Mine For the Dreaming

Let me tell you about my dreams.

For years, nearly every night I’d dream that I was on a mission of some sort, always running and hiding from something. Always having an objective to complete. But never clear as to what the objective was. I was often a special agent and carried a gun, but never shot it, it was held at my side. Dirty and sweaty, and usually efficient in movement, I’d run from place to place taking cover in the dark, down alleyways in between buildings looking ahead for the next shadow to cower in, desperate and determined to make sense of the situation. Often I was waiting for someone who was to join me, but they always seemed just ahead or just behind, timing an ever present issue. It’s only recently come to my attention that the dreams have subsided, not sure when, but sometime in the last several months.

If I could choose to live in that moment forever, I feel I would.

None of the typical dreams “they” say the masses have that involve flying, falling, staircases, bananas, candlesticks, monsters, public nudity, etc., (okay, public nudity a few times) have been mine for the dreaming. Not one to put stock into the meaning of dreams and their symbology, I do however ponder their origin. They’re supposed to be the culmination of your thoughts or your subconscious throughout the day, right? I’m banking on it being the subconscious because my dreams often consist of people I haven’t given a thought to in years. People from long ago visit sporadically. Sometimes, the visit is so sweet upon waking in those few moments between sleep and conscious where you know you’re almost fully awake, but want to hang on to that feeling the dream evokes, not let it drift away, that, at times, if I could choose to live in that moment forever, I feel I would. Then of course, just a handful of minutes pass consisting of one of those really good, long, cat-like stretches (cat dream to follow) and then a meander down the hallway to the start of the day, and the memory has floated away to where dreams go in the daylight and life is happily mine for the living. Here, in reality.

Ever have one of those dreams of someone, maybe a coworker or a friend that you just don’t think of in that way, but the dream leaves you with a new view of them, and when you again encounter that person, you could swear they know, they totally know what you’ve dreamt, what you two’ve shared to have acquired that new view, and it’s all you can do to not turn to the shade of cabernet and pivot on your heel in escape. I must tell you, a few weeks back I had just such a dream. I saw a friend in a whole new never-before light. It puts a smile on my face even now. A sentence that’s been displayed in magnetic poetry around my home for over ten years: I must be quite kissed, or else. Others may have their hankerings, mine’s for a super colossal, knee-melting, mind-bending, time-forgetting kiss. And as with all such kisses, what makes the top contenders so spectacular is the presence of emotion behind them, the connection existing between two people. There was moonlight, a confrontation and the sweetest little tête-à-tête, le sigh. Pardon the blathering. :) I must say I did not then encounter my friend as mentioned above for he’s too far away for that, but even so I swear he still knew, as I heard from him that day, and that’s a rarity. I shall end my girlish silliness as there are many more a dream to discuss …

You know when it’s the place, but not really the place in dreams?

Several years back I began having dreams that included famous people, something I’d never dreamt before despite my penchant for movies and all things Hollywood. In the dreams, I’m far from star struck as the celebrities involved are rarely my favorites. Once I dreamt I dated Jim Carrey. He made for a moody boyfriend, jealous and needy, and I was glad to finally wake up that day. Next Ben Affleck, I found myself in an embrace, dancing, and he swept me downward in a deep dip. But he never brought me back up for it seemed the applause of the surrounding crowd caused him to extend my captive state in a fit of self-seeking praise. I woke up on that note, lying at an angle, my head off the bed and upside down, as in the dream. Hot tubbing with Madge, Madonna. We both wore heels, fully clothed, yet submerged, sitting around discussing trends in art galleries with a man who looked very much like Seal. Marilyn Manson tattooed my sister and then attempted to murder her so I spent the dream stocking him in vengeance and another time Billy Bob Thornton took my sister out for Mexican food much to my dismay. Such oddities. Now after a few years celebrity-dream-free, I’ve gone and dreamt that Jared Leto and his brother Shannon from the band 30 Seconds to Mars were on the couch in my living room. Only it wasn’t really my living room. You know when it’s the place, but not really the place in dreams? A Fall Out Boy was down the hall in the bedroom with the Dresden Dolls drummer and they were each crying into their cellphones, sadly lamenting the loneliness of their lifestyles. Meanwhile, back in the living room I fed my guests peanut butter pasta (?!) and then woke up with the urge to dye my hair black again. I wonder who’ll show up tonight …

Cat ripping. Yes, it’s an absurd and horrific affair. I hate cats, positively loathe them, save Michelle Pfeiffer as Catwoman, and with good reason. It was Christmas Eve, I was two, and Barney Cat was long-haired and fluffy. He rubbed his charcoal grey body across my legs as cats do and I reached to pet the length of his body as he passed by. The last bit of his tail apparently didn’t make it all the way through my hand as I clenched it shut. Barney Cat leapt screeching towards my face, bright eyes wild, claws fully extended and imbedding into my chest, dangling and swinging to and fro, stretched to full length and nearly as tall as me. The room erupted in roaring laughter at the sight of the attached cat while my dad, yelling, tried to detach Barney Cat all the while muttering, “Your dress is absolutely ruined with all those little puncture holes in it. And now your bleeding. Great. Stains.” So, yes, despise cats, I do. Maybe once a year there will come a dream where a cat will leap out of nowhere at me, pet semetery-esque eyes aglow, thrashing itself about, four claws flailing wildly at my face and chest, a million stinging slices, until I manage to get one cat limb in each of my hands and I pull as hard as I can, resulting in a torn cat, insides spilling forth, blood spurting, as it lets out a bone chilling death yowl. I hate these dreams. Too barbaric even for a cat. I always wonder where is all that dormant violence coming from?!

Not to purposely cause much “eeew”ing on anyone’s part here as a follow up to that last bit of kitty carnage, but the next dream I must mention is that of my teeth falling out. I hesitate to write that, as it seems to be the one dream that I can mention during the day and it will then occur come night. Occasionally I’ll find that I’m eating something soft, often strawberries or a warm scone in a dream. The next thing I know is there is a wobbling, a loosening, and teeth are on the move. Always the ones in the front and usually on the bottom. I try to run to a mirror, (ah, vanity!) and watch helplessly in horror. Inevitably, it occurs while on a date and I’m made to deal with being seen and accepted, or not, in such a state. One time in one of the most disturbing dreams to come to mind, half of my lower jaw came off in my hand, as though it just rotted and decayed, leaving the bloody bony mess that it was, resting in my palm. You know, nothing a little lip gloss can’t fix. ;)

Do they dream those typical dreams afore mentioned that “they” say we all dream?

I’m hugely curious about the dreams of others. I wonder, are there people who dream in black and white, or all in red? Mine are in full color, save one time they were in a rich sienna, much like an aged photo from long ago. Do musicians hear music only to wake and try to capture what they’ve heard in the night? Does anyone ever dream they’re not human? Maybe a roll of Scotch tape instead or a “59”Chevy or a mackerel in a stream? Do they dream of me? Do they dream those typical dreams afore mentioned that “they” say we all dream? So often in conversation, I’ve encountered people who say they don’t dream at all. Tell me about one of your dreams. I want to know I’m not alone in all my delights and fears and absurdities. I want to know. ♦

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