions, employers, etc., which just seemed to depress me. I finished by saying, “You moved me to another city. I don’t know if I want to move. I don’t know if my wife wants to move.” Someone suggested, “Maybe we can get her a job,” and then chatted about that.
The dream ended with nothing resolved.
Michael Seidel, writer 