First, let’s get the dream out of the way.
I was piloting a needle-nosed jet plane. My Darling B was in the passenger seat beside me and I think somebody was in the back seat, too, but I’m a little fuzzy about that. I was on final approach, meaning the plane was pointed at the runway, the wheels were down, the engine was throttled all the way back and we were minutes from landing. When we passed over the end of the runway and were about to touch down the air traffic controller asked me to go around, so I opened the throttle and, as the plane surged forward on the increased thrust from the engines, I pulled up and started into the air again.
We were landing at a pretty big airport, big enough for it to have two runways side by side. I was landing on the right-hand runway. Just as we lifted off again, I recognized the shape of a space shuttle in the distance, coming towards us. It came on so very fast that it landed on the left-hand runway before we even passed over the other end of our runway. All I wanted to do was geek out over seeing a space shuttle land next to me, but I had to concentrate all my attention on flying the plane. That dream’s been bugging me all morning.
geeking out |
5:44 am CDT
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I dreamed that we came home from work and found that our little red house had been moved so that it now sat shoulder-to-shoulder, as it were, with the house next door. “Didn’t there used to be a lot more room between our houses?” I asked My Darling B, possibly the stupidest thing I’ve ever dreamed of myself saying because obviously there was a lot more than a finger’s width between the houses when we left for work that morning. Also, the spot where our house used to be was now a slab of concrete.
When I went to city hall to ask what happened to our house, they said they had to move it because of a plan, and that’s about as far as they could explain it. “What did you do with all of the stuff that was in our basement?” I asked, and the nice lady told me, “Oh, it’s all still down there.” She didn’t offer to get it out of its subterranean tomb.
5:47 am CDT
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I woke up from both of these dreams early this morning, thinking, “What the hell was that?”
In the first dream, I was free-diving with Sheena Easton. Apparently Sheena had abandoned her one-hit career as a pop star and taken up free diving, the sport where you take one deep breath and swim deeper than most human beings can go. She had a pool in her back yard that was hundreds of feet deep where she practiced. When we came to the top, we walked dripping wet to the restaurant where My Darling B was having dinner with Tim. “Hey, look, that’s Sheena Easton,” I said to B, pointing at a table on the other side of the restaurant. Sheena stood up in a spotlight and began to sing “9 to 5 (Morning Train),” probably because that’s the only song I know by Sheena Easton.
In the other dream, I was watching a horror movie, but it wasn’t on screen, it was right in front of me, as if I was in the room where the scene was taking place. But it was definitely a scene from a movie, composed of different shots with creepy background music. A bunch of kids were sitting on a king-sized bed drinking soda pop when their dad walked into the room. His sudden appearance frightened them all so badly that they all swallowed their cans of soda. With a whole aluminum can full of soda in their stomachs, they couldn’t breathe and they all slowly suffocated to death while their dad wailed and moaned.
After I woke up from that dream I had to get out of bed to ask the Google if swallowing a can of soda was even a thing. It’s not, thank goodness.
5:42 am CDT
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Here’s another dream: I was wandering the streets of a moderately large city. All the buildings were closed up. Some looked like they hadn’t been open in years. I could see through the windows that there was nothing inside any of them. Then it gradually dawned on me that there was nobody else on the street but me. No other pedestrians, no cars, no street cars running down the tracks … and that’s when the nickel dropped. I was wandering down the streets of a model train set. As soon as I realized it, I could see that the buildings were made of plastic and there were huge gaps in the pavement where the Bristol board hadn’t matched up. Not only that, I knew what all the buildings were, even though there were no signs on any of them. I recognized the hardware store, the tavern, city hall. I had built all these buildings myself. It was like being in an episode of Twilight Zone.
teeny weenie |
7:46 am CDT
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I was eating a sandwich late at night under a tree at the crossroads of a rural village with two teenaged kids I didn’t know. Across the street there was a gas and two-bay service station, closed for the night, with a couple of old cars parked out front of the garage doors. The kids chatted with each other while I stared across the street at the cars.
A sudden gust of wind came through the trees overhead, blew a plume of dust across the road, and when it got to the other side fo the street it picked one of the cars up off the ground and shoved it through the garage door into the pile of boxes inside the service bay, crushing them. The wind came up again, picked up another car parked out front and shoved it into the other service bay, wrecking the car and everything inside. Another gust flipped both cars on end, smashing the overhead fluorescents. The wind kept gusting and the cars kept on smashing until both cars and everything in both service bays was reduced to junk.
When the wind finally died down and the dust began to settle, I had finished my sandwich. “Well, that was weird,” I remarked out loud.
“What was?” one of the kids asked.
“The way that wind blew those cars around,” I explained, pointing at the garage across the street. They both turned to look at the twisted remains of the cars in the service bay, but didn’t seem to think anything was weird about it.
“You mean you didn’t hear the wind …” I began to ask, looking up through the trees. “Whoa. Now there’s something I haven’t seen for a long, long time.”
Through the tree’s branches, the Milky Way lit up the night sky. I backed out from under the branches of the tree to get a better look. As I stepped out into the street, the Milky Way became a fat salamander, its head at the eastern horizon, its tail stretching to the western horizon. It wriggled across the sky, turning to face north-south, then scuttled away into the distance, to be replaced by starfish, a barracuda, a giant squid, a school of tuna.
I walked along the road smiling up at a parade of fish that went on and on. The road became the street of a shopping mall. The sky became the ceiling. The starry fish became colorful pinatas made of papier mache.
I can’t remember how this dream ended, but the sight of the Milky Way is still vivid in my memory.
fish parade |
7:26 am CDT
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In my dream, I could feel the earwax shift in my left ear, and I could tell that it was a lot of wax, because it blocked my ear enough to make the world seem just a bit more quiet.
I was talking to someone, so I waited for them to be distracted by something, maybe a passing giraffe, before I stuck my pinky finger into my ear as far as it would go and used my fingernail to scoop out a chunk of wax. It was the color of honey and thick enough to caulk a boat. I wiped it on my handkerchief.
There was still more in there, though. The world did not get any louder by scooping out that little blob, so the next chance I got, I gouged another chunk of wax from the deepest recesses of my ear. A much bigger chunk this time. It was so sticky that it kind of globbed together on the end of my finger, like tar or pine pitch. Or the snot of Satan. I had to work at wiping it all off my finger onto my handkerchief this time.
But I still didn’t get it all. There was still enough wax left in my ear to completely block it now. I couldn’t hear a thing with that ear. I was just about panicked to get it out of there, so I didn’t wait for anybody to be distracted by anything. I ducked my head and reached in as far as my pinky would go. I could feel a gooey glob with the tip of my finger. It got stuck on my fingernail so that I could slowly drag the damned thing out whole.
It was huge. I mean, a lot bigger than it should have been possible for a blob of earwax to be, but dreams are like cartoons: anything’s possible. Pulling it out was like slowly dragging a dead, sticky mouse out of my ear, and there’s no discreet way of doing that. I wrapped it up in my handkerchief with an embarrassed smile and a little roll of my eyes. Whaddar ya gonna do, eh?
6:00 am CDT
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In my other dream last night, I was asked to drive a bus, one of those big sixty-footers, on a snow-covered road because the regular driver wouldn’t do it. Thought it was too tricky. I didn’t see what the big deal was, even though I’d never driven a big passenger bus before. Didn’t seem all that complicated. You got a steering wheel, you got a gas pedal, just like any other motor vehicle. How tricky could it be?
To make it even easier, I would only have to follow another guy driving a similar bus. If he could do it, then I could too, obviously. I had to pull off the road at the corner to let him by, so my bus ended up pointed almost backward, but I made lemonade out of those lemons by putting the transmission in reverse and giving her the gas. We went up the road backwards!
And it went smooth as silk. The bus handled well on the snow, even in reverse. I must’ve got it up to forty or fifty miles per hour as we backed down a long hill, so I let off the gas and coasted up the other side. As we neared the top and I could see we were gaining on the other bus, I slid my foot off the gas pedal across the floor, feeling for the brake. My foot kept on sliding until it ran into my other foot. I slid it back to the gas pedal, then over to the left again. Still couldn’t find a brake pedal. Now both my feet were sweeping side to side across the floor and finding nothing but the gas pedal. “WHERE THE HELL IS THE BRAKE?” I shouted in the cool, competent way that’s always sure to set a bus full of passengers at ease.
So, to recap: I was driving a bus backward at forty miles an hour (or so) on a snow-covered road, and had mere seconds to find the brakes before we plowed into another bus. Naturally, that’s when my legs got tangled up in the quilt that had been laying across my lap. I have never been so grateful to wake up before the alarm went off.
10:05 pm CDT
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In my dream last night, I had to go to the store to get something. I knew exactly what I wanted and I even knew where in the store they stocked it, but when I got to the store I discovered they were remodeling. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t get to the part of the store I needed. I even tried climbing a dark, dusty staircase and crossing over the store through the attic, but that was blocked, too. Finally, I went outside the store and circled around the back to see if I could make my way back inside through a fire exit. When I got to the corner of the store where I knew they usually kept the thing I needed, I could see that it had been demolished. There was nothing but a gaping hole in the ground where the thing I needed was supposed to be. So. I won’t be getting that thing I need then, I guess.
6:28 am CDT
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Deckard was having trouble driving on the narrow mountain road. Replicants don’t usually drive, and even though the old Volkswagen was part of his memory, he wasn’t sure how to handle the stick shift, so I volunteered to take over. He pulled into a wayside stop where we could do the swap.
I walked into the brush a ways, looking for a place to pee, same as everyone else was doing. With so many people beating the bushes, I kept going back, looking for some privacy, until I ended up wandering through the lanes of a campground that was hidden back there. I asked somebody for directions to the front office, and followed the road they pointed up.
The men’s bathroom was separate from the front office and was in an old ruin of a building with sandstone walls and a dirt floor. There was a single pissoir on the near wall that was already in use when I got there, so I headed for one of the three stall doors on the far wall. They were joke doors, nothing but blank walls behind them. I briefly considered pissing in the sink, then left in disgust.
The walk back to the car was up a steep hill and the road was under construction. Actually, it had been washed out and temporarily replaced by railroad ties covered in sand, which made walking on it very hard as I couldn’t get much traction. There was a car creeping along impatiently behind me as I picked my way along the ties but he would just have to wait because there was no where for me to step off the road to let him by.
But I could let the three older ladies by who were making their way down the hill. They asked about the bathrooms as they stepped gingerly from tie to tie. I pointed to the campground office at the bottom of the hill and they thanked me.
And that’s when my alarm went off. I’m not sure why I had an alarm set for Saturday morning.
6:59 am CDT
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We were figuring out how to split the bill at the Denny’s on Tau Ceti Prime when Spock called. Distress signal, naturally. Can hardly finish a cup of coffee and a slice of pecan pie in this sector before you have to fly off to stop some crazy Romulan warlord from attacking an outpost of colonists. I told Spock we’d be ready in half a minute and started to get up, but Bones gave me the old stink eye and wouldn’t let me out of the booth until I left a tip. One of the responsibilities of command, he says. Made sure I left a big one, too. He thinks I skimp on tips.
3:20 am CDT
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A bit and a piece of the last dream I had this morning:
A drainage ditch filled with carrots, a river of carrots, running under the bridge I’m standing on and inexplicably emerging from the other side as an orange slurry that rushes like a whitewater rapids away from me.
A teddy bear wearing a red t-shirt emblazoned with bold white letters that spell out FUCK CAT ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?
More like shards, really, than bits and pieces, am I right?
8:21 am CDT
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Bits and pieces of the dream I was having came back to me while I was washing up this morning. None of it made sense. Climbing onto the roof of a beat-up old brownstone building. Walking through empty, dusty rooms until I found the stairs. Peering over the rail to see how deep the stairwell was. Pretty deep. The rail was oak or walnut, polished to a high gloss. The balusters were brass. The treads of each step were hewn from granite. I followed them down, looking back over my shoulder at the ruins of the top floor. Soon enough, I found myself in a splendidly-appointed lobby, all granite and whitewashed plaster with just a touch of chrome in an art deco style. The crowd in the lobby seemed to be headed for an event down the hall. I followed them to a vast natatorium with high walls filled with broad windows that threw sunlight across the length of a turquoise pool that seemed as wide and deep as a lake. Some kids asked me to join them in the game they were playing by the side of the pool, but they wouldn’t tell me how. They were playing with a football, but they weren’t playing football. I stopped asking them to show me how, and left. Cue alarm clock …
6:09 am CDT
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