On the edge of a small suburban neighborhood in the woods, I'm entering a broken-down trailer with my mom behind me. The trailer looks like it had been through a tornado; the walls were falling apart, furniture was strewn about and upside down. It looked like it had been torn apart then left to sit for 20 years. Halogen lights somehow lit the place like it was a storage closet in a high school, with some rooms remaining dark or pitch black. Couches and mattresses are overturned or half-overturned so that walking is difficult, the rooms only being 7 or 8 feet wide. I start noticing that a good portion of the furniture is actually musical in nature. A tweed amp appears in my sight with the mesh speaker ripped up. Nonetheless, it's a vintage Fender amp and looks awesome. Then, I see a guitar with an unusually thick neck and no strings. I realize that this is the hidden treasure trove of musical instruments no one has been able to locate for years that I read about on Atlas Obscura (not real). The trailer is part of a complex, wonky grid of more broken-down trailers which are connected by crooked, cramped openings that were probably at one time functional, upright doorways. As I pass through a broken doorway to find more instruments, I find myself in a maze of rooms connected by endless doorways. However, instead of tornado-damaged rooms in a trailer, they become highly-decorated, luxurious, and pristine children's bedrooms. Each one is filled with expensive-looking stuffed animals made with intricate fabrics and encrusted with fake gems. They are life-size and take up most of the space in the room. The beds and furniture are almost always white. Each cramped, triangular bedroom has a Victorian structure with tall, thin doors that connect them to the next room. The connecting doors appear first as closet or bathroom doors, whereas the doors at the entrance (one of the triangles' corners) of each room lead to a circular (or hexagonal) hallway with white walls and pinewood floors. The rooms seem to vary in color scheme and general organization, but each has little lamps on nightstands, eloquently made beds, and stuffed animals. Each looks like a little girl's dream bedroom. Eventually I find myself in a room different from the others. It takes up a good quarter of the whole rotunda. The theme is wood paneling, like a 1960s science classroom. The wall on the inner side is covered in hardcover books in a dark wooden bookcase. At first it appears impressive and even beautiful, but upon a second look it is sparsely filled and the books don't seem nearly as antique or interesting. The outer wall looks outward with three very large windows. A long, polished wooden counter runs along the outer wall, waist-high. There are bevels, ledges, and compartments in the angled counter that make it appropriate for studying or reading one of the many books in the room. The windows face a steep, shadowy bank of rocky soil and weeds bounded by concrete walls at either side. At the top of the bank, where the concrete walls come to a small opening, there are one or two metal grates that suggest the rooms are underground and hidden from the world. I recognize the building right outside the sewer grates as the Phoenixville High School. The trailer I started it must have been in the little neighborhood near the high school, and the confusing maze of mysterious, underground rooms must have led me all the way to a spot underneath the high school's roundabout driveway. My mom is now a whole party of her side of the family, and they call to me until they finally find me in the library room of the hidden stronghold.
Tuesday, April 24, 2018
Wednesday, September 2, 2015
The Chameleon Dream
This one is extra strange. I guess this is what you dream about when the lives of reptiles are in your hands for a Summer.
Somehow I come to acquire a chameleon. Maybe he's a fair prize or something. He's in a plastic reptile container with a black lid. It's a small container. I am very excited about owning and caring for this creature. As I sit in the doorway of the backdoor to my old house, I watch the magical creature in his little home and give him things to crawl on. I leave him on the wooden bench that wraps around my old dining room table. It's dark and safe there.
I come back later to see my reptile friend in the evening. The kitchen is dimly lit. As I look around the back of the kitchen table, I am struck by the intense heat and radiation of a food dish next to my chameleon's container. Yes, in this dream I can sense heat and radiation. The food dish was some sort of pan pizza or lasagna in a glass dish with a rubber lid. The cheese was boiling. I could see heat waves and I knew somehow that this corona of cheesy heat was damaging to all lifeforms. I'm frantic and incredulous. I scream at my father, sitting at the computer desk in the living room, with more rage than I have ever felt in my physical life. It's something about how hot the food dish is and how he put it next to my reptile friend. My father is somewhere between chuckling at my face contorted with fury and being genuinely remorseful. As my father watches, I run back and pick up my chameleon container and I see that there's two chameleons in it. I snap off the black plastic lid with dramatic haste. At once I spot the ghastly image of my old chameleon, still clinging to his branch. His eye sockets are grotesquely inflated like radioactive, scaly balloons. The tiny yellow eyes are like dried corn kernels. His scales are entirely black, apart from the melting parts which are fleshy or yellow in tone. I am so disturbed and devastated that I am almost speechless. I realize the newer chameleon is healthier and can be saved. He's flashing different colors and is melting a little, but I still have hope. I pour my old, melting friend into the trashcan like black sludge, holding the new one in.
I gripe about how my dad is evil and stupid for trying to cover his tracks by putting a new chameleon in and immediately subjecting it to cheesy radiation. I walk over to the sink and poor tap water into the container. In some sort of reptilian miracle the water washes the melty bits and scorched scales off the chameleon as he flips around in it and eventually clambers to the surface. He is at once reinvigorated and completely healthy. This makes me happy. I can still have a chameleon friend.
I play with the chameleon outside his container over by the computer desk. My dad doesn't seem to be there. The chameleon is vivacious at this point, he's full of life. He's climbing all over my fingers like a crazy neon green monkey. He has orange highlights around his arms--a sign of good chameleon health! I am so happy. I even let him munch on my fingers with his absurdly wide mouth.
Over the following days, I tend to the chameleon in several tedious ways. I adjust the water level in the container several times to avoid drowning him, while also giving him enough to swim and bathe in. I even put a nice log/tree structure with vegetation on it inside the container, and it partially submerges. I almost crush and drown him with it at one point when he dives behind it, but I realize he's a more agile swimmer than I originally thought and he gets out in time (Side note: Chameleons don't swim. They barely even drink water). When he comes up, he starts drinking from what I realize is a little bowl of water built into the log structure that is above the waterline. I am overjoyed that he is drinking his share of water and that the log structure has a spot where he can do this. At this moment, his habitat pleases me and we are both happy. I'm pretty sure I put some blue and pink rocks at the bottom at some point.
Naturally, I take the chameleon to my job at the pet store. He's still in his container, though. I commit myself to my tasks and do lots of hard work. I come back to my chameleon who has been near the front of the store and register areas. My coworkers seem to have taken care of my chameleon in various ways. There is no water in his container, but there are crickets, big crickets, walking around in it. I am happy about this, because I was planning on starting his feeding regimen that day. However, I'm peeved that there's no water in there and that some of his habitat pieces are gone. I blame a newer employee, who I suspect was messing with my chameleon tank without my permission. Of course she doesn't know what she's doing; she's the new girl! Some time later, the crickets are gone and I determine my little buddy is well-fed.
The details are fuzzy beyond this point. I'll share what I can figure out through intense introspection techniques.
On some fateful day in the future, I come to find that someone has filled my little chameleon container with water, but the water is high. The water is, in fact, too high. There are no rocks. Someone has removed the rocks and has placed a large number of stupid orange fish in the container. My chameleon friend is in the center, under the water, clinging to the log/tree thing. He is clearly overwhelmed. The fish are community fish, but their large number and stupidity is causing them to suffocate my chameleon friend as they swim around aimlessly. As I am watching this frustrating situation unfold in front of me, I get the sense that this was done by one of my superiors. One of my managers, it turns out, has placed the fish in there. Yes, someone believed the container needed fish. I know this to be false. My chameleon was fine by himself. His habitat was not theirs to manipulate or deconstruct. As the time on the clock for this dream runs out, I am able to pour out some water and give my chameleon buddy some space above the water to keep his head. Not comfortable, no, but it is the best compromise I can make between his personal reptilian needs and the evil conspiracy of my team leaders.
Nearly every part of this dream seems to have come from my experiences as a pet store employee. My dad murdering a reptile with nuclear pizza? That means something else entirely.
Somehow I come to acquire a chameleon. Maybe he's a fair prize or something. He's in a plastic reptile container with a black lid. It's a small container. I am very excited about owning and caring for this creature. As I sit in the doorway of the backdoor to my old house, I watch the magical creature in his little home and give him things to crawl on. I leave him on the wooden bench that wraps around my old dining room table. It's dark and safe there.
I come back later to see my reptile friend in the evening. The kitchen is dimly lit. As I look around the back of the kitchen table, I am struck by the intense heat and radiation of a food dish next to my chameleon's container. Yes, in this dream I can sense heat and radiation. The food dish was some sort of pan pizza or lasagna in a glass dish with a rubber lid. The cheese was boiling. I could see heat waves and I knew somehow that this corona of cheesy heat was damaging to all lifeforms. I'm frantic and incredulous. I scream at my father, sitting at the computer desk in the living room, with more rage than I have ever felt in my physical life. It's something about how hot the food dish is and how he put it next to my reptile friend. My father is somewhere between chuckling at my face contorted with fury and being genuinely remorseful. As my father watches, I run back and pick up my chameleon container and I see that there's two chameleons in it. I snap off the black plastic lid with dramatic haste. At once I spot the ghastly image of my old chameleon, still clinging to his branch. His eye sockets are grotesquely inflated like radioactive, scaly balloons. The tiny yellow eyes are like dried corn kernels. His scales are entirely black, apart from the melting parts which are fleshy or yellow in tone. I am so disturbed and devastated that I am almost speechless. I realize the newer chameleon is healthier and can be saved. He's flashing different colors and is melting a little, but I still have hope. I pour my old, melting friend into the trashcan like black sludge, holding the new one in.
I gripe about how my dad is evil and stupid for trying to cover his tracks by putting a new chameleon in and immediately subjecting it to cheesy radiation. I walk over to the sink and poor tap water into the container. In some sort of reptilian miracle the water washes the melty bits and scorched scales off the chameleon as he flips around in it and eventually clambers to the surface. He is at once reinvigorated and completely healthy. This makes me happy. I can still have a chameleon friend.
I play with the chameleon outside his container over by the computer desk. My dad doesn't seem to be there. The chameleon is vivacious at this point, he's full of life. He's climbing all over my fingers like a crazy neon green monkey. He has orange highlights around his arms--a sign of good chameleon health! I am so happy. I even let him munch on my fingers with his absurdly wide mouth.
Over the following days, I tend to the chameleon in several tedious ways. I adjust the water level in the container several times to avoid drowning him, while also giving him enough to swim and bathe in. I even put a nice log/tree structure with vegetation on it inside the container, and it partially submerges. I almost crush and drown him with it at one point when he dives behind it, but I realize he's a more agile swimmer than I originally thought and he gets out in time (Side note: Chameleons don't swim. They barely even drink water). When he comes up, he starts drinking from what I realize is a little bowl of water built into the log structure that is above the waterline. I am overjoyed that he is drinking his share of water and that the log structure has a spot where he can do this. At this moment, his habitat pleases me and we are both happy. I'm pretty sure I put some blue and pink rocks at the bottom at some point.
Naturally, I take the chameleon to my job at the pet store. He's still in his container, though. I commit myself to my tasks and do lots of hard work. I come back to my chameleon who has been near the front of the store and register areas. My coworkers seem to have taken care of my chameleon in various ways. There is no water in his container, but there are crickets, big crickets, walking around in it. I am happy about this, because I was planning on starting his feeding regimen that day. However, I'm peeved that there's no water in there and that some of his habitat pieces are gone. I blame a newer employee, who I suspect was messing with my chameleon tank without my permission. Of course she doesn't know what she's doing; she's the new girl! Some time later, the crickets are gone and I determine my little buddy is well-fed.
The details are fuzzy beyond this point. I'll share what I can figure out through intense introspection techniques.
On some fateful day in the future, I come to find that someone has filled my little chameleon container with water, but the water is high. The water is, in fact, too high. There are no rocks. Someone has removed the rocks and has placed a large number of stupid orange fish in the container. My chameleon friend is in the center, under the water, clinging to the log/tree thing. He is clearly overwhelmed. The fish are community fish, but their large number and stupidity is causing them to suffocate my chameleon friend as they swim around aimlessly. As I am watching this frustrating situation unfold in front of me, I get the sense that this was done by one of my superiors. One of my managers, it turns out, has placed the fish in there. Yes, someone believed the container needed fish. I know this to be false. My chameleon was fine by himself. His habitat was not theirs to manipulate or deconstruct. As the time on the clock for this dream runs out, I am able to pour out some water and give my chameleon buddy some space above the water to keep his head. Not comfortable, no, but it is the best compromise I can make between his personal reptilian needs and the evil conspiracy of my team leaders.
Nearly every part of this dream seems to have come from my experiences as a pet store employee. My dad murdering a reptile with nuclear pizza? That means something else entirely.
 |
| Friend, perched on my chubby fingers. |
Saturday, January 17, 2015
The Headless Man + Domino Dreams
1.
I am with a response team of doctors on our way to help a man in distress, who is speaking in a distorted voice over the phone with us. It sounds very strange. Like Charlie Brown's teachers and parents. Next, we are in his home, in a rectangular room with lots of books stacked everywhere and dark wooden furniture. The carpet is a deep red. It's quite messy, but we hear something from the floor and realize the man in distress is on the ground. It's a body without a head. Where the head would be, there is volcano-shaped opening. This is the neck of the man, but it's shrunken. The first thing the other doctors do is open this neck hole and put a plastic piece in it to keep it open. It's like a tracheotomy. The body begins to breathe again. Don't ask me how he's still alive. By some strange quirk of science, the body was able to make noise by blowing air out of the shrunken neck hole. After a careful placement of the old man's head on the neck hole, the old man went to sleep on a couch in his basement, where more stacked books were. A lamp glows dimly down there, creating an old-world atmosphere. Heads are attached again. A job well done.
Later, I am in the basement with the old man, and books are everywhere. The old-fashioned basement is overflowing with books, new and old. The stairway leading up is narrow and old. I realize the man looks exactly like my friend John's dad. But it's not. Then it's daytime, as light is coming in through the ground-level windows set in the walls of the basement. I suppose it's one of the doctors, but someone is throwing books down the stairway at me. It's making a mess, and I try to sort the books using speed and OCD power.
The dream loses coherence after that.
2.
It's nighttime, and I'm standing on top of enormous dominoes beside the new middle school. They are placed in two short columns on the grass, and I am balanced between them with each foot on opposing dominoes. They are of various colors; some red, some yellow, some black, some white. Nick is on the ground beside me. We are near a bleak streetlight on a corner. Two people we know from high school, Tyrell and Tyler, walk up to us. They are visibly drunk. I expect trouble. They greet us clumsily but politely, shaking our hands and saying, "'Sup man?". I do not respond as enthusiastically as I should, and Tyrell takes notice. He starts looking at my angrily and questioning my insolence. He starts grabbing at my legs, trying to pull me down off the dominoes. He gets behind me in between my domino and another to try and grab me again. I leap off the domino onto the ground, pushing it onto him, and the rest of the dominoes fall over. Tyrell is crushed! Me and Nick are quite scared, and Tyler is somehow unconscious as well, so we run. We run and run and find a nice saloon on the lowest floor of a taller building in town. We get a high, round table and sit in high chairs. Everything's some type of wood in this bar, and the walls are brick. It's quite shiny and fancy. Nick seems to know the bartender, and is served a drink without being carded. I'm angry at this. I grumble to myself about Nick's tendency to act older than his age. I am served no drinks, but I don't care because I'm afraid of Tyler or someone coming to get us. We watch the front and back doors of the bar. No one enters.
I am with a response team of doctors on our way to help a man in distress, who is speaking in a distorted voice over the phone with us. It sounds very strange. Like Charlie Brown's teachers and parents. Next, we are in his home, in a rectangular room with lots of books stacked everywhere and dark wooden furniture. The carpet is a deep red. It's quite messy, but we hear something from the floor and realize the man in distress is on the ground. It's a body without a head. Where the head would be, there is volcano-shaped opening. This is the neck of the man, but it's shrunken. The first thing the other doctors do is open this neck hole and put a plastic piece in it to keep it open. It's like a tracheotomy. The body begins to breathe again. Don't ask me how he's still alive. By some strange quirk of science, the body was able to make noise by blowing air out of the shrunken neck hole. After a careful placement of the old man's head on the neck hole, the old man went to sleep on a couch in his basement, where more stacked books were. A lamp glows dimly down there, creating an old-world atmosphere. Heads are attached again. A job well done.
Later, I am in the basement with the old man, and books are everywhere. The old-fashioned basement is overflowing with books, new and old. The stairway leading up is narrow and old. I realize the man looks exactly like my friend John's dad. But it's not. Then it's daytime, as light is coming in through the ground-level windows set in the walls of the basement. I suppose it's one of the doctors, but someone is throwing books down the stairway at me. It's making a mess, and I try to sort the books using speed and OCD power.
The dream loses coherence after that.
2.
It's nighttime, and I'm standing on top of enormous dominoes beside the new middle school. They are placed in two short columns on the grass, and I am balanced between them with each foot on opposing dominoes. They are of various colors; some red, some yellow, some black, some white. Nick is on the ground beside me. We are near a bleak streetlight on a corner. Two people we know from high school, Tyrell and Tyler, walk up to us. They are visibly drunk. I expect trouble. They greet us clumsily but politely, shaking our hands and saying, "'Sup man?". I do not respond as enthusiastically as I should, and Tyrell takes notice. He starts looking at my angrily and questioning my insolence. He starts grabbing at my legs, trying to pull me down off the dominoes. He gets behind me in between my domino and another to try and grab me again. I leap off the domino onto the ground, pushing it onto him, and the rest of the dominoes fall over. Tyrell is crushed! Me and Nick are quite scared, and Tyler is somehow unconscious as well, so we run. We run and run and find a nice saloon on the lowest floor of a taller building in town. We get a high, round table and sit in high chairs. Everything's some type of wood in this bar, and the walls are brick. It's quite shiny and fancy. Nick seems to know the bartender, and is served a drink without being carded. I'm angry at this. I grumble to myself about Nick's tendency to act older than his age. I am served no drinks, but I don't care because I'm afraid of Tyler or someone coming to get us. We watch the front and back doors of the bar. No one enters.
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
The Ghetto Dream [4]
I am now separate from Alex. He says something about how safely we crashed. We pass by the enormous river of darkness. Some very poor-looking kids are playing on the banks of a shadowy river. Alex and I just sort of stand there for a second. Then we talk about how we have to do this group project with Paul, the other member of the group. Paul apparently lives in the paperclip neighborhood. Alex then says he's assigned to the "Reeves Park" segment of the project. He then takes off his beanie to reveal colorful green beanie that says Reeves Park on it, sure enough. He tells me that I'm supposed to go to Paul's house; that's my segment. Still, me and Alex both go to Paul's house.
Paul's house is essentially my friend John's house. It is now nighttime, and we walk up to the home. Without knocking, we walk right in and it's utter chaos in Paul's home. There are gangsters, druggies, children, and big scary men just sort of mulling about. Me and Alex are quite frightened. It's also very smoky and there are bright lights hanging from the ceiling. As we gather around this very small wooden table in the center of the large room, we notice a very large man with a tank top on. He's got tattoos and oven mitts on, and he's carrying a big pot. Alex says to me, "That's Paul's grandmom", in a hushed voice. He might have been wearing a hairnet, I'm not sure. Either way, we sort of introduce ourselves and Mr. Grandmom shakes our hands. It's the worst handshake in the world. I'm not even sure he touched my hand. Anyways, we sit down and ready ourselves for dinner, and Paul is around the table but we don't talk to him. Once again, it's a very small wooden table. The ceiling light is just a light-bulb, and it casts light over the table. The table is right next to large window that is purely black - it is nighttime. It looks over the river.
The pot of some sort of food is in the middle of the small table. We have paper plates. As we're about to eat, an unspeakably loud and sharp bang shakes us to our bones. It came from right outside the window, and we immediately know it to be a gunshot. We knew that we were in the ghetto, so we sort of expected it. The other people in the room are nonchalant. I'm under the table. My arms are spread out in front of me on the carpet, but I move them hastily as Mr. Grandmom stomps on by. He goes to the door next to the window and whips it open. He yells things at the shooter like, "OH YEAH WE NEED MORE OF THAT. THAT'S WE NEED, IS MORE GUN SHOOTING AND VIOLENCE. WE NEED MORE DEAD BABIES AND DEATH IN THIS NEIGHBORHOOD". He calls the police and has a very odd conversation with a policeman. "Yes, I know, and I'm sure you're a good man" - "Yeah, you know, I'm just trying to survive out here" - "Haha, yep. Just gas money and my two daughters".
I realize he has two toddler daughters in cribs in the corner of the room. Some strange teenager with long hair seems to sign to us (he's deaf) that it is okay to eat and that we are safe. We all get back to the table and prepare to eat dinner. Big man Grandmom takes the pot and begins scooping glazed chicken tenders onto our plates. Except my plate is now a stack of two dark blue coffee mugs. I clumsily move the top one away so he can put some chicken tenders into my bottom mug. He says to us, "Now, you boys are gonna say that this is the best chicken you've ever had; that's what you're gonna say, alright?"
THE END
Paul's house is essentially my friend John's house. It is now nighttime, and we walk up to the home. Without knocking, we walk right in and it's utter chaos in Paul's home. There are gangsters, druggies, children, and big scary men just sort of mulling about. Me and Alex are quite frightened. It's also very smoky and there are bright lights hanging from the ceiling. As we gather around this very small wooden table in the center of the large room, we notice a very large man with a tank top on. He's got tattoos and oven mitts on, and he's carrying a big pot. Alex says to me, "That's Paul's grandmom", in a hushed voice. He might have been wearing a hairnet, I'm not sure. Either way, we sort of introduce ourselves and Mr. Grandmom shakes our hands. It's the worst handshake in the world. I'm not even sure he touched my hand. Anyways, we sit down and ready ourselves for dinner, and Paul is around the table but we don't talk to him. Once again, it's a very small wooden table. The ceiling light is just a light-bulb, and it casts light over the table. The table is right next to large window that is purely black - it is nighttime. It looks over the river.
The pot of some sort of food is in the middle of the small table. We have paper plates. As we're about to eat, an unspeakably loud and sharp bang shakes us to our bones. It came from right outside the window, and we immediately know it to be a gunshot. We knew that we were in the ghetto, so we sort of expected it. The other people in the room are nonchalant. I'm under the table. My arms are spread out in front of me on the carpet, but I move them hastily as Mr. Grandmom stomps on by. He goes to the door next to the window and whips it open. He yells things at the shooter like, "OH YEAH WE NEED MORE OF THAT. THAT'S WE NEED, IS MORE GUN SHOOTING AND VIOLENCE. WE NEED MORE DEAD BABIES AND DEATH IN THIS NEIGHBORHOOD". He calls the police and has a very odd conversation with a policeman. "Yes, I know, and I'm sure you're a good man" - "Yeah, you know, I'm just trying to survive out here" - "Haha, yep. Just gas money and my two daughters".
I realize he has two toddler daughters in cribs in the corner of the room. Some strange teenager with long hair seems to sign to us (he's deaf) that it is okay to eat and that we are safe. We all get back to the table and prepare to eat dinner. Big man Grandmom takes the pot and begins scooping glazed chicken tenders onto our plates. Except my plate is now a stack of two dark blue coffee mugs. I clumsily move the top one away so he can put some chicken tenders into my bottom mug. He says to us, "Now, you boys are gonna say that this is the best chicken you've ever had; that's what you're gonna say, alright?"
THE END
The Fat Lady Dream [3]
Now I'm in the paperclip neighborhood. One of the first houses in the loop is a small, white house with a large, white stone porch with a black railing around the perimeter. Sitting in a cheap plastic chair is an enormous woman wearing a thin floral-printed gown. She is profoundly unattractive and has short grey hair like a substitute teacher. She has a couple of other big ladies sitting in her front yard. Beside her on the porch is a small table with some things on it. All I remember about the table was that there was a very large smartphone on it with a gaudy white case around it. For some stupid reason, I stole it when she went back into the house.
The street following down the paperclip loop was packed with parked cars and was very cramped. Down the middle were about 3 cars, all empty. I pass along them, and enter the very last one. It's a long, dull red car from maybe 1998. I listen to voice memos on the gaudy phone of the lady. There are several messages detailing failed relationships and unfaithful boyfriends. I find this hilarious. I imagine the ugly lady speaking into the phone, bragging about her men and her exploits. I figure then that I should return the phone. But how?
I think maybe I should drive the car past her home and throw the phone at her. Then I decide to just put the phone on top of her actual car. So I walk over and do this. Then, I go back to the red car and turn it on with magic. How foolish to put a car in the middle of the road where someone can just turn it on and drive away. Suddenly I am Alex, a member of my group project. As Alex I drive the car out of the loop and out into an intersection like an idiot, because I can't drive. I whip around down the main road and drift back into the opposite entrance to the loop. As I speed down the other side of the loop, I lose control and crash quite softly into a cushy group of pine trees.
[stay tuned for the next segment of the dream]
The street following down the paperclip loop was packed with parked cars and was very cramped. Down the middle were about 3 cars, all empty. I pass along them, and enter the very last one. It's a long, dull red car from maybe 1998. I listen to voice memos on the gaudy phone of the lady. There are several messages detailing failed relationships and unfaithful boyfriends. I find this hilarious. I imagine the ugly lady speaking into the phone, bragging about her men and her exploits. I figure then that I should return the phone. But how?
I think maybe I should drive the car past her home and throw the phone at her. Then I decide to just put the phone on top of her actual car. So I walk over and do this. Then, I go back to the red car and turn it on with magic. How foolish to put a car in the middle of the road where someone can just turn it on and drive away. Suddenly I am Alex, a member of my group project. As Alex I drive the car out of the loop and out into an intersection like an idiot, because I can't drive. I whip around down the main road and drift back into the opposite entrance to the loop. As I speed down the other side of the loop, I lose control and crash quite softly into a cushy group of pine trees.
[stay tuned for the next segment of the dream]
The Bus Dream [2]
It seems that the entire family is now on a yellow school bus. Not just the Wilson's, but also the Matzik's and probably the Geist's somewhere in the back. We're travelling somewhere, presumably back home. My sister Beth is in high spirits, and is dancing around in the aisle of the bus with a cousin of her's from the Matzik family. Everyone else is sort of gloomy and annoyed by this. However, I think to myself that it's good for her to be so energetic, as it might inspire everyone else to be a little more upbeat. There's babies and there's mothers everywhere, some which I don't even know. Beth dances on.
The bus makes it to Phoenixville, and around Morris Park we drop off some people who are definitely not part of our family, as they are African Americans. In the dream, the houses across from Morris Park are very different from the actual neighborhood. It's a paper clip-shaped loop with an end that opens out into an enormous, dark river. I leave the bus and enter this neighborhood, where everyone seems to be an old, obese woman.
[stay tuned for the next segment of the dream]
The Nana Dream [1]
My brother and I are riding around in his car in a place that looks like New Jersey. There's a large bay with an enormous bridge above it, which leads to lands unknown. After driving around underneath the bridge past shops and things, I suggest we find a way onto the bridge, except there's two bridges. One is really quite long and is perpendicular to the one we need to get onto. My brother scolds me for directing him to the wrong one. So we finally pass onto the bridge we're meant to be on. There are several lanes, traffic cones, and other dividing obstacles on the bridge. As we pick up speed, I notice my grandmother on the farthest edge of the bridge in nothing but a nightgown. She's using a walker to slowly pass along the edge of the bridge, away from the cars. I panic as I realize we were supposed to keep her in the car with us and take her home. But it's too late, we're far across the bridge.
For whatever reason, me and Michael keep on driving home. We pass under bridges and move along freeways. We see Nana along the road's edge several times, and we remark how fast she is for an elderly woman using a walker. Later on, my father and my aunt take me in a car to find Nana. Passing through a dream-manipulated and very sunny Valley Forge, we keep our eyes peeled. As we pass over a small but sharp hill, I exclaim, "There she is!" as I look behind us. She's in the center of the road, using her walker and walking up the hill. Then I realize it's a woman with a dog on a leash. Then I realize that my realization is wrong and it is actually Nana. We go up to her, and she's surprisingly not out of breath or angry or anything. In fact, she doesn't say anything. We lead her to an adjacent parking lot, where her forest green Toyota Corolla is waiting for her. She gets in the car without a word, as we all sort of stare at her anxiously. I worry for her health after that long journey, but she's completely fine.
[stay tuned for the next segment of the dream]
For whatever reason, me and Michael keep on driving home. We pass under bridges and move along freeways. We see Nana along the road's edge several times, and we remark how fast she is for an elderly woman using a walker. Later on, my father and my aunt take me in a car to find Nana. Passing through a dream-manipulated and very sunny Valley Forge, we keep our eyes peeled. As we pass over a small but sharp hill, I exclaim, "There she is!" as I look behind us. She's in the center of the road, using her walker and walking up the hill. Then I realize it's a woman with a dog on a leash. Then I realize that my realization is wrong and it is actually Nana. We go up to her, and she's surprisingly not out of breath or angry or anything. In fact, she doesn't say anything. We lead her to an adjacent parking lot, where her forest green Toyota Corolla is waiting for her. She gets in the car without a word, as we all sort of stare at her anxiously. I worry for her health after that long journey, but she's completely fine.
[stay tuned for the next segment of the dream]
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