October 25, 2002; 5:30
last I remember, I dreamed about Ripley the baby - nothing significant; just that he was a baby and cute. And I dreamed about filing my fingernails. I remember this because as I type, my fingernails are still too long. Filing your fingernails is one of those things that just doesn't get done when you're typing, driving, swimming or sleeping and those are the things I do all day.
October 26, 2002
Many alcohol-fueled dreams last night, but the one I remember is me walking behind a co-worker, the dumb, weird one, and smelling pipe strongly in the breeze. "Are you smoking a pipe?" I ask and he turns around and says, "This kind of pipe," and he's smoking hash. It didn't smell like hash; it smelled like pipe tobacco. I think another friend was there and she said "Well it's not crack 'cause crack smells worse than that," with which I agreed, "and it's not heroin. Must be hash."
finally filed my nails today. My typing has improved 20-fold.
November 7, 2002
It started with me enacting a "true life story" so that it could be made into an animated film. The true life story involved a car - my car - and two other characters. One of the characters died or was murdered - we put him in the trunk. Then the scene called for me to drive at great speed in an underground parking lot and then to end by driving into a pole. I did this, in front of a great crowd. The front of my car crumpled, the passenger woman was dead and hanging out of the passenger window and when I got out of the smoking, crumpled vehicle, the crowd applauded. Apparently I'd done the scene just right. My parents were there, as well as one of my mom's sisters, here to visit. They seemed ignorant of the trauma that this scene had entailed and wandered off for food or coffee or something.
My boss came by and complimented me, told me I'd done a good job. Lots and lots of Japanese tourists gathered from the crowd and took pictures of the car and its passenger. It was then that I realized the scene was taken from my boss' real life; he had lived through this and wanted it reproduced in film. Animated film.
Then we went shopping - there was a strip of stores across the street from the parking lot - it actually reminded me of Newport, OR's "scenic waterfront" though without the water. I was looking around and there were so many people and I thought I'd buy some Christmas gifts but there was nothing appropriate or inexpensive enough. One store I went into, the woman who worked there made an announcement on the loudspeaker of all the mothers'in'law of the women in the store who were planning on dropping by....and all the women in the store panicked and left or told their mothers'in'law not to come down cause they were just leaving.
It was at this point that the excitement started to die down and I realized that I had no way of getting home - my car having been totalled and containing 2 dead bodies. I tried to find my boss to ask his advice, but he wouldn't listen to me and kept walking away. I went back to my car to look at it; an ICBC adjuster had left his card; the dead woman's arm was hanging out of the passenger window; all the tourists had dissipated. I had no idea what I would do. The feelings of remorse and trapped-ness were overwhelming.
Handily, then it was 5 am and I woke up.
November 30, 2002
Not last night, but the night before; I dreamed about murder again. People were visiting us, christian slater among them, and my SO put him in our wood chipper, just like in Fargo. But not funny. Then we had to hide and think up excuses for the police. I'm going to look up dream analysis on the 'net and I'll let you know shortly just how insane I am. Probably just stress, though I'd rather be sure.
So according to Sleep Central and its extensive dream dictionary, a murder means I need to control my emotions towards other people and witnessing a murder means I feel powerless over the emotional acts of others. Or something like that. Makes sense.
February 12, 2003 Okay, yes, it's my birthday. I'm 29! It's too cool! Maybe I'll have dreams tonight.
March 27, 2003
Maybe it was the chips, but my sleep was buggered last night. I also didn't take a vitamin yesterday. Hmmm. Anyway, the first dream, which I was determined to remember when I finally forced myself to wake from it, consisted of a kidnapped guy who was being tortured by a woman. I was watching. She put a headset on his head and then held his head against the wall and drilled a metal spike through his forhead so that he was attached to the wall. He somehow got the headset off at some point and he wasn't killed at all, just, you know, impaled. But still.
The second dream involved me and some friends who were taking one friend out to the valley and then driving me to the airport. On our way to the airport we stopped at someone's house - in my old neighbourhood - and were entranced by the dogs playing, there were two; a big one and a little one. They were really cute - and then they got out of control and started running really fast and then knocked down a bunch of people that I know from childhood. One person broke her thumb, another knocked out some teeth, another was bleeding from the head (though there was no metal spike in sight). So we took them to the hospital and then went to the airport where I was early for my flight so I stopped in a bar to have a beer. Of course, that's when I woke up. I don't even get a dream-beer after all that action! Jeez.
April 20, 2003
I was having coffee with a woman who needed a liver colon transplant. I wished I could help her.
I don't think I ever wrote down the dream I had months ago where I was the bass player for The Clash. Not that many months ago, actually - recently enough that it was right before I lost my job and in my newly unemployed elation I thought - HEY! the dream was right! But then The Clash didn't call, I didn't suddenly know how to play bass and other things took precedence. Suffice to say, that would totally rock. And I hear bass isn't that hard, but it helps if you have funny facial hair. I have some chin hairs, does that count?
There were three best friends in my dream last night. I was swimming in a pool, reading the biography of the fat, funny best friend. I was also escaping being shot at by the three best friends who are gathered around the pool. I was not the real prey, though. The bio talked about the fat, funny best friend screwing up and trying to please her father. In the dream, she is riding a motorcycle around the outside of the pool, shooting at me. I do not know why I think she is funny.
September 1, 2003
I received a letter from highschool telling me I had more courses to take, that I hadn't finished grade 12. I went to my elementary school, found my grade 6 teacher (the evil one) and found my grade 12 class, which was really in my grade 7 classroom. I found my best friend from highschool there, too and a couple of girls I liked. The teacher told me to go find out what class I needed to take and come back. I went to the grocery store and while there realized hey - I have a B.A. I can't possibly have not finished highschool. I tried explaining this to people but no one understood. So I went to an outdoor concert, like at the PNE, with several rows of bleachers. Because it was 6:30 am, there weren't too many people there yet, but then Ozzy came out! because he was the opening act. It was an all-day benefit concert and Ozzy was on first. I watched Ozzy and sang along to Crazy Train and then I went home, which was actually my parents' house only I was living there with H, S and basement boy. S was gardening and ignoring me. H was installing a new toilet and wanted to call someone to check if the toilet was working (the idea was, if he flushed at our end and the other person saw the water fluctuate at his/her end, then the toilet was installed correctly) but I was on the phone with my mom. He was very mad. But when I woke up, there he was. He wasn't mad at all.
home again, home again,jiggidy jig