Tag: worries

The Sister Dream

Wasn’t sure what to call this dream but the sister aspect spoke to me more in reflection.

First, it was me as a younger man with a car I once owned, a silver 1985 Mazda RX-7 SE that I bought used in California in 1991. I had parked it at a familiar convenience store in West Virginia, where I was visiting. Dream perspective changed: I looked at the parking lot with the car parked and me walking away from it, toward the store, as it could be viewed from the store’s security camera.

Another car drove up and parked on top of my car. This car was an old maroon Datsun sedan. Beater was an apt description. A young woman drove with another young woman as passenger. Both were white. They were laughing, laughing at her parking effort, laughing at being on top of my car, laughing at wrecking my car.

I stormed over there and shouted at her in my coldest, angriest voice. I told her that I owned her. I would see her in jail. Contempt crackled through every syllable. The driver sat in the car, holding the steering wheel, and crying. Her friend tried to talk me into being more compassionate, but I remained relentless. I called the police.

Scene change. I was driving the same car. A young white man drove an old white car into the side of my car.

I was livid and incredulous, thinking, the same car has been hit twice. I stalked to the offending white car, yelling at the driver. My brother-in-law showed up. He told me he’d take care of it because the driver was his son.

I was stunned. That was his son? I didn’t recognize him. My BIL went on, “Your sister just inherited some money. It should cover the damage. I’ll sign the check over to you.” He took out yellowed parchment paper and showed me the check. It was for $950. “Will that cover it?” he asked. Yes, I replied.

My BIL signed the check and then used scissor and cut it away from the rest of the document. As this happened, I wondered, who die? Who did my sister inherit this from? I saw that the document was an itemized list of household objects in large letters.

I took the check and began crying. I stood in my dream crying my eyes out. Then I decided to go see my sister.

I found my sister at home. She told me she needed a ride to get somewhere. I told her that I would give her the ride. I took her someplace. A party seemed to be going on. After dropping her off, I returned home. I awoke later in a panic because I thought I’d overslept and needed to pick up my sister and bring her home. As I rushed about, scrambling to leave, another sister asked where I was going. I told her I was going to pick up S. She replied, “She’s already home. Someone else gave her a ride.” I went to find my sister and confirm she was there. On the way, I stopped and peed in the bathroom. Then I looked in a bedroom and saw my sister asleep in a bed.

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Three Dreams, No Waiting

I call the first dream the 6¢ Dream. The other two were flash-dreams.

The 6¢ Dream

It’s called the 6¢ dream because I was looking — wait. I’ll begin at the start. It ends a little ghoulish.

I’m living with my in-laws. Two SIL, brother-in-law, MIL. My wife isn’t there. The house is a long building. Tall for a house. Off-white, with many narrow, vertical windows. Built in a straight line going up a small grade in the middle of a dirt road. The road’s dirt is ochre-colored.

After being presented with an outside shot of the house, like the opening of a sitcom, I find myself in the house. I’m looking at its floor plans. Each room is labeled. The room that I’m in is priced at 6¢. Others are priced at 3¢ and 4¢. I tell the others about my find. There’s a door going out the side toward the house’s rear. I decide I can build a little wing off that. I fumble about what I want there. Then, voilà, the wing is completed. I have a small conference room and an office where I can work. The result pleases me.

My BIL and I take a walk up the dirt road. The ochre soil becomes ankle deep. Soft as talc. We chat and laugh about it. I return to work.

Then he approaches all of us in the kitchen. Apparently rent is due. We’re supposed to be paying regularly on every room used. We didn’t know. Maybe it was presented to us and we forgot. I’m concerned about the new rooms I’ve added and what that will do to the rent. It’s not mentioned, though. The required payment is announced: my late father-in-law’s head.

I’m horrified but the others are matter-of-fact. Give it to him. They joke, he’s not using it any more. This shocks me. Per instructions, they toss my FIL’s head out. It looks nothing like him. Looks like an old, misshapen volleyball. It bounces around after landing, then rolls around, like it has its own will.

Dream end.

The Found Money

This dream came on the interstice between consciousness and sleeping. I was cleaning up. A pile of U.S. coins were on a credenza. Pennies, nickels, dimes, quarters. I’m sorting and stacking them when I look up and see a twenty-dollar bill folded behind a monitor. I exclaim, “There it is. I’ve been looking for that money. Thought I lost it.” Dream ends as I pick the twenty up and look at it.

The Mustang Crash Dream

I was outside between two buildings with other people. One was a tall red brick building. The other building — where I had been — was a shorter, white stucco and silver metal building with a glass-in lobby. I don’t know what I was doing in there. Don’t know any of the other people. We were milling, like we were on a break. The area was a cement walk bordered by grass and bushes. General, brief chatting was underway.

Sound draws attention. Sounds like an aircraft. Seconds later, we see a dark blue aircraft with yellow stripes flying around overhead. I identify it as a P51 Mustang. D Model. My second-favorite WW II aircraft. I call all that out to people. The aircraft is getting lower. We all realize, he’s going to crash. I realize more sharply, “He’s going to crash here.” As the aircraft crashes, I throw myself down and ball up, trying to minimize what happens to me, while others try to run.

There is no explosion. I get up. The others creep back.

The plane has crashed. Blue and yellow, it is a Mustang. Caught vertically in the space with the nose pointing toward the sky, the plane appears unscathed. The cockpit faces us. The canopy is gone. Someone else begins running toward it as they say, “We need to help the pilot.” I turn and shout to another, “Call 911.” In a bang-bang moment, we all realize that there’s no pilot in it. Must have ejected, we guess. We say, “We should go find him.” But when we turn to leave, we discover guards have arrived. Light blue uniform shirts. Dark pants. White helmets. Carrying rifles. We go to leave. They shake their heads. One says, “No one is leaving.”

I go into the building. Bunch of noisy teenagers are in one room. Looks like a smallish living room. They’re shouting, talking, and laughing in cliques. I try to yell to get their attention. They scarcely notice. I yell again, louder, “Hey.” Some impact. Third time, I form my hands into a megaphone. “Hey.” That gets almost all of their attention. A woman in charge of them says, “Everyone be quiet. Michael is trying to tell us something.”

With everyone looking at me, I announce, “An aircraft crashed outside. There are guards out there but I think someone should call 9-1-1. It’s a Mustang.”

Dream end. Took a lot longer to type it than to experience it.

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The Mall Dream

A dysfunctional, post-apocalyptic world had arrive in the U.S. It wasn’t extreme. Shit had happened. Infrastructure and governments were failing, oil and gas were limited, food and water were scarce, and security was precious.

Somehow, I’d taken over a large mall.

I established myself as its ruler and then set up a society to live within it. I’d managed to make it secure, acquire food and drink, and we were generating power. Details aren’t available.

Friends of different times in my life heard of it. A large horde of them arrived as refugees. Everyone from childhood to the recent past were represented.

After greeting them outside on a sunny day, I took them in, assigning them spaces and familiarizing them with basic concepts: everyone works, no physical violence or abusive behavior, and respect one another. Break one of these, once, and you’re gone.

They quickly settled in. One favorite old friend, Don, became de facto representative of that particular group. He ended up hanging out with me a bit. They had suggestions for improvement. I thought them good and adopted the suggestions.

Meanwhile, I had two Mazda Miatas and gas for both. Both were green but different shades, with the new one being darker, almost forest green. I often drove the older one around. On this day, I decided to take the newer one for a ride. I invited Don along.

But first, I went around pissing on the mall floors. I pissed copiously, everywhere. I was then ready to go, but then regretted pissing everywhere. “I shouldn’t have done that,” I told Don. “I need to clean that up.”

Don, his cheerful, relaxed self, answered, “Don’t worry about it. We got you covered.” He pointed out there, where everyone was already mopping up my mess.

That’s where it ended.

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The Paying Dream

What else to call it? I begin in a modern, well-lit grocery store. I’m at the register to pay. The total is $15.87. I have the money to cover it, pay, take my plastic bag of goods, and leave.

I don’t know what I’m buying. Again, I’m there. Paying at the register. The total is twelve something. I debate about using my debit card or paying cash. I pay cash, figuring that I have just enough.

I’m walking into the grocery store to shop. It’s modern, well-lit, and busy. (The store is always modern, well-lit, and busy throughout the dream.) I’m at the register. The total is twelve something. I don’t have cash on me. I decide to pay with my debit card. I do so without a problem.

I’m back in the store again, at the register, paying for my purchase. It’s later in the day but still bright and sunny outside. I decide to use my debit card. I struggle to use the card right. Then I struggle with the PIN. Impatience wells up in the shoppers behind me, rushing out of them as agitated comments. “I don’t understand,” I say. “I just used it this morning and it worked fine.” I finally pay, grab my bag, and go.

I’m driving into a parking space in front of the grocery store. Sunlight flashes off the car’s windshield. It’s a light blue convertible, but I don’t know other details. I enter the store to shop, then I’m in line to pay. The total is fourteen something. I don’t have the cash for it. I debate between using my debit card and my credit card. I use the debit card. It doesn’t work, exasperating me. I go to the credit card. I slide the wrong side through, and then slide the right side, but then realize my card has a chip and the terminal has a chip reader. I pop the card in but can’t remember my PIN for it. I can’t believe I’m having such trouble remembering my PINs.

I’ve not noticed the cashiers before. They’ve never said or done anything as I went through my paying problems. But now, a manager comes over, big, white, middle-aged guy, short-sleeved mustard-yellow shirt, black tie, small mustache. He comes to the terminal and does something to override it and process the card. Then he says, “You know what you need to do?”

“No,” I reply, “what?”

But he’s not talking to me. He’s talking to someone behind me. I turn to see them. The dream ends.

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A Dream

Last night’s main feature on the dream stage was a lengthy one, like Boyhood length (two hours forty-five minutes). (So it felt in the dream.) Expressing several layers, I thought I’d touch on highlights.

I was traveling on a jet. I knew that because I was told at the beginning that we were leaving on a jet, but never saw the aircraft. It was big; I had a large suite with several bedrooms on it. That was at the end of a long hallway.

Toward the middle of the dream, a friend (B) visited from Alaska. She and I sat at a window drawing with pencils. When she finished, she handed me a detailed drawing of me. Her skill amazed me. “I drew this for you,” she said. After thanking her, I studied it a bit, then decided it could be improved. I commenced doing that in stages. I showed her and told her what I’d done. She answered, “It’s yours, so do what you want.” She went off to get a drink.

My cat, Rocky, drew my attention. As an explanatory note, Rocky passed away about sixteen years ago. He was the only survivor of a litter found in a hoarding situation when we lived in Germany.

Rocky was approaching a square hole in the carpeted floor. I worried about him, as a red creature had been spotted at that hole, threatening a child earlier in the dream.

Rocky went up to the hole and stopped. The red thing came out, as I’d feared. Rocky retreated. The thing went after him.

I jumped up to go help Rocky, but Rocky swatted the thing off a ledge, which knocked it out of the aircraft. “Smart kitty,” I said. He then went off exploring, and was looking over the edge, out of the aircraft. I told him to be careful.

Then I was busy with other things. One thing I noticed was that the suite door was open. I closed it. When I turned around, I saw Rocky disappear over the ledge. Rushing over, I called him. There was scratching at the door. I hurried over and opened it to Rocky. He strolled in, nonchalant as ever.

The dream continued. I’m leaping forward in it. The others, who were my wife’s family and traveling with us, had returned. Someone ordered a beer from room service. We were talking about what we were going to do that day. I had one of my old Blackberry phones. On a whim, I decided I wanted to call the voice mail from the past. I couldn’t remember the number but just told the phone, call voice mail. A woman started talking. Assuming it was voice mail, I pressed some buttons to stop that. The system asked me if I was certain I wanted to reset it. I pressed escape.

After starting over, I heard the same female voice talking. I put her on my speaker. Then I realized that it was a live call. I wasn’t certain if she was calling from the past or if I’d slipped into the past. She was telling me a conversation with one of our engineers. “We use BlackICE 2.2 to run our security. It’s just a basic installation. He thought we’d still be able to do it but we’d need a key to do it and needed to talk to you.”

BlackICE was a startup that I worked with around 2000. All of what she said aligned with my BlackICE role.

I told her, “No. It can’t be done. That was almost twenty years ago. BlackICE 2.2 would no longer work. It’s no longer a product, and the company has been bought by other companies. I’m afraid that you need to move on.”

The dream continued — it was long, believe me — but those on the highlights for me.

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A Lost Cat & Planting Trees Dreams

The first dream found me in a hotel. My wife was with me in one of those sprawling single-story hotels, where we had a suite. We were watching a friend’s cat for him while he was away. Gray and white, the cat’s name was Naruba. It was a friendly and relaxed animal. He wanted out of the room. I let him out. He disappeared from sight.

Now I was worried; I had to find him. I searched and searched but it was fruitless. By the time my friend returned, I’d given up. But, just as I was about to confess that his cat was gone, the cat reappeared. My friend saw him first. While I was relieved the cat was there, I didn’t think it was the same cat. This one seemed much younger than his cat. My buddy was happy, though, so I let it go.

In the next dream, I was with a few other friends. We were up in the hills off the side of a narrow road. I wasn’t certain what was going on. One friend was looking for something. After a bit of conversation, I realized that he was looking for land. I thought he wanted to buy some land.

We found a place. I recommended it to him. He agreed that it was a good place. Then, though, he brought out a box of plants and planted a tree. He explained that he’d been planting trees for years, wherever he could. I was impressed, and thought, I should do that, too. It was so clever of him.

That’s where it ended.

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Identity Dream

Surprisingly, this dream wasn’t about the military. It’s a surprise because it has the feel of one to me. I was a military brat, who then joined and served twenty years. I moved on to civilian careers after retiring from the military and did okay, but my heyday was in the military.

I was in an office. A report needed to be sent. For some reason, this was an urgent concern for which we in the office weren’t ready. Send a report? What? How? Oh, the computers were out…hmmm, that sure reflected my Sunday computer frustrations.

Improvising in the dream, I procured an old electric typewriter, sat down, and typed up a draft report. While I was typing, I needed to piss. I did it under my desk, shocking my young employee. I did this three times. His shock turned to disgust by the third time. I was also shocked by the third time that I peed under the desk, vowing not to do it again.

Then I submitted the report to my boss. He surprised me by saying, “That’s not necessary.”

“We’re not submitting it?”

“No, we were told we don’t need to.”

“Who told us that?”

“A higher power. They’re submitting it.”

“Okay, if that’s what they want.” That was a task that I didn’t need to do, so I was satisfied. After informing my staff, we called it a day. I changed clothes (right there in the office) and rushed out to meet a friend, Ted.

He was there, waiting for me. “About time,” he told me. I apologized for being late, but he laughed it off. “I’m just bustin’ your ass. I ordered food for you.” He pointed over a railing. Below was a dining room. One table was set. A large sandwich with french fries was on it.

“That’s for me?” I asked. “That’s too much, but thanks.”

“No worries. But first we need to get inside.”

Get inside? Yeah, apparently there was a process. Ted knew it. “You need to show your ID,” he told me.

I said, “Yeah, I got it. It’s just…it was in my pants, and my pants were caught in a flood. I changed pants but everything in my wallet is soaked.” Pulling out my identification, I showed Ted a limp, soaked piece of rectangular paper.

He laughed at that. I took it to the woman manning the entrance. I was embarrassed but she laughed. “No, it’s alright. I heard your story. I feel your pain. You need to get a new identification.”

Card, I wanted to correct her, but other customers were arriving. Ted hustled us through, thanking the woman as he did. We went down to the table. There was more food and drink than I’d seen before, including a large, cold beer.

Although grateful, I gaped at the food and worried. “I don’t have that much money, Ted.”

Ted waved that off. “Don’t worry about it. It’s taken care of.”

The dream ended as I sat down to eat.

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Is It…?

He was coughing, a dry cough from the bottom of his throat’s well.

Is it the coronavirus, or just the flu?

His nose was running (it hadn’t been this morning).

Is it an allergy (spring is in the air), or just a cold?

He was embarrassed because he couldn’t stop coughing (though he drank lots of water and sucked on a cough drop), thinking that the others were eyeing him (and several people had left).

Is it because of him, or is all of this just in his mind?

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The Goatee Dream

First, there was a sex dream. The neighbor’s cat was crying at the door and broke that spell. After I let her in (and provided a meal), I used the loo. Back to bed, I thought about the dream and hoped it would return (as it was comforting and pleasant).

It didn’t. In its stead came the beard dream. Standing in front of a mirror, I prepared to trim my goatee and ‘stache. What I saw horrified me; the goatee was massively overgrown.

I began trying to trim it while wondering how it’d come to look so bad with collateral thoughts of, had something happen to me, did it always look so horrid, and geez, why didn’t anyone say anything to me?

My wife was in the dream’s background, talking, giving me the impression that, “We needed to leave soon.” Don’t know to where. I responded that I was almost ready (not true), but that I just had to trim my goatee.

I saw my goatee had grown to double bumps hanging down, which didn’t do anything for my face. I looked like Depp in the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise, but more withered and grayer. Naturally, I concluded, trim them. Somehow, trimming them worsened their appearance. Recoiling with fresh horror, I decided that it all looked so bad that the only thing that I could do is shave the goatee off entirely. Trying, though, I ended up revealing a bloody wound that the beard concealed.

What happened? Had I cut myself? Meanwhile, my wife was calling for me to hurry and my beard had darkened and grown across my lower face.

That’s where the dream ended.

Yeah, classic self-image dream about my identity, isn’t it?

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The Shoe Dream

So, as many of my dreams have taken me in the past, there I am, back  in the military after being out for several decades. It’s not a surprising dream sanctuary, and makes sense in many practical ways.

Once again, I’m there, in a command center or command post such as the ones that I spent much of my time. This one has windows, though. That rarely happened. We were often in  secure buildings or underground. As with other dreams, I’m trying to put together a uniform, and it’s all messed up, because I’ve been retired from the military for so long. With much joking and laughing, I get it together and get a semblance of an Air Force uniform on. There are others in this situation, so I’m not overly concerned with the bit. We’ve been called up…enough said on that, right? Yeah, my mind’s workings can be pretty transparent.

I’m worried about my shoes, though. They’re on, but they’re not in great shape. Meanwhile, the situation is developing. I’m senior enlisted there, and the experienced command post guy. The commander, a colonel, has arrived. He’s concerned about the sit. I share his concerns. Beyond the windows is a swollen gray ocean active with slow, heavy waves. We’re walking along the command post, looking out the windows, searching for an impending attack from across the water. Lights draw our attention. We watch, and watch, hoping that they’ll resolve into something more than blurry lights in the distance, ready to act if they do.

We begin walking toward the other end of the command post. I’ve been thinking as the commander and I scanned the sea, and I’d developed a sense that something wasn’t right. Maybe we were looking at the problem the wrong way.

Just as I formulate this to myself, I turned to look through another window and see a huge wave. Rising like a movie scene, it’s rushing toward us. As I see it, a young airman shouts a warning about the wave.

I spring into action, giving orders and directions about what to do as people begin running in panic. As they’re panicking and only a few are doing as I say, I take it upon myself to act.

It’s too late. As I realize that the wave is about to hit, I tell everyone to find cover and find cover myself. The wave slams into the building. Coming through windows, the powerful water wrecks the interior.

It’s over in a flash. I survive in good condition because I’d protected myself. My biggest concern is my…shoe.

Yes, I’m upset because my right shoe is coming apart. It’s not shiny and black, as I kept it throughout my mil career, as trained to do, as we all did; it is dull and white. Man, am I exasperated.

But we need to take care of things. It’s clear that we can’t continue operations in the current location. I and two others, a male and female, take off walking for the alternate command post location. We’re walking alongside a parade ground. I’m lamenting about my shoe as I go.

While walking to the alternate location, we start moving faster. The two I’m with cross to the other side of the parade grounds. We engage in an unspoken pseudo-race at fast walking speed. They become distracted with conversation. Seeing that, grinning, I surreptitiously speed ahead. They notice, and start walking faster, almost catching up. The guy starts running, so I do, too. Laughing, we reach the alt at the same time, and wrestle to get through the door first. I win.

Inside the small, old places, we find things that were left behind, like candy, gum, toys, and clothes. I’m amused as I go through some of the stuff and think about how to make it operational as a new operating location.

Holding up a piece of old candy in a weathered wrapper, I say, “I remember leaving this here.”

The dream ends.

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