Dream 2

There is a series of three very nice houses separated only by a line of rope or chain. There aren't any walls or roofs that I recall. I live in all three of these houses for different lengths of time throughout the semester. I am discussing with someone which weeks during the semester I live in each house. As it turns out, the home that I like the most is the one I am living in for the fewest amount of weeks. There is a discussion about this being ironic.

Dream 1

There were many parts to this dream, and many of them I do not have enough memory about to articulate in story form. There is actually only one that I remember enough to write about. Here we go.

A friend of my mom shows up at my dad's house in Hesperia, CA. I know which friend it is supposed to be, but she looks like a woman with whom I went to graduate school. She is parked in the middle of the street rather than at the curb or in the driveway. I'm sitting in my dad's living room doing something to my toenails (painting them? I later tell my mom's friend that that's what I was doing but I think I was lying). The phone rings and I don't pick it up. I look out the window and my mom's friend is signaling to me to pick up the phone. There's some miscommunication as we gesture through the closed window but finally she calls again and I answer. I make up some excuse for why I didn't answer the first time. She is sort of frantic and tells me that she needs someone to take care of her dog for a short time. I ask how long and she says 15 days. I am shocked and feel that that is a long time, but I don't let her see my reaction. She tells me it's an emergency. I tell her that I will have to ask my roommate, as I do not have my own house. [In this next part I talk to Annabel, my roommate. I can see this part in my head, but it's hard to put into words.] The answer is no and I am very relieved that I will not have to take care of this dog. At one point I see what the dog looks like. He is white and brown, short, and very strangely fat and lumpy. I don't remember much after this.

There are other segments of last night's dreams of which I only remember small pieces.

- There was a mountain with streams of water, but suddenly lava filled the streams. I was working with a group of people to race against the lava, but I don't remember how or why.

- I'm in a bathroom about to take a shower, when I notice that the bathroom has many creatures (mostly insects) scurrying about inside. I am absolutely terrified and manage to kill one of them. The creature looks like 10 black widows have joined hands and were standing in a circle. I know it is poisonous, as with everything else in that bathroom, so I smash it with something. I race out of the bathroom and tell someone about it (my dad, I think, though we're not in his house). I remember thinking that I was not going to go back into that bathroom, but that's where the memory ends.

Dreams.

I have very vivid and very frequent dreams. Sometimes I wake up feeling absolutely exhausted because I was made to do things all night long in my sleep. A few years ago, I began a dream notebook in which I wrote down every dream that I had. I noticed a trend. At that time, my grandpa was very ill (he died a year or so afterward). As perhaps you may have expected, my dream notebook revealed that I was dreaming about him consistently. His condition was different in every dream. In some dreams he was able to walk. In others, he was on the brink of death. Sometimes he would be able to talk to me; sometimes he would be somewhere else and I couldn't find him. Eventually the dreams became so upsetting that I stopped writing them down.

I don't know why we dream, and thus far no one else knows conclusively. I am particularly interested in dreams, however, because I do it so (sometimes annoyingly) often. I thought it'd be interesting to challenge myself to blog my dreams for awhile. My interest in this, as with everything it seems, may wax and wane. Another possibility is that once again I will get so deeply overwhelmed by recalling my dreams that I have to stop to save what little sanity this tired brain feels like it has left (*whine whine* my life isn't bad at all, to tell you the truth; so it be with anxiety and depression that my reality is perpetually skewed). My hope is that I at least continue for awhile. I need a damn hobby. And I need to write. Or something. Don't let this brain dissolve to mush now that I have a graduate degree.

On that note:

"Sleep tight, ya morons!" - The Catcher in the Rye