I’ll go weeks or months without having a single dream and then all of a sudden I’ll be bombarded with them. It’s like my brain is trying to make up for lost time by cramming two or three in each night. I haven’t been able to figure out the trigger, though I’m sure there is one. There has to be.
I usually don’t remember dreams unless they’re reoccurring. They don’t last past the first fluttering of my eyelids and the thought, “Well that was strange”. I always said I’d make a dream journal, write them down the minute I wake. Unfortunately other things always take precedence: prying my eyes open with contact solution, pushing the kid off my head, shooting from the bed like a fired missile because I’m late again. Then, inevitably, when I have a moment of calm, I realize that I’ve missed the opportunity yet again and all I remember is that there was a dream and it was bizarre in some way.
Friday night I stayed home and turned in pretty early. I had three dreams that night and for once I was able to write them down. The first was an old, reoccurring dream, easy to remember:
I’m young, probably around five or six. I’m lying on the bed in my childhood room, white blonde hair spilling out across the pillow. I’m wearing an old, short sleeved nightgown with a ribbon at the neck. I’m half asleep, toying with the ribbon, when I hear a noise. I get up; my eyes are half closed slits.
In the middle of the dark room sits my red, white, and blue round plastic table and chairs. A small sliver of light appears in the middle of the table and I stare at the checked surface. I start to reach across the table and as I do, it seems to extend itself. I watch my arm pass over the top, fascinated. Then all of a sudden a snake appears on the other side, moving toward my hand with its mouth open. All I can see anymore is my arm, fist closed against the inevitable onslaught, the snake, and an endless expanse of red, white, and blue. It looks like a scene from Alice in Wonderland, surreal and slightly distorted.
I can’t seem to draw back my hand and the snake moves in quickly, snapping its jaws down on my small, closed fist. I feel no pain, only terror. Then I wake up.
Now comes the age old question: What does it mean?
I don’t know how accurate dream interpretation books and/or websites are, but this online dictionary pretty much confirms what I think the dream means:
I’m afraid of intimacy, commitment, and snakes. But I like sex. Orgasms complete me. I have an enormous ego that’s constantly attacked (bitches). Loosely translated, of course. I might have exaggerated on the ego bit.
I didn’t like this next dream at all, mostly because I come off a bit psycho:
I’m in a bridesmaids dress and I’m stumbling through a hotel hallway with a dark haired girl. We’re laughing, but even as I laugh and cling to her arm I know something is about to happen.
We burst through a door and it appears to be an enormous living room. People are sitting on couches and chairs, the room is full. We stumble into the center and there is talking, though I can’t remember what it’s about.
That’s when I notice him sitting in the corner of a couch to my right, on the edge of the activity. He’s an old fling. Everyone is talking at once, but I don’t listen. He and I, we’re staring each other down. His face is cold and mocking, mine is defiant. I feel reckless and giddy. The girl is still holding my arm and I sling her away from me. She smacks into a wall.
The scene changes and I’m talking to him alone. I’m wearing a different dress and I’m bragging about how rich men want me. He’s not impressed.
That’s all I remember. I know there’s a bit missing, but that’s what I’ve got. It’s probably got something to do with ego and temper. Maybe it means that I’m an angry, closet lesbian that dresses well.
This last one is the most bizarre:
There’s a really fat blonde woman standing in front of a small brown house. Everything seems to be in shades of brown except for her. She’s wearing a black t-shirt with some band on it and shiny, neon green spandex Capri pants with fake pockets on the back. Her ass is the only flat thing about her and her hair is bleached and teased 80’s style.
As she’s standing there six punk rock guys come walking across the lawn. They are all wearing a lot of black and have Mohawks, etc. Some of them disappear inside the house and some stand around outside. One of them tells the woman that their car broke down. While he’s explaining the situation, another one shouts from the open front door, “We need to call The General now for a ride!” Then they all chime in and say in the TV commercial voice, “Call 1-800-General now!”
The blonde offers them a ride. One of the guys hugs her, wrapping his arms around her big body, attempting to slide his hands into her fake back pockets. They just keep slipping and he keeps trying for a ridiculous amount of time.
Then they all pile on to her MOTORCYCLE and drive off down the highway. They’re all piled around her like The Muppets. Except for the one she’s sitting on.
I can’t even begin to analyze that one.
So, what do you guys think? Let's have your opinion on some of these.
Yer So Bad
6 days ago