Dream Diary

January 1, 2014 § Leave a comment

It amazes me constantly that adults say things like “My dream is to . . .” or “My dream came true” or “I know if I work hard enough, my dream will come true.” On American television, of which I am a passionate viewer, such things are expressed all the time. Which is odd to me because I work hard not to make my dreams come true.

I’ve been keeping a dream diary for about six months now; here are some excerpts, dates and names redacted:

*

I’m on a terrace observing a sort of kingfisher that can stand on its head. We (elsewhere in the house) are deciding how a string of murders took place. The kingfisher is an immediate suspect and in the distance a wolf is the other suspect. But perhaps we are wrong, because later I am in bed in a deep, unremitting sleep in a room that looks uncannily like the room I live in now and uncannily not. Though asleep, I am strongly aware that a man (whom [sic?] in my sleep I have deduced is the actual murderer and who perhaps is aware that I am aware) is trying to get inside, through the door and windows. Outside, of which I am also profoundly aware—though asleep—it is incredibly bright. Somehow I am able to thwart the murderer’s attempts to enter, but I am still in bed and asleep and able to sense mounting danger. I am afraid for my death and still I cannot get out of bed. This is how much I want to sleep.

*

. . . I work for a business (am a partner in?) that washes women’s hair and promises improvement. (No hair is cut.)

A blonde client with curly hair. A bathtub full to the brim. Its temperature is hard to maintain.

The blonde woman asks if we do psychological testing in order to determine why she has bad hair.

I am confused. I say the bath will take care of everything.

*

M trying to kill me with a piece of thread around my neck.

*

An assortment of images from an assortment of dreams: very neat shelves of books (rows of books in the same edition); our new house a disaster zone; a man chasing me on a bicycle.

*

I dreamt a cat was a loaf of bread.

*

Another M dream. This time she is a thin, trendy socialite at a party ignoring me. When I confront her, she says she never wanted to be around a [. . .] type. I am devastated.

*

A parent allowed (encouraged?) me to play with his/her very small child. I decided to gently, playfully jab at its stomach, but it bruised and bled very quickly, began to cry and complained to its mother.

*

There is an event in my new apartment (have I been allowed to volunteer for this?) and various [. . .] folk are in my house already as I enter in (on a bicycle?). N is here . . . Turns out she’s my landlady. As in real life she is attempting to help me. She has retiled and redecorated . . . brought in fresh curtains. The place looks fantastic. We decide where to put the pool table.

*

A new mother had to shove her baby back in to feed it.

*

I go to a hairdresser. She cuts my hair until it’s shoulder-length and also straight. For some reason I don’t/can’t tell her this is not what I want. I take a brief moment of pleasure in my straight hair. I notice that I now have the same hairstyle as the hairdresser. I struggle to decide how to tip her.

*

Wrote on the archbishop’s bed made of hunter green pleather (what was I doing there?). Got arrested.

 

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