Dream Log: April 21, 2001

Me and my family were in my house. Well, it wasn't the house I occupy in my waking hours, but I identified it as home in the dream.

Anyway, me and my family were under fire. Shit. And guess who the culprit was? Characters out of the computer game Damage Incorporated! It was the White Paladdin guys. They had a helicopter as well. Now, I was stood at my window with a gun (it's the automatic rifle that's in the game), and was trying to shoot one of the bad guys, who has just stood there looking at me. I pulled the trigger and nothing came out. My brother ran past and shouted "Cock it, you damn fool!" and pulled the safety back. I tried to shoot at the guy in the helicopter, and the dream ended.

Weird shit. The strangest thing is that, for some reason, all the way through this dream I thought my mum owned a landrover. She owns a Ka.

Last night I had the strangest dream...

My suitemate Molly came into my room through the bathroom door, as she sometimes does, to ask if it was okay to use my room in an Easter egg hunt she was organizing for the dorm. She explained there was going to be a puppet show, and games, and prizes, and all manner of good fun. She explained there was still some debate as to whether there was going to be any nakedness in the festivities or not (perhaps goof eggs that required their finder to strip or some such). Sure, I said, sounds like fun. Never mind that Easter was almost a week ago, and I'm going to be cooped up in here writing thesis till my head falls off.

Next thing I know, I'm watching an old-fashioned Punch and Judy puppet show in West Dorm courtyard, occasionally thinking I should do thesis (an all-too frequent thought in my life lately), but that this was more fun, and I deserve to take a break now and then (another recurring thought).

Don't blame me, it's just my subconscious... This morning I found myself wondering when the egg hunt would be as I got up, and it was only when I remembered the puppet show that I decided it must have been a dream.

I went shopping in a giant grocery store with my dad, only at first I thought it was a CD store. So I went around looking for where they kept the CDs, and wondering why there were all these damn food items in the CD store. And all the time he was putting vegetables in a shopping cart.

In fact when I went and found him, having figured out that the store was in fact a grocery store, he had a cart full of what I think were kohlrabi, although they might have been fennel heads. He said we were done, but I wanted to look around some more.

Eventually I found a cloakroom somewhere in the middle of the store, and I realized I recognized all the coats hanging there -- they belonged to friends from university. I saw a few of the people who belonged to the coats wandering around, but they didn't recognize me. So I said I was ready to go home.

On the way out, we passed a bar. The bartender offered me a drink, but I didn't actually have any money. "That's okay," he said, "it's on me." But I normally don't drink alcohol before five, and it was early afternoon. So instead I woke up.

I was going to the grocery store with my sister and my friend Allison. We get into the store and begin shopping at the back of the store for some reason. Then out of nowhere we hear screaming, and I tell the two of them to be very quiet. From the front of the store I can hear, "Now I am going to shoot you." So I tell Meredith and Allison that it's time to leave. We slip out the back, through the employees only door, and once outside, they take off running, but for some reason I don't. I hear the gunman coming our way, and then climb a fence to land in the patio area of the townhomes behind the store. The person who lives here does not seem to be home.

I get my cell phone out and call Sloane, just to have someone to talk to... I'm scared and hiding out is making me even more afraid. So I get in touch with him and he asks me where I am. I say, "Hiding behind the patio fence in the townhomes by the store." He asks which one... so I tell him, "Third from the right." He said, "I lived there! If anyone asks why you're there just tell them you know me. Oh yeah, and in case you need it, there's a trapdoor leading to a small storage area underneath the patio." When I hung up the phone, I felt much better.

I walked into the apartment and looked around. It did seem deserted, and if my situation wasn't so frightening I would most likely have explored more, and dreamed of the day that this would be mine, for this was the image of the perfect place I'd always wanted to live. I was finally there, but why now? And why does it still not belong to me?

But there were more pressing concerns; I could see the gunman walking up and down in the courtyard between the store and the townhomes, and decided the best place for me was in the secret storage on the patio. So I slipped back onto the patio, opened the trapdoor (I don't remember how) and dropped into the storage unit, closing the door over me. It was very small, probably about four feet wide and long, and five feet deep; I couldn't stand up in there. It was lined with cardboard U-Haul boxes. I did not want to stay in this place. I heard the gunman walk by the apartment without noticing me.

It got quiet, so I decided to leave. As much as I wanted to stay, I knew I had to get out as soon as I could. So I climbed out of the compartment and over the fence, and started walking towards the street when I saw him. I was by the last townhome in the complex at this time, and I opened its gate and ran inside an office there. I was there for two minutes or so when I heard him call, "I know you're in there, so why don't you just come out?"

I don't know what came over me, but I just decided to get it over with and walked out to meet him. I looked at him, and said without any fear, "Here I am. Are you going to shoot me now?" And he says, "Okay," pulls out his gun, points it at me, and out comes AIR FRESHENER.

I just looked at him and told him he was pathetic.

Then the police came so I walked down to the street, to find my way home...

All of my dreams lately have been odd - but the main theme seems to be anxiety. I was in a house, not my own, in the mountains, a beautiful spot. The house was new and had hardwood floors and was like a skiing chateau. My sister was there - my grandmother, one of my brothers, my children were there and a close friend, Shari, was there. We were planning to go to New Hampshire, to the White Mountains, to ski. Shari thought we were going to drive; we were flying.

I hadn't told her that, nor had I checked with my sister to see if it was okay if my friend Shari could come too. (It ended up okay, but the conversations were nerve wracking, as I had had to confess that I had somehow forgotten to tell them each a crucial piece of information.)I just hadn't remembered to do it. So I had a lot of anxiousness and feeling stupid about those two things.

My grandmother wanted to drive my car on an errand - she can't drive, she is too old. She pretended that none of these things were true, got behind the wheel and sat there for a minute. She then got out, told us she had changed her mind, and haughtily marched back into the house.

My car had morphed into a sleek little sporty convertible and my Spinning seat was in the trunk. Which I needed, so I could take my sister's class which she was holding in a minute or two. I ran out to the car, but my son had already driven it off, so I didn't have it. A huge sense of loss and regret enveloped me and I went back into the house.

Anyway, it seems that my dreams are reflecting my state of mind even more than before. I am changing, changing, changing, at an unbelievably rapid pace. Inside my self is liquid and chaotic. And hence, my dreams are too.