Snakes and vampires

Running a bath, but first I had to encourage the snakes to go down the plug hole.  There were around four to six of them, all orange or red and a little narrower than my thumb.  After my bath, I gave my hair an extra rinse in the sink, and noticed the water running a mossy brown colour. While I was rinsing, the doorbell rang and I felt mildly guilty for letting my housemates get it, when I knew it was likely to be a delivery for me.

Then, realising that I was up, bathed and dressed all ready for work at such an early hour, I felt pretty damn impressed at myself.  Unfortunately, this is a ruse my subconscious often plays, to horrify me all the more when I wake up and find I’m still in bed.

Later, I was going through a large book that Sibling had had since childhood, to try and identify the snakes.  We also looked at illustrations of birds; he asked me to estimate, from the drawings, whether the wing span of one was bigger than my hand and I said no without really looking, then regretted my answer.  Sibling turned his attention to his favourite section of the book, on vampires, and asked, “what did you say the vampire you dreamt about was called?”

“Damn, I can’t remember,” I said, “I’ll have to look back through my blog,” but although I could remember the vampire dream, there was no record, on the blog or any of the bits of paper I have lying around, of his name. *

 

* I haven’t had a vampire dream.

 

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Infallible logic in the tabloid press

The Metro ran a story in which a fan claimed to have seen Michael Gambon at a small-town Odeon, taking in a Harry Potter showing on his own. “IT WAS REALLY HIM!” insisted the headline. The informant used an unusual kind of logic, describing the internal pillars and period decor (peach and beige stripes) of this particular post-war Odeon, as if by demonstrating that he had been to this cinema, he could prove that Michael Gambon was also there.

I’m disappointed to say that my dream-self was convinced for a little while, before discussing it (still in dream) with Sibling, whose scientific background was having none of it.

 

which is worse – disappointing sex or disappointing breakfast?

Two boys of about eighteen or nineteen, who shared a bedroom as students.  One saw his various sexual conquests as a sign of his machismo and boldness.  The other considered lust to be shameful and weak, and regularly told his room-mate that his behaviour was sinful.  In reality, their sex lives differed very little, and each one was writing a confessional memoir.  Both books featured the same sex object, a girl who both young men were regularly sleeping with, and whose name had one letter different from mine.

A would-be erotic dream where I’m in bed, possibly in a hotel, with an unidentified casual who (according to the dream) I’ve seen a few times before.  But he’s unattractively sweaty and I’m considering telling him I don’t want to meet again after today.  He climaxes (I think?) and sort of half-heartedly suggests starting again after he’s had a rest, but he sounds grumpy at the idea of having to attend to my pleasure, and I’m not sure I can stomach it anyway.

Staying the night a hotel with my mum and Sibling. We met in the restaurant for breakfast, but since I don’t do well at mornings, the other two were there before me.  I arrived just after 10am to find that the restaurant, which was Portugese-influenced, had stopped serving its breakfast menu.  Apparently, the Portugese don’t really have specially designated breakfast foods, so fry-ups and cereal were only served as a concession to unadvanturous guests before 10am.  After that, you picked from the standard restaurant menu that was available all day.  I had some kind of lightly spiced pork and rice concoction, which was delicious but not the eggs royale I’d had in mind.  Next to our table, another family (middle-aged parents, teenage or young adult children) were kicking up a stink about the restaurants total disregard to its customers’ needs. Coming over here, taking away our food-based traditions…

More fragments – a selection of anxieties

Writing a novel; I can’t remember what it was about, but I sure remember the self-doubt, wondering if what I was putting out there was at all interesting or just self-indulgent.

Carelessly splashed some water on the bathroom floor (while brushing my teeth?) and one of my housemates pointedly remarked – in front of the whole household – on how he’d had to dry it up.

A different male friend (not the one in previous fragments) was hoping for a relationship with me.  Not wanting to hurt his feelings, wondering with guilt if I’d led him on.

In reality, I was staying at Sibling and C’s house. In dream, we were all staying at C’s mother M’s house (this being the first time I’d met M; in reality, I’ve never met her).  Based on strange goings on, Sibling, C and I reached the conclusion that M had murdered someone. Not for the first time, said Sibling and C. We tried to excuse ourselves by going for a curry, to discuss how to turn M in or at least avoid being murdered ourselves. But the curry house was full of people we knew, and because we didn’t know how to explain wanting to sit separately from them, we ended up at a table with three or four others. As we were eating, a helicopter descended and M arrived with an entourage of security staff. Back in the downstairs hallway, we got into a brawl and she threatened me with some kind of weapon (not a gun… a knife? a club?).

… possibly woken up by one of the cats, in reality, jumping on the bed. When I told Sibling about the dream over breakfast, he said that nothing of the sort would ever happen; apparently M loves curry so we’d never have made it to the nearest balti house without her.

hands to hold

I’d organised group tickets to see a dance performance, at a theatre I used to work in.  This show was the latest full-length piece by a small contemporary dance company who I’d seen a few times over the years, and I told a bunch of my friends they needed to see it.

Sibling and I rocked up to the theatre, which had been refurbished and parts of it rebuilt since I was last there.  There was now a long, straight corridor with the bar area to our right as we went in, and to the left, the smallest of their auditoria, where the dance company would perform. No-one else from our group was there yet; I said I’d skip to the bathroom and Sibling offered to get the drinks in while I was there. When I asked if a glass of prosecco could possibly be obtained (I don’t know why since there are better drinks than prosecco) he pointed out it was two-for-one so he may as well get me a flute for each hand.

The corridor leading to the ladies’ toilets seemed to keep extending and gaining extra turns and sub-areas leading off it.  I wasn’t worried about making it, but about getting back in time; having arrived well before my friends, I knew that by now they would be here and wondering where I was, and Sibling would be left to fend for himself with, presumably, four drinks but no company to share them.

I was getting increasingly fretful as I tried to find my way back to the auditorium; the tickets for my entire group were in my pocket so if the theatre wasn’t admitting latecomers, Sibling and all my friends would miss out too.  I felt anger rising to near-hysteria; why was the theatre layout so irrational, why were they hindering me?

At last a friendly, young woman ushered me in; the seating area was kind of sunken into the floor.  L and A, friends of about ten years, waved to get my attention. Sibling and the others were there.  I sat inbetween my ex and my recent-current, and almost immediately I wanted to hold hands with each of them on either side; I felt I couldn’t take either one’s hand without the other feeling left out.

wtf, subconscious?

It’s only when writing this dream up (as has often happened since I started wtfsubconscious) that I spot a connection between the two glasses of prosecco and the two lovers (ex and current).  The dominant emotions in the dream were anxiety and frustration, and that extends to the two-of-each situation.  Sibling buys me two drinks, but then we’re separated so I can’t actually have them.  Two men have (or have had) romantic feelings for me, but I’m too anxious about the potential consequences to relax with this.  In waking life, I know that I do have a fear that “you can’t have everything,” or that seeking “too much of a good thing” will end badly for me.  At times, that fear has been pretty paralysing.  At present, I’ve been trying to ignore it but this dream seems to let me know the anxiety is still there.

How about you, readers?  Have you had similar dreams to this one, and what did you make of them?