The screw that holds the left lense of my glasses had come undone. I stumbled into a narrow stock room and came across a Japanese business man who was working there. I asked him if he had a watchmaker's screwdriver set and after much fumbling round he produced one. He noticed that my "screw" was unbranded and asked as means of paying him back for re-threading it if he could brand it. I asked why and he replied that he wanted to research this screw further. Naturally I obliged him.
I always have dreams about the characters from Full House. I was going to a summer daycamp, and the children from the television show were there. In a limited 3rd person view, I heard them talking to their Uncle Jesse about how they believed the camp was haunted because Candace Cameron's character had swam to the bottom of an empty pool (which was made of dried mud, rather disgusting) and someone had written "ugly" at the bottom.
"But then I learned that they used this pool last year, so I think another camper did that."
Then I had a conscious thought and I said to myself,
"If this weren't Full House, I could think of at least 400 obscene phrases that could have gone better there."

I'm at home, it's morning... I was actually half awake. I had the impression that I was talking on the phone with my boyfriend about a note that someone had written on my bedroom wall by my window. It was a secret admirer note, though not really, and it was more to my concern who wrote it. All I remember was that it ended saying, "tip top cheerio." I took it that the entire note was supposed to note a sarcastic edge. So I called him up, and I accused him of writing this sarcastic note. He wanted to know where I got the idea that he wrote that from. I then said that he had msg'ed me on Everything one time and said "cheerio" at the end of the message. Only I conciously thought moments later that it wasn't he that had said cheerio, but another user. I cringed. Then I said something about Paul McCartney writing it. I have a clay action figure of him that rests on my windowsill. The way he was positioned, in my dream I thought that the real Paul, though immobile, was standing outside of my window in the distance, looking at me.

Ben: "But Aimee, that doesn't make any sense!"
Me: "Don't tell me what doesn't make sense!"

Then that scene ended, and Uncle Jesse is having some weird fixation with not kissing Michelle when they put her to bed. He's trying to prove to Rebecca or whatever the girlfriend's name is, that he isn't a soft little dork. He kisses Michelle when he is alone, though she is too young to understand this and cries when he doesn't.

Meanwhile, I'm having some situation where I'm in some stage bathroom with Ben, and he's sitting down on a closed toilet. He's upset with me. There's a hole in the shower curtain. I ask him why it is there. He says they are holding some sort of sweepstakes and this is the place where you fill out the forms. I look in and there is a yacht inside. I turned back to him.

Me: "So.. you win a yacht if you win?"
Ben (nodding): "Who would want a yacht?"
Me: "Someone with a lot of open-ocean sailing in mind, I presume." I washed my hands.
Ben: "No! Aimee, you just submitted an entry for me for that contest!"
Me: "What are you talking about?"
Ben: "You see, one person washes their hands, and then their boyfriend or girlfriend washes THEIR hands.. and that submits an entry."
Me: "How would they know it was you or I?"
Ben: "Because of the soap."

I look down at the soap resting next to Ben. It's some bar of soap that says "Wednesday's Boy" on it. I'm transfixed on the soap.

Me: "Ben, that's a generic brand name bar of soap."
Ben: "Exactly.. and it's mine!"
Me: "It's generic and brand name.. it's neutral. It's no one's."
Ben: "What?"
Me: "And my soap.. it's hotel soap! Ha! Take that Howard's Inn!" (Howard Zinn?)

There are some sweepstake rules written on a shower curtain saying you have a 1.519:1 chance of winning. I wake up before any winner is ever announced.

There is also a different dream where I go to Walmart with my dad. It looks more like a grocery store. I am trying to buy stuff, but I am afraid to. My dad tells me to get whatever. He says, "If money were limitless, I'd get you anything you wanted." That made even the me in my dreams feel immensely unhealthy amounts of guilt for not having a job at my age.

I'm on good terms with my dad so far until we get to the cash register. Something happens where he does not hear me, so I scream it as loudly as possible in his ear. Something to the effect of


(and then I start singing Mr. Roboto under my breath). I look up and the entire store is staring at me. I run away crying and then wake up.

I should have written notes on this this morning. I'd forgotten it at first. The content is trivial; I am just impressed by the strength of the feeling, which still persist.

I was kissing G---. It started simply then became consuming: all over that lovely face. We decide we need to go elsewhere to continue with more. We are in my bedroom as a child (a common location for my dreams): there's someone else in there too, god knows who, not anyone I particularly want to see what will come next.

But over to the north, through the big window, there is a kind of barrier amid the trees, perhaps a big black polythene sheet, but I check it out and it won't be enough to hide our doings. I take G--- down the path, between the rose bushes, intending to go round the front of the house.

If there was more it's gone now. But the passion stayed in waking. The sudden realization that someone loves you that much. And that softness.

I was trapped in that house, and they wouldn't set me free. We had food and drink and beds and a relatively normal existence, studies and correspondence courses and things, but we wanted out. Me more than anyone. Out out out.

I managed to rig the truck but I'm not sure to what end. I had my bags packed and then I realized that I left my cigarettes behind, so I went back for them, big mistake.

Harry caught me, Harry. And before I knew it I was engaged in some sort of double entendre with him...I had this uneasy feeling that if he was wittier than me, I'd have to sleep with him.

'I just wanted out, you know', I said
'There is no out, girl. If you hadn't learned anything here I would have thought you'd have learned this'.

He was almost leering at me when he said this, and I leaned over and bit his arm, took a whole chunk of flesh, bloody and warm in my mouth. It didn't come off but he gasped and called me wench and bitch and sneaky little lady and twerp, fucking skuzzy arsehole.

I JUST WANT OUT, I said, and ran off without my bag and without my smokes and left him nursing his wounded hairy arm.

i'm back in high school. i don't recognize the building. i think i'm standing in a cafeteria, and i sort through stacks and stacks of cellophane-covered cake in order to find the two cheapest, yet largest slices of cake. then i pocket a smaller, yet tasty-looking slice of cake as i pay for my items.

i proceed to mrs. mcdonald's class, where i realize i've misplaced my cakes somewhere in the room. while class is in session, i scour every desk, every corner, and every drawer looking for my lost cake. in the process, i find a horse somewhere which disappears. i also am pseudo-swing-dancing with shannon at times. dream concludes.

I didn't have this dream last night, but it's the most interesting dream I've had recently, so I'd like to write about it.

I dreamt that I was Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I was standing in the middle of Carnegie Mellon University's campus, where I go to school, typing on a floating computer console that was hovering in front of me. I was trying to write a computer program (background: I'm a computer science major). I don't remember exactly what the program was, but I knew that if I managed to finish it, I could use it to slay all the monsters that were chasing me.

So, I'm running around because I know that a monster is chasing me, even though I can't see it, and trying to code at the same time, and the damn program just won't compile. I think I was really stressed out at the time that I had this dream, because I just remember feeling this intense panic that I couldn't get the program working and if it didn't start working soon, I was going to die.

And then I woke up... Don't all dreams end like that?

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.