Dream Within a Dream

Have you ever had a dream within a dream? I’m not talking about marriage (with or without a speech impediment), I’m talking about a literal dream within a dream, Inception-style. I’m talking about dreaming that you’re dreaming. More often, dreaming that you’re waking up. And then realizing you’re still dreaming. And then waking up.

calvin-and-hobbes

This. This is what I’m talking about.

So, this morning, I was trying to go back to sleep. But since Ethan and I set a goal not to sleep in anymore, and since my husband is super helpful and supportive of my goals, he was trying to get me to wake up. And after a while, I finally decided he was probably right. I should get up.

Trouble is, by that time I was already pretty out of it. I mean, one minute I was driving along the Pulaski Skyway, and the next minute, I was waking up to tell Ethan I wanted to go to New Jersey. Then I realized I was still asleep, and I wasn’t talking to the real Ethan. So I woke up and perused my study journal for a bit. I found a spot where I had either been speaking in tongues or falling asleep, and I showed it to Ethan. “Look,” I said. “Why would I write ‘I need to temple my Zebulon’?” He thought it was funny.

And then I woke up. Ethan was lying next to me in bed, watching something on the laptop. I rubbed my eyes and told him I had just had one of those waking-up dreams. I told him about templing my Zebulon. I told him about the Pulaski Skyway. And then I blinked slowly, and when my eyes opened, he was not where I left him. When I closed my eyes, Ethan had been lying next to me. Now he was sitting up, facing the other way. Aw, man.

I started over, this time listening to make sure it sounded like everyone was awake. We weren’t. I could tell because I wasn’t opening my mouth when I spoke. So I woke up again.

I tried again. This time, I could tell right off the bat that I wasn’t awake, so I didn’t even try to talk anymore. I just waited.

After a few tiring minutes, I eventually came to a point where I was pretty sure I was awake. I could speak with my mouth. I could see Ethan. Everything made sense. There was sound coming out of my mouth – audible sound. I told him all about it one more time.

And then I woke up for real. ♦

Another One for Freud

So, the other night, I was wandering through my dreams in an unmarked white van.

I filled the back of the van with about a dozen happy Labrador puppies. This way, I could attract children.

I found neighborhood children and lured them into the van, where they could watch movies and play with puppies.

The end-goal of my nefarious scheme: turn the children into ducks!

Muah ha hahaha!

?

Interpret This, Freud.

The other night, I had a dream that the public bus broke down, so we all decided to have a seminary class outside in the snow. While I wasn’t paying attention in class, I started finding old coins in the snow, eventually discovering an entire hiking boot full of coins from the 1800’s and a plaque that said “Steven Larsen, Lawyer.” (I don’t remember if the name was Steven Larsen… I just remember the plaque.) Clearly, I thought, some disgruntled law student had failed to pass the bar and flung his hopes, dreams, and coin collection to the side of the road in his despair. In the meantime, I was filthy rich!

I woke up just long enough to realize this treasure would probably belong to Steven Larsen – or whoever owned the property the collection was found on. Then I went back to sleep.

This time, I was watching a dastardly prince (with wandering hands) waltzing with an only-slightly-scandalized princess with incredible 80’s hair. In the background, a female voice belted out a Beauty and the Beast-inspired romance, with the lyrics:

Never going wrong,
Never going wrong,
Baltic states will never, never go wrong…

At this point, my brain decided I had had enough, and I woke up perplexed. ♦

Sounds in the Night

Last night, in the wee hours of the morning, I was having a weird and terrifying dream.

I was dreaming that somebody had sent me “100 things that will make you happy” or something like that, Buzzfeed-style. I was just kind of going from picture to picture, finding cute things like puppies and stuff. And for some reason, every time I went through one of those pictures, I was actually experiencing something similar…in my shower. I mean, I was fully clothed, just looking at things depicted in a shower.

For example, there was one picture that went something like, “Did you know that…” and it started talking about the world’s biggest spider, or jumpingest spider, or something like that. And I was sitting there in the shower, holding an enormous, spooky-looking rubber spider that was hanging from a rubber cement line on the shower ceiling. And while I was pondering the enormity of this spider, a voice was narrating, telling me how far these spiders could swing on this line of webbing. The object lesson in my hands just made the point more clearly.

As I pondered this hideous rubber spider, I got a little nervous about the rest of the post I was going to wade through. The narrator’s voice was soothing enough, but before I started “reading”(?) the post, I had scanned through some of the pictures, and there were some Australian-and-trying-to-kill-you spiders down toward the bottom. And I wasn’t too thrilled to see anything that looked like that – rubber or not – on my shower wall.

Maybe I’m just prejudiced against ugly animals. Sue me.

So I went forward with a few more “posts,” learning things about whatever I was learning about. Sometimes things would show up in the shower,sometimes they wouldn’t. The narrator was pretty constant. A few posts later, a little jar appeared on the shelf in the shower, and as I opened the lid a bit to look inside, a tiny spider poked its head out, crawled out of the jar, and plopped onto the shelf. It moved forward an inch or so, then stopped.

Now, when I say that this spider was tiny, I’m lying. It was tiny compared with the Brazilian eat-your-face-off rubber monstrosity I had been dealing with earlier. This”tiny” spider, by all normal North American non-tarantula standards, was actually pretty sizable. It was about the size of an un-shelled peanut. In fact, it kind of looked like a peanut. A yellow, fuzzy peanut with legs and eight eyes. And little fangs. It was actually kind of cute and kind of terrifying at the same time.

Image

“Oh, hi there!”

By this, I mean that when it was moving really slowly, I thought it was kind of cute. It also seemed cute because I assumed it was robotic. Given that all the object lessons previously had been rubber or in some other way synthetic, I thought this was reasonable. It also moved rather slowly and mechanically.

Until, of course, my heart stopped racing from the surprise and I said, “Wow, what a great robot!” At that point, spidery hell broke loose.

I don’t remember how the thing got from the shelf to the floor, but the next thing I knew, I was backed up against the toilet while the thing kind of hid under the bathroom rug, deciding on its next move. It darted here and there, but slowly weaving its way toward me. By this point, I was pretty certain the thing was not a robot.

The narrator had been prattling this whole time, but I hadn’t been paying attention. I came in as his calm, soothing voice said, “…very aggressive, and has been known to sexually assault sheep.”

What? What?! I’m standing in my bathroom on tiptoes, and in order to get through the door to safety, I have to get past an aggressive spider that could not only kill me, but has somehow figured out a way to violate a mammal a million times its size. Fantastic. How is that even possible?

It was about this point that the spider decided to take a noted interest in my toes. It rushed me, and I danced the international dance of the heebie-jeebies. I screeched – I would call it a scream, but it came out more as a high-pitched ghost moan.

“Whoooooooooaaaaaaaa! WHOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

Meanwhile, Ethan was having a rather pleasant dream about jumping off a tall building into the arms of a man who was simultaneously Richard Hammond from Top Gear and Robert Downey, Jr.

ImageImageI can kind of see it…

After landing safely on the ground, he came into the hallway to give me his computer. He didn’t want it getting wet during the water fight that was about to start. He heard me screaming, and ran to my rescue.

He woke up to me actually screaming and kicking frantically at the covers. Mercifully, he woke me up as well. I thanked him.

I don’t think either of us should be allowed to eat that much Easter candy again. All I know is, after I finally let myself go back to sleep (after about ten minutes, just to be sure the peanut-spider didn’t return), I was really glad my dreams were less terrifying.

I’m also really glad the narrator never made it down to those Australian spiders at the end. Ick. ♦

My Subconscious Defies Physics

Have you ever had a running gag in your dream? Last night, my dream was pretty boring. I was moving apartments. About a dozen people moving in with me. Building some brick fireplace. Riding a motorized scooter. Whatever. But for some reason, about every twenty minutes, my underwear would fall down – even though my basketball shorts stayed on. Cue the laugh track. Seriously, every twenty minutes. Pause the plot line, skivvies fall, everybody laughs. Then continue the story.

I’m just impressed that my subconscious not only wants some comic relief every couple minutes, but it manages to accomplish something completely impossible in order to provide it. Well done, Self. ♦

Freud Would Have a Field Day With This.

So, I had this weird dream last night.

To start off with, I was walking through the park. It was all grassy and pleasant. Then this cop lady came strolling up to me and told me I was in trouble for speeding. In a car. Like, earlier that day, or something. She saw me a while ago, and thought I needed to learn to cool it. So she didn’t write me a ticket – she just told me I should report to the local jail for a couple days.

So my parents came to pick me up and drive me to prison, and Mom lectured me about how I should know better than this, and Dad told me that I would probably shape up in prison, and it would do me some good, and Andrew just kind of sat in the backseat, looking irritated that all the attention was focused on me.

We had to stop at the recycling plant on the way, so we could drop off this huge bag of soda cans and plastic bottles. And Dad parked in front of this posh-looking business complex and said, “I’m pretty sure this is the place.” Then they locked me in a bathroom stall (so I wouldn’t escape) while Dad toured all 5 floors of the building, muttering, “I don’t understand. I was here 20 years ago, and I distinctly remember the recycling plant being down one of these halls somewhere.” And Mom occasionally found him wandering around and rolled her eyes and told him he needed to ask directions.

After about 1 or 2 hours of sitting in a restroom stall, waiting for my parents to figure out how to get rid of the recycling, it suddenly occurred to me that there was no legitimate reason for me to be in prison. A cop couldn’t cite me for pedestrian speeding anyway. And even if I was speeding earlier, she didn’t have any evidence!

Suddenly, the scene cut to a courtroom, where I was triumphantly pulling off a Perry Mason impersonation, defending my honor and, in general, proving to the world that I was free to walk in any park – unencumbered by restroom stalls – at my own will and leisure.

I woke up proud of myself, and really irritated with my parents. ♠