My Crazy Dreams

I dream more often and remember my dreams more than anyone I know. I also love to talk about my dreams, and have yet found anyone in my life also interested in this delightful pastime. (Aside from you, @frankjm, and while it still technically counts – you are not a 3 dimensional friend!)

My dreams last night were a wild ride of randomness and vivid images.  I woke up retaining even more than I usually do and had to sleepily grope for a pen and notebook from my nightstand drawer to be sure to remember as much as possible. I will now refer to these barely legible notes to convey at least a small part of the bizarreness that is my dreaming world.

I started out as some version of Emily of New Moon, a character from one of my favorite childhood books, working in a car mechanic shop with an ominous Christmas tree covered in heavy antique ornaments sitting right in the middle of a car grease and spare parts splattered cement garage. I would alternate between rolling under the car with various tools and talking with this handsome fellow who resembled a cowboy; lean and long with a baby face, topped with floppy brown hair.

I didn’t like him though It was a gut instinct, perhaps because he was weak, whiny and/or wimpy. There was something about this guy that unsettled me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Now, my waking self is only left with the feeling he was the kind of person who would break under the mere threat of torture…sell out his best friend faster than you can say spineless.

Suddenly our meaningless conversation was interrupted by a very old, homeless man shuffling across the incredibly busy two-lane street in front of the mechanic shop. His hands held something precious, you could tell by the way he held it so close to his body despite his obviously addled brain and otherwise awkward body movements. My heart was in my throat watching him jerkily cross the road. Cars zipped by at casually intense speeds and somehow he just managed to stumble across the road.

He walked right up to me, all unshaven stubble and dirt streaks across his neck and handed me this mysterious package he was holding. Wimpy Cowboy was very interested in it but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging him during this interaction. I looked concernedly at the obviously befuddled, drunken man only to be surprised when his face abruptly changed to reflect a sharp cunning, no less insane than before, but infinitely more aware. He looked at me with the eyes of a fox, just as my hand grasped the package, and as he let go, he hissed something at me…something my waking mind has forgotten. It was a revelation, I know that, but my dreams can be quite frustrating at times.

It shifted then (which is my way of describing when my dream completely changes) and I was living in a giant hollowed out tree with two people I didn’t recognize. I walked into an old dusty attic and found a secret compartment..invisible to the unobservant. Inside was a wooden box covered with carvings and delicate gold trim. The dust was so thick and old that the bottom layer had formed this sticky feel to it. I gingerly reached in and pulled out the box, knowing somehow this was a very important treasure indeed.

Suddenly, about four of my co-workers showed up at this bizarre tree house uninvited, flopped onto my couch and turned on the very old T.V. You know, the kind that has no remote, you have to turn these stubborn ridged pegs hard to get a new channel. I was irritated but had more important things on my mind. I wandered from room to room, wringing my hands and trying to remember something I’d forgotten.

With the arrival of the new people came drama, and I was left to deal with this young motherless boy. When I went outside to talk with him, I was horrified to see an epic battle raging between an army of impossibly large red ants and some foreign long, thick but thin black beetles.  They were the size of a large man’s pinkie in length, with pincers like a black scorpion. They were fighting each other viciously and there was noway to tell which insect was winning. Stuck in some kind of death grip, they were a swarming mass of red and black .

My first thought after watching the carnage in terror for a moment, was the boy. He was a young black boy, with an innocent face and an obviously blank mind. He was also watching this odd insect display, but with a curiously mild look on his smooth features. I grabbed his hand urgently and pulled him to me, whispering to him (the circumstances seemed to call for quiet) asking him if he knew where his mother was. He shook his head at me without once averting his eyes from the battle raging in front of us. The ants were swarming and relentless, but the outnumbered beetles were obviously stronger.

I picked up the boy and took him off in another direction with me, and though I was loathe to do it, I put my back to the insects. I felt their many countless eyes on my back as I walked quickly away, keeping track of my retreat.

It shifted again and I was walking next to Oprah (yes, the Oprah) into a theater dressed to the nines in a flowing backless black gown, with a near hip high slit along one leg. I felt glamorous and impossibly sexy, with the clinging material of the teasingly revealing dress wrapped heavily against my skin. The delicate metallic silver heels adorning my feet like jewels gleamed darkly against the jet black of my dress and swept-up hair hair.

I felt like a Princess and glided next to Oprah, never questioning my sudden hobnobbing with celebrities. Oprah and I held a casual conversation, though I had to lean down to catch her words over the busy chatter of the crowded theater. I remember thinking how short she seemed in real life. At one point we reached an area roped off with deep purple velvet ropes. I was not on the V.I.P. list apparently, so I stepped aside and said good bye to my new famous friend.

Suddenly I remembered I had some sort of job to do there. I guess this was a Cinderella deal. I went to find some friends and my dress and beautiful up-do disappeared and I was wearing my usual garb, dark blue jeans and a little tee.  I was rushing down what felt like endless halls to find my people…I think I was a caterer or something for this big event.

I never found them but I left the theater far behind in my travels and I was again holding the little boy’s hand as we ran from something unknown. (Which always makes it scarier.) I ran down this long hallway that turned into a cave of sorts. We rushed out of the mouth of the cave only to see a dense thick and bristling army of trees. There was nowhere else to go, so we ran through the nearly pitch black and haunting quiet of the forest.

I awoke only when in the dream, I felt rather than saw, a huge fist or arm swinging my way. I winced in preparation for the unknown attack and woke up in shock. That’s happened intermittently all my life though, so no big surprise there…

My crazy dreams. End scene.

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