Last night took the cake for weird, crazy dreams. At first, I was on a writer’s retreat with some friends. We were on some kind of college campus, and I didn’t have my own room. Instead, I was sharing with a friend who had reserved a room. Except she kicked me out in the middle of the night. I guess I was too excited, and kept her up too late talking, or something. It probably didn’t help that I had all of my pets, two dogs and four cats, with me for some reason.
So there I was, homeless for the night, with all my luggage and a bunch of pets. I must have slept in my car or something. The next day, I am trying to get down to writing and working, and my friend says she feels better, and I can crash in her room after all. Yay! But no sooner have I unpacked and settled in than she puts me out again. Inconceivable!
I am so angry that I vow to blog about it when I wake up, and expose the friend’s perfidy to the world. People should know. I mean, it’s one thing if you don’t want to room with someone. Sure. But inviting them in TWICE, then kicking them out. That’s just not right.
Over the course of the dream, I keep reminding myself to blog, but I slowly realize that if I am dreaming, then this individual is probably totally innocent. I have trouble accepting it, though, because I am SO angry.
I am taking my luggage to the car, and somehow go the wrong way, or the long way, to the parking lot, and get lost. There I encounter others from the retreat, as well as a group of orphaned/runaway kids who are escaping from a serial killer or something. I get mixed up in the chase, and before I know it, we are driving a humongous panel van with leather seats at 80 mpg through busy downtown streets of some unidentified city.
We’re almost clean away when we somehow end up crashing/running out of gas and ending up in a deserted industrial park. It is long abandoned, gone to decay, and full of graffiti.
I am still angry at my room mate from the retreat, still reminding myself I need to document everything when I wake up, but am starting to realize that because it’s a dream, none of it is real.
So here I am with the group of ragamuffins, trying to find myself out of the warehouse district. I am in an abandoned building when a child appears out of nowhere. He or she is brown-skinned, naked, quite tall, crying and has obvious signs of torture. In fact, it looks like some kind of mad scientist has sewn an extra leg on him or her somehow.
I realize I am supposed to help this person, but at that point I have just had ENOUGH of this ridiculous dream, and my response is, “Oh come ON!” I ignore the child and run away.
I end up at my in-law’s farm in Battle Creek, where there is a tornado coming. I am forever dreaming about tornadoes, so apparently when I rejected the previous dream offering, my subconscious hastily ordered up my usual nightmare. “Okay,” my brain is saying. “You could have had some sort of interesting time saving children from being experimented on by a mad scientist, but if you want a tornado AGAIN, here you go.”
So I spent the remainder of the dream taking shelter from one tornado after another. At one point, I had to descend a vertical chute into a very high tech storm shelter. The chute was just barely wide enough for me, and I got a little bit stuck in it. When the storm passed, we came out just in time for another tornado.
And that’s enough dreaming for the whole month of April, I should say.