Shit last nite I went arounfd killing peole. I must of killed ike 9 people 3 of wich I knew. For some od reason i kiled my bestfriends dad, all because she asked me too he was the first.
I went over to there house saw he she was there lieng in bed alonew asleeep I guess I was there to kill her because just looked at her. She awoke when my hands were around her neck and turning purple. Something made me stop I just couldnt see her eves pop out of her sockets.
I ran out of the house she followed and asked me what that was all about, I told her that I didnt know she said it was ok and walked with me. once we got ot her gate she asked me for a favor I said sure she asked me if I could walk back with her and kill her dad. I agreed as soon as we got to his roomm I woke up with some blood on me, I was "like what the fuck" it turns out it was a can of red paint I had on my window by my bed that had fallen with the wind but fuck was I scared atleast I hope it was paint. but i dont care .

memory | hope

At 2:30AM I had a couple of mugs of coffee mixed with cocoa, and fell into that stingray just-below-the-surface sleep around 3. I woke at 7 with this dream fading away...

The mall, vague, up to the Disney furniture store: recliners in Dalmatian patterns, or with character faces grinning from the backs, arrayed in the court in the sidewalk sale tradition. The pink and magenta Cruella chair? No, not for me, perhaps I’ll save up for a Winnie-the-Pooh, or something similarly masculine. All the good stores are gone, there are only dollar stores filled with garage sale junk I wouldn’t pay a dollar for, and the food courts. The bookstore has become so specialized, it’s like one of those ritzy Rodeo Drive boutiques in Pretty Woman, each coffee-table volume on its own little display. Even the Dunkin Donuts is closed, as testified by the signs out front: "Maybe if you had come in more often and tipped the cashiers, we’d still be open". This bitter signage both amuses and depresses me. A few doors down is the unnamed Starbucks-type coffee shop, so I wander in. Very elegant, filled with more cushy chairs, sans cartoon faces. At the counter, I decide against the zwieback (pronounced "biscotti" but my dreams aren’t caught up sufficiently with my experience to render biscotti in the dreamscape), in favor of 2 rich peanut butter "cookies" that seem to hold all but their square shape in common with Reese’s peanut butter egg confections. Can I get a large mocha java? The preparation of the coffee involves mashing more confection-looking things. While I wait, the store’s gorilla mascot drops from the ceiling beams to perch on top of the counter. One brush of his hand against mine, and I realize, fun-fur or no, this is a real gorilla, a very BIG gorilla. "Would you care to step back, that way?" Which way, the corner? No. OK, I guess cornering myself in proximity to a gorilla IS a bad idea. No, more that other way, the direction of all the chairs and couches and love seats… It is understood that a waitress will bring me my snack.

I can’t sit next to or across from another patron, but dammit, there are no seats with tables in front of them. As I trudge through the store, my legs grow weak, I feel like Johnny Depp on nitrous oxide in Fear & Loathing In Las Vegas, all bendy at the knees. (In retrospect, I think this sensation was a side effect of the normal sleep paralysis as described in some writeup involving sleepwalking, which I can no longer locate.) In the first pass I thought the conference room was reserved, but now I see patrons there, and I find an unoccupied love seat with an iron framed, textured glass-topped coffee table. The waitress, looking an awful lot like Elizabeth Shue in Adventures in Babysitting or perhaps a younger, softer Geena Davis, brings my coffee and cookies, and hovers patiently. Oh, I must be supposed to tip... A couple of dollar bills later, she seats herself next to me and smiles a lurid smile (as lurid as Ms. Shue might muster, anyway), tucks up her checkered skirt to flash me, drizzles drops of mocha and a dollop of whipped cream on her pelvis, smooth as any exotic dancer’s. Dammit! I fight to stay asleep, but no such luck.

Analysis: The chairs represent attitudes about romantic relationships: fun in a childlike way, but with a serious investment aspect as well; further, symbolic of sexual orientation/identity and partner-choosing strategy. There is a casual surface appeal in the pink/femdom, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable in it. I reject both the cheap junk and the expensive, useless goods in the various stores. The Dunkin Donuts and the Starbucks, places to obtain yummy nourishment and "coffee"/stimulation, seem to represent loves past (named) and future (unnamed), respectively, revealing conflicted feelings about my own historical "patronage"/support, and further implying choices between economy and the cost of quality. This issue is echoed yet again in the choice between hard, dry, crumbly biscotti and salty/sweet/rich/moist confections, with more of the same symbolism in the choice of strong java, blended with the sweetness of cocoa. The gorilla is a masculine symbol, representing mixed attraction/fascination and danger. The owner at the counter is a practical guide, warning me to keep a safe distance from the "gorilla"; he motions me toward the soft, plushy, supportive symbols instead. Maybe I'm overanalyzing my weakness at the knees en route to choosing a "seat"; I do hope so! The seated patrons have already made their purchases and found seats, i.e. they're already committed to relationships, where I don't care to intrude; I seek a seat all my own, symbolizing a partner both available and loyal. Elizabeth Shue is simple wish-fulfillment; I think my inner screenwriter ran out of symbolism right about there, so it just plugged in blatant imagery while I came back to full consciousness. Roll credits...
I could go on and on: the passivity of being tended by the waitress, the bizarre identification of Pooh as a masculine character, the difficulty of finding an unoccupied spot, the living gorilla vs. the inanimate seats... but I'll just leave some room for some other noders' inner symbols. =)

My ex-wife and I were in what appears to be a dressing-room. She is putting on makeup. We are talking about our relationship and she basically says how she is not really all that interested in our relationship anymore.

I plead and plead. Right there, I write her a letter, talking about all of the great things we have together. I am crying. I feel desperate inside.

She takes the letter and crumples it up. She says she doesn't care.

Fade away...

Analysis: This didn't happen once, but many times in real life (no not the exact details). And not just with her, but with ex-girlfriends before her. I should have seen the signs of her caring being less than my love. This is a sign of low self esteem somewhere inside myself--I don't care about myself enough to get out of a relationship where the other person isn't devoted to me. I think I'm learning, slowly.

I was living with my ex-fiance and his family. Dave and I were still together as far as I could tell, but neither of us felt anything towards each other. His family owned a group of houses all connceted with ramps and tunnels that they called "The Compound." No one ever left The Compound. I was safe and miserable. I felt trapped.

A magazine appeared in the mailbox one day, and I hid it from everyone else. There was a classified ad in the back that fascinated me.

Live-In pet sitter wanted. We will be gone for three months and need someone to watch our birds. They require very special care. Mr. and Mrs. Smith, Fiji.

I thought that this position would be my escape. It was the stupidest thing I'd ever heard--birdsitting in Fiji? I loved the idea of it. And immedietly I was in Fiji. Funny how dreams are like that...

I never had any contact with the Smiths, but I had full control of their huge beach property and their four birds... two penguins and two fuzzy little baby kiwis that really looked more like ducklings, but who was I to argue with the note the Smiths had left?

Next I was sitting in a tree with the birds, who were all wearing leashes. (?) They played with each other and I looked out over the water. The beach wasn't beach, it was desert... barren, sizzling, and ancient... Steam fizzled through minute cracks, and I could see three geysers in the distance. The water curling into the land was not very welcoming either. Somehow I knew by looking at it that it was more saline than the Dead Sea. Nothing could live in it, and I suspected that it would slowly and savagely burn my skin away if I were to fall from the tree. Still, the scene was so beautiful that I was frozen, breathless, afraid to move and break the spell. The sun was setting, painting the sky a deep angry purple kissed with orange. The beach and ocean curled into each other like lovers... It was a perfect but deadly marriage of fire and water.

I looked down and realized the tree was much higher than I thought. The beach was thousands of feet below me. I was stuck in this tree with four flightless birds wearing leashes. Looking behing me, I saw that the tree backed up to an almost invisible cliff. Shiny, lush, tangled greenery dripping with dew almost obscured my salvation... I took two birds under each arm and carefully picked my way to the cliff, and found myself standing in the backyard garden of the most beautiful home I'd ever seen.

I woke up.

Analysis: This dream mirrors the past year of my life. Dave and I were stuck in a loveless relationship. I was safe, protected, and bored to tears at Xavier University. I literally NEVER left the campus. I made my break by doing something characteristically impulsive and exciting/stupid. The perfect but deadly scene on the beach corresponds with Clifton--I loved it and feared it. The fact that I was watching the scene but not actually on the beach is important. The too-perfect ending? My move back home to Nashville.

Dream about work #6969

I had quit my job at Stream International for a much more lucrative job doing tech support somewhere else for $35,000 a year. Apparently, I had spent a couple of days on the floor there and I was very dissatisfied with my new job. To them, I was just a number, no one cared about anything that I was doing, no one would give me any information about anything, they would not answer my questions - nothing! I would sign on to my phone, take ISP tech support questions all day and then go home pissed at the world.

However, in this particular dream, my twin sister Andrea worked at Stream as well. So I used her badge to sneak into the building and attend the Team Lead meeting on Wednesday as usual. I sat at the back of the room, hoping they would not notice me and afraid that they would because they would see that I had brought my skateboard to the meeting.

Finally they did see me and asked why I was still there, that they thought I had gotten a better job and all. I started to cry and told them that I was totally miserable at my new job and that I missed Stream because our team lead structure led to better management interaction with the tech support agents.

They let me come back.

Dream about work #65536
Dream about work #42

Ex-girlfriend Karma

  • I am drawn into an emotional conversation/argument with my ex-girlfriend, Radha. Both of our bodies look the way they did when we were together three years ago; both of us with long brown hair. Likewise, it seems our minds have been similarly transported back in time. As we discuss our past times together and I attempt to heal some old wounds, I am very much reminded of the continuous contradiction that was our relationship. She becomes extremely emotional over the course of our hour's long talk. We are outside and walking through a college campus as Radha gradually transforms herself from a lovely woman into a weeping fist clenched in pain. How vivid this old version of Radha is, still the girl in love with me so much she'd rather cry every day than live without me. I explain that I'm going to be together with Genery for a long, long time. I am about to re-express how I truly cared for her when we were together when she turns and runs. Soon I see her appear on the ledge of a clock tower, making it obvious that she intends to throw herself off. I see a small crowd of people we know collect around the base of the tower, begging her to come down. She's on a ferocious crying jag and all ready to do herself in. Dream ends.

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