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12:20:2002 Entry: "Ann : DREAM - Dad, Dog, and Dustmops"

DREAM - Dad, Dog, and Dustmops

I'm not sure if Stan and I were travelling or not, or if Stan was even with me; it was vague, but I was definitely in a room and in a bed that was not mine. I have no clothes on, but am fully covered by the bedsheets and some guy is in the room with me, looking at me in sort of a humorous way. I forgot what it is I did, but I sort of lifted the bedsheet up to show him that I didn't have anything on and that he should leave...or something like that (now that's twisted logic..."hey, LOOK I'm naked, please leave" weird.). The even stranger thing is that the guy turned out to be Pete Townsend (!?) (sort of age 35-ish era). Then later he got in the bed with me, but nothing happened. Then I wasn't in that room anymore, I was outside and walking toward my house. Once I was in my house, I noticed we had a visitor, Adam, who is not a real flesh and blood person, but someone I created over 20 years ago. He still looked young, however, but then again, do non-corporeal people age, really? Adam was in the bathroom using the toilet with the lights off but he didn't have the door shut, which is not uncommon for Stan, but I would expect little more of a guest, however because he was a creation of mine, I just laughed it off and said "Adam, shut the door!" He mumbled something and we both laughed.

Strange how when we meet unexpected people in our dreams it's never "Pete Townsend! I've always loved The Who! Quadrophenia is one of my favorite movies!" or "Adam, how did you become corporeal? I made you up! How did this happen?" It's always so matter of fact, like "oh, it's you."

In the next part of the dream, I was at my parent's house in their hallway, which is a very small, cramped hallway, but in the dream it was two stories and someone had redecorated it with weird balcony things hanging off the 2nd floor, sort of like the interior of a cheesey Italian or Greek restaurant. Who decorated it is could've been Adam, or Tim or Matt, but I'm not sure. I'm sure my parents were displeased, as I wasn't even that keen on it myself, and I'm far more into the wild and eccentric than their subdued, stark lives and tastes. We had a dog with us that wasn't Plato or was bigger and looked like our neighbor's dog, Sunday, but we were calling it Moxie, which is our neighbor's other dog. It had gotten outside (we're still at my parent's house) and I was trying to herd it back into the house, which was quite difficult. Once I finally grabbed it by the collar, I tried to open the door to the house, but in between the time I went outside to catch the dog and the time I caught it, my dad had locked the screen door so I was trapped outside. I started ringing the doorbell, pounding and yelling, but no one came to let me in. Then I noticed that some school had let out (my parents live near schools) and there was a trail of kids, like army ants, walking through their house from their back door out to the front door, so they were then able to let me inside. Once inside, I complained to my dad that he locked me out (which IRL he does constantly when I visit because he's a damn freak about getting robbed, which would make sense if he had anything of worth to rob, but he doesn't, yet I digress). I also told him that I will have to be coming in the front door later because I have to pick up some art from Kingsfoot Gallery (which is in here in Madison, not in Colorado) and bring it back there. He asks me why I have to pick it up and why they can't deliver it. I'm pretty amazed by this, and tell him because that's not the way it's done. For some reason, he'd rather them deliver the art than for me to pick it up because it doesn't fit into his agenda? I don't understand. I tell him if he wants it done that way, he's going to have to make arrangements with them. He says that he's not going to talk to them, I need to talk to them because it's my art. I'm getting extremely angry at this point and I stand up and yell at him dictatorally: "YOU need to call up Schuyler and tell her that YOU want THEM to deliver the art and it's not MY responsibility because this is what YOU want, not ME!" He keeps interrupting me and I can't ever get my point across and I wake up shouting and crying.

I catch myself and realize it's just another stupid dream about my stupid dad and his petty dictates, so I'm able to go back to sleep pretty quickly after that.

Into the next dream I'm at some workplace. I'm not sure what exactly it is, there's a storeroom atmosphere about it, but there's some people I recognize from my former job. I'm having to go with someone to collect some dustmops or cleaning equipment. I'm trying to explain to them my former dream about my dad. They seem to be listening rather intently, fascinated that I can remember my dreams so well and that I dream so exquisitely.


I noticed we
had real flesh. It is our
other dog.

Posted by aseyelum @ 11:09:2002:04:44 PM CST

By Ann @ 20:26 AM CST:12:20:02 ..::Link::..