Pic of me & boo popped up on timeline, So young & looking like deer in headlights. Cheered conisderably. Reminder of what am fighting for.
Or so I assume. Another bizarre dream. . . .
Standing in the back yard of a very large house. There are hundreds of lawn mowers that have been dragged out of a very large storage unit. We are investigating them for evidence that they are “guilty.” Of what? That’s never said, but since they are lawn mowers and have blades. . . .
Something distracts me, and I turn away, but after a conversation, I turn back around–and see empty spots where some of the lawnmowers are missing. Someone pokes me in the arm and directs me to the fence line, where several lawnmowers are lined up in two rows. The “detective” says that the lawn mowers have been examined, and these are the ones that are the most likely “guilty.”
Now this may or may not be relevant, but the lawn mowers look suspiciously like my electric mower,which I have always thought looks a bit like a Cylon head on wheels. I think in the dream that they look like Cylons, but that thought never goes anywhere I notice that all the lawnmowers have a black matte finish.
Next I am driving in an SUV coming in the back way into my parents’ subdivision. As I am coming down the road along the side of their house, I see my SUV in front of their house, which I think is weird because I thought I was driving my SUV. As I slow down to see what is going on, I see boo get out of the driver’s side. He has on a big puffy coat, which I think is funny since he is the last person you would ever see in a puffy coat, but I realize there is a lot of snow everywhere. He is struggling with a sleeping bag that he is trying to turn into a tent. There is a man there arguing with him, but I can’t hear what he is saying, and boo just keeps getting angrier and angrier. I think “Why are you trying to make a tent out of a sleeping bag–it’s a sleeping bag. Get into it and zip it up?” I wonder if I should stop the car and intervene. I am driving so slowly I’ve almost stopped already, but then I think “No he’ll just get madder if I get involved.” I can’t figure out what is going on. Why did he get out of the car? Why didn’t he get into the sleeping bag in the car?And why, when he is parked in front of my parents’ house, is he not in my parents’ house where it is warm and he would not have to worry about it being cold?
I had forgotten how damn annoying and cryptic these dreams could be!
I must be feeling better. I’m starting to dream again, but I’m just remembering snippets.
I’m in a grocery store. I’ve just checked out and am leaving. I have an odd looking cart that looks more like a folding bed frame bent up and on wheels. But the frame has about a foot at the bend so that you can put things in it. I’ve got some sparkling water in the “cart.” As I”m leaving the store, a woman stops me and starts putting other beverages in my cart. I say “I’ve already checked out.” She says “They’re free.” “Free?” “Yes! We want to give them to you.” “Oh, ok.” So she is loading up my cart with soda and beer and hard cider. She shows me a bottle of sake in a frosted glass bottle and points to the label that says it’s gluten-free (even in my dreams I”m fretting).
Next, there is something about someone dying, but I don’t remember who or what or why.
I’m at a counter in a place of business and I’m talking to an Indian guy (India Indian not Native American) behind the counter. We are talking about his book. I apparently have read it, or know enough about the subject (which I don’t remember) to discuss it. We’re talking about how difficult it is to find fact checkers; I seem to be angling for the job. I’m saying these things, fishing for the job, and at the same time thinking “Jeez,what’s wrong with you. You’re being really obvious.” The phone rings and the guy turns around to answer it. After the guy hangs up, he gives me his card to contact him (about the job I guess) and then gives me a plastic packet of additonal cards (I guess I’m supposed to promote him?).
Next, I’m walking down the street talking to someone. I get the sense I don’t know the guy–another stranger who lands in my lap for me to tend to. He’s a really young guy in some kind of dilemma–a deal with the devil. I’m not sure if he’s being literal or not when he says that. He seems to think if he does nothing then it will all go away. I point out karma and tell him if he doesn’t resolve it this time around he’ll have to come back next time and do it. He is very bitter and says “Maybe next time I’ll actually hae a decent life.” And I say “Maybe next time you’ll have a really shitty life because you screw up this one.” That’s pretty harsh even for me to say when I’m angry, so I don’t know exactly why I’m saying it that way.
Next, in a large city. I’m on some kind of open air bus, just wide enough for one person, but long enough for many. We’re parked at an old fashioned street lamp. Cars are whizzing around us, but we’re just sitting there. I’m assuming it is the turn lane. Somehow I can see myself reflected in something in front of us, a window I presume. It’s clearly me, with my hair as long as it is now, but it’s a light brown. Is the universe really telling me to go back to brunette after all this time? Then boo reaches forward and wraps his arms around my shoulders to lean in and kiss my cheek. “I thought we were buying groceries,” he says. No, we’re not obsessed with food and drink in our house. I poke the driver in the shoulder, and when he turns around, I ask him why we have been sitting for so long. He looks around and says “Oh, I thought we were in the turn lane.” I give him a look like “duh,” and he pulls the bus/cart/whatever into traffic. But he can’t make a left turn, even though we were in the lane that supposedly could make a left turn, and turns right instead. He goes down a six lane street and then veers left to head toward the arena in our capital (the arena may be familiar, but ths street isn’t–the town looks southern, not like up here at all). Then he turns right and yells “Hang on!” and does a U-turn in front of the arena. I’m hanging on for dear life; it feels as if the cart is going to flip over.
Next I am with hundreds of people sitting in the parking lot of a clinic. I’m with a very large young woman who is sitting in a zero gravity lawn chair. I can’t figure out if she is pregnant or really fat. She doesn’t seem concerned one way or another and is flipping through a magazine. I look at my phone and think “It’s been a really long time; why haven’t they opened yet?” Then I see the Indian guy from earlier in the dream, but he is dressed in some kind of red leotard like a superhero from the comics–he walks over and says “It’s been almost an hour and they are still not open yet.” He seems to be with the woman and is concerned about her. I have no idea why I am there or why I would be concerned about either of them.
We’re in our kitchen. It looks like a couple of gallons of gravy have exploded all over the counters and appliances. Boo’s theory of cleaning is just to toss everything; I tell him there is no point in throwing away something that can be washed and salvaged. He wants to throw away a loaf of g-free bread; I grab it from his hands and say no! “The packaging is intact; the bread isn’t harmed.” There are three other unopened packages of bread, and he wants to throw them away too. “No! No!” I exclaim. “They are brand new, fresh, and perfectly fine! We’ll wash off the wrapper and put them in the freezer. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find this bread?”
Then the sound of the dog vomiting wakes me up.
Dutifully logged for your amusement.
I’m in a house. It is my house, but it doesn’t look like my current house or any other I’ve ever been in. There are a lot of people there. I go upstairs and go into the attic. There is a gaping hole in the ceiling and water is dripping through. Damn! How did that happen? I go over and pick up the beach towels that were stored in that corner and they are covered with mold, one so much that the edge has been eaten away. That one will have to be thrown away, but the other one should be okay. I turn around and am startled because suddenly in front of me is this honeycomb like structure that is gigantic; it is about three feet wide and goes all the way up to the ceiling. There are little black beads in the holes and I get the impression that they are larvae of some type. I am completely squicked out and scream and jump back. There is a can of Lysol sitting on a box, and I grab it and spray the entire can on the honeycomb. Even in the dream I remember thinking, “Lysol doesn’t work against these kinds of bugs,” but I did it anyway.
I’m on a plane. I’m sitting fairly close to the front, and it must have been years ago, because I can actually see through to the cockpit window. I’m fretting that I’m going to be late and miss a concert. The pilot calls back over his shoulder that we are stacked. There is another plane that zooms over the top of us and immediately does a roll to land in front of us. I think I hope to hell he’s not going to do that to us.
We land, and I am fretting because I’m afraid I’m going to miss the event. They tell me that the nurse that looked at the little boy from the last time I was here wants to talk to me. She inexplicably pulls out a stethoscope and listens to my heart and says “It’s still racing.” I say, “It is not; it’s fine.” She puts her hand on my chest and says “It’s still racing.” I am getting really pissed; why is a nurse listening to my heart to begin with, and damn, I am so sick of doctors telling me I don’t know what is going on with my own body. I pull away from her. There is another person there who is criticizing me for bringing two lawn chairs. She tells me that the big one will be too large to carry, and I should just take the small one. I look at the two of them and folded up they are almost identical shape. I am so pissed. Why is everyone messing with me like this?
Then I am in a large warehouse type building. Something nefarious is going on, and I am trying to either put something or get something out of the trash before the big baddie sees me. This part of the dream isn’t very clear, but it involves me going through the fence gate into my front yard and messing with something underneath the tree by the garage.
Dutifully logged for your amusement.
Dream sequence begins thus:
I am back in school. I am trying to get to school, but there has been snow and ice and the threat of more. I’m trying to figure out how to get there and what I should wear as I have to walk (apparently I am back in high school, but I look like me now, not me then).
There is a young woman with a doll house. She is pointing out each of the rooms and talking about each one. As she does, my dream zooms in on each room. I don’t remember what was in each room, so I don’t know what the point of zooming in was. Then the woman hands me a very thin platinum wedding band. “Hold on to this for me, will you?” she asks.
I ask “Why would you want to give me your wedding ring?”
She says, “I made it; I want you to hold on to it for me for a while.” I start to put it in my pocket, and she says, “No, you can wear it; it’s ok.”
I say “It probably won’t fit.” I try to put it on my little finger, but it is too big. She laughs at me. I then try it on my ring finger, and it is snug, but it will fit. I notice when I put it on that what looked like a thin band is really a claddagh ring, and the woman’s name, Danielle, is engraved on the inside. I think it is really weird a woman would make a wedding ring for herself, but I’m distracted by some commotion to the right.
Apparently, I’m on the set of my favorite tv show, but I don’t know what it is since I don’t recognize any of the actors. High up on a loft-like structure a man is lying on his stomach and he is confessing to a priest who is kneeling next to him. I don’t remember what he is confessing, but I realize, looking closer, that the priest has him tied up. Vigilante priest? The dream then zooms out, and I see a line of other men, on their stomachs with their hands tied behind their backs, in a row next to the first guy. I’m really disturbed that these men are tied up.
Then I am in the kitchen of our house, and I notice that the lights are on in our shed. They aren’t on an automatic timer, so I don’t know why they are on. I tell boo that we need to go find out if someone is in the shed. As I’m looking at the shed, I think it’s a bit odd. The front of the shed looks like ours, but the back looks like a house. About half way down the side, there is a little patio with a 70s era cushioned chair right in front of a door, and then the shed becomes two-story from there.
I go out the patio door, and instead of going to the shed, which is to the right, I go to the left, and instead of the pond, there is a two-story A-frame house. There are some really stereotypical hillbillies lurking about and yelling misogynist things at me. I ignore them and go inside. In the loft there is a couch and there is my boo and we both flop down on the couch, laughing and cross our legs. We just know to do the same things without talking. We’re both in black; I have on yoga pants and a black long sleeve shirt; he’s in black sweats and a long sleeve shirt. I realize that the web cam is set up and we are getting ready to record a podcast. “What are we going to talk about today?” I ask, and then I wake up.
Apparently, according to Wikipedia, (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Claddagh_ring) mothers hand these claddagh rings down to daughters, and grandmothers to granddaughters. So even though the young woman was younger than I was, and there is no one in my family named Danielle, I suppose I am to take her as a matriarchal figure. That puts a new spin on the house, as house then becomes lineage rather than a literal house. Maybe it’s a spiritual lineage, since the very next shot in the dream was a priest. But what was the priest forcing the men to confess?
So then there are three more “houses” after that–our current house, the shed that has morphed into a house in the back, and the A-frame. Since I never get to the shed, I don’t know what is in it, except the light is on unexpectedly (light= energy? spirit?). The A-frame had an all-glass front and all the lights were on inside; it was “blazing” and boo and I were in the loft (highest area, and, weirdly, where the priest was in his part of the dream). We’re being very twinny, and intuitively synching our movements, but we’re also getting ready to “broadcast” something. Are we taking over the priest function? Are we getting ready to “preach”?