The week in dreams thus far
Wednesday, 4 May 2016 11:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
carose59"No, My Brain Is Distracting Me, And There's Nothing Anyone Can Do About It."*
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Sunday night, I dreamed the police were looking for my cousin Patrick. They wanted to question him about a list they had found—a list of kitten names. They suspected he was planning to get another kitten. Although having a cat wasn't a problem, conspiracy to acquire a kitten was a very serious offense.
I've been thinking lately that cats are authority figures in my dreams, and this backs that up. Because the only one (besides Patrick himself) who would object to him having a kitten would be Little Cat.
Monday night, I was stuck in a loop of promos for BBC comedies. They were all amazingly glitzy and glamorous, with sparkling chandeliers and long, curved gilt staircases, and the laugh tracks were really loud. I was somehow both inside the stories and outside, watching (which happens a lot in my dreams), and friend kept recommending various show to me, but I felt no enthusiasm for any of them. The shows, that is. I have no idea where this came from.
Tuesday night, I went shopping with my mother. We went to a flea market—not someplace my mother would have been interested in. My father's the one I got my love of flea markets and garage sales from. I didn't want to go. I told her I have a very hard time making decisions about buying things unless I have a specific purpose for what I'm buying, and I really didn't need anything. But she insisted and we went in.
It was in a tent, a big black one. At the first table, there was a man selling iguanas. He kept them in shoeboxes—it was like they went into suspended animation until they were taken from their boxes. He was playing with one when we came in, a bright yellow one, the color of a gumdrop. It didn't look real. He started telling this horrible story about cats attacking and killing iguanas.
I kept trying to leave, but my mother and this man were insistent that what I really needed was an iguana—but not the yellow one. The man got out a different box, and inside it was something he said was an iguana. It was more like a skink, only it was really big and had very subdued rainbow colored fur. I did not like the looks of it and didn't want it, but they kept telling me Meg would think it was another cat (like Meg would consider that a good thing). I don't remember how it turned out, although I do remember feeling very relieved when I woke up.
Very often as I start writing down a dream, I won't know where the component parts came from, but as I write, realizations occur. With this one, I think the skink is actually a cucumber I bought the other day for Meg. Not to eat, or to scare him with, but to keep the ants away from his food when he eats in the bathroom window. I don't know, sometimes it seems like my mind is just playing a weird version of MadLibs.
*Trace Beaulieu
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Sunday night, I dreamed the police were looking for my cousin Patrick. They wanted to question him about a list they had found—a list of kitten names. They suspected he was planning to get another kitten. Although having a cat wasn't a problem, conspiracy to acquire a kitten was a very serious offense.
I've been thinking lately that cats are authority figures in my dreams, and this backs that up. Because the only one (besides Patrick himself) who would object to him having a kitten would be Little Cat.
Monday night, I was stuck in a loop of promos for BBC comedies. They were all amazingly glitzy and glamorous, with sparkling chandeliers and long, curved gilt staircases, and the laugh tracks were really loud. I was somehow both inside the stories and outside, watching (which happens a lot in my dreams), and friend kept recommending various show to me, but I felt no enthusiasm for any of them. The shows, that is. I have no idea where this came from.
Tuesday night, I went shopping with my mother. We went to a flea market—not someplace my mother would have been interested in. My father's the one I got my love of flea markets and garage sales from. I didn't want to go. I told her I have a very hard time making decisions about buying things unless I have a specific purpose for what I'm buying, and I really didn't need anything. But she insisted and we went in.
It was in a tent, a big black one. At the first table, there was a man selling iguanas. He kept them in shoeboxes—it was like they went into suspended animation until they were taken from their boxes. He was playing with one when we came in, a bright yellow one, the color of a gumdrop. It didn't look real. He started telling this horrible story about cats attacking and killing iguanas.
I kept trying to leave, but my mother and this man were insistent that what I really needed was an iguana—but not the yellow one. The man got out a different box, and inside it was something he said was an iguana. It was more like a skink, only it was really big and had very subdued rainbow colored fur. I did not like the looks of it and didn't want it, but they kept telling me Meg would think it was another cat (like Meg would consider that a good thing). I don't remember how it turned out, although I do remember feeling very relieved when I woke up.
Very often as I start writing down a dream, I won't know where the component parts came from, but as I write, realizations occur. With this one, I think the skink is actually a cucumber I bought the other day for Meg. Not to eat, or to scare him with, but to keep the ants away from his food when he eats in the bathroom window. I don't know, sometimes it seems like my mind is just playing a weird version of MadLibs.
*Trace Beaulieu