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Strange dream with a nice ending
Thursday, 21 April 2016 03:19 pm"On The Way Out Here, They Sit Back And Enjoy The Ride. They Talk To Me. Sometimes We Stop And Watch The Sunsets And Look At The Birds Flying. Sometimes We Stop And Watch The Birds When There Ain't No Birds . . . And Look At The Sunsets When It's Raining. We Have A Swell Time."*
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Pat and I were living in the last place we lived before we moved into my grandmother's house (where she died and I still live) and we were the same ages we were then (late twenties/early thirties). We had a van and there was something wrong with it—something that kept changing.
A young guy who had been going around offering to mow lawns said he could fix it. He seemed pleasant enough, but somehow how I could see that he was secretly making fun of us and wasn't trustworthy. This was an ability that I had gotten from Shirley Jackson, and throughout the dream I kept thinking that she must have been depressed from a very early age, being able to tell what people were really thinking.
Still, we let him fix the van, and he did get it running. There was all this stuff with him showing us things we should know—like how to tell if we had flat tire. That part really annoyed me; I told him I'd changed a flat tire before, I certainly knew what one looked like. But he kept going on about how helpless women are in the world. By this time Pat was getting pissed off with him, too.
Then we got in the van with some friends of his. It was very confusing; we were in our van, with him driving, with his van following—apparently not driven by anyone. We were supposed to be taking him back to where his van was, which I suddenly realized was stupid since it was right there behind us.
Just as I noticed this, he and his friends were gone, into their own van, driving in a different direction. We were in Garfield Park in a van that was moving but nobody was driving. Pat and I were both (quite reasonably) freaked out about this, though it somehow confirmed what I'd known about the lawn mowing guy. Then I climbed into the driver's seat and put my foot on the brakes. The van didn't respond right away, which is apparently normal when it's been driving itself for a while, but after a while I got it under control.
I asked Pat why we didn't just go home, and she said we had been on our way to my cousin Darby's, but it was starting to get dark now and maybe we should go home.
We were moving into a different apartment, one on the south side. I said that it seemed very strange to be moving to the south side; the farthest south we'd ever lived was Washington Street and I wasn't used to facing south. (Washington Street is US 40, and it's the street that bisects Indianapolis into north and south. We lived on the north side of Washington—clearly not very far south at all.) But we weren't in Indianapolis, we were in Brooklyn, in the Bay Ridge area on the Belt Parkway, only I could see the Indianapolis skyline in the distance. But none of this was upsetting. It was a cool blue and pink summer evening with dusk setting in and we were very happy.
*E. J. Lofgren
-:- -:- -:- -:-
Pat and I were living in the last place we lived before we moved into my grandmother's house (where she died and I still live) and we were the same ages we were then (late twenties/early thirties). We had a van and there was something wrong with it—something that kept changing.
A young guy who had been going around offering to mow lawns said he could fix it. He seemed pleasant enough, but somehow how I could see that he was secretly making fun of us and wasn't trustworthy. This was an ability that I had gotten from Shirley Jackson, and throughout the dream I kept thinking that she must have been depressed from a very early age, being able to tell what people were really thinking.
Still, we let him fix the van, and he did get it running. There was all this stuff with him showing us things we should know—like how to tell if we had flat tire. That part really annoyed me; I told him I'd changed a flat tire before, I certainly knew what one looked like. But he kept going on about how helpless women are in the world. By this time Pat was getting pissed off with him, too.
Then we got in the van with some friends of his. It was very confusing; we were in our van, with him driving, with his van following—apparently not driven by anyone. We were supposed to be taking him back to where his van was, which I suddenly realized was stupid since it was right there behind us.
Just as I noticed this, he and his friends were gone, into their own van, driving in a different direction. We were in Garfield Park in a van that was moving but nobody was driving. Pat and I were both (quite reasonably) freaked out about this, though it somehow confirmed what I'd known about the lawn mowing guy. Then I climbed into the driver's seat and put my foot on the brakes. The van didn't respond right away, which is apparently normal when it's been driving itself for a while, but after a while I got it under control.
I asked Pat why we didn't just go home, and she said we had been on our way to my cousin Darby's, but it was starting to get dark now and maybe we should go home.
We were moving into a different apartment, one on the south side. I said that it seemed very strange to be moving to the south side; the farthest south we'd ever lived was Washington Street and I wasn't used to facing south. (Washington Street is US 40, and it's the street that bisects Indianapolis into north and south. We lived on the north side of Washington—clearly not very far south at all.) But we weren't in Indianapolis, we were in Brooklyn, in the Bay Ridge area on the Belt Parkway, only I could see the Indianapolis skyline in the distance. But none of this was upsetting. It was a cool blue and pink summer evening with dusk setting in and we were very happy.
*E. J. Lofgren