The other night almost a week ago (I have extremely limited internet access right now) I had this dream. I can't remember which night because I'm not where I usually am right now, and perception is a bit distorted and confused. It all harkens back to that silly "which LOST character are you" quiz.

I dreamt that I was with Stan, except he was Charlie. It was like we were in the early stages of our relationship, because we seemed younger. We were running, and he, Stan/Charlie, kissed me while we were on the run. Just for the record and to set things straight, I'm not that attracted to Charlie...I'm a Desmond girl...but there was something really sweet about that kiss, maybe because despite outward appearances, it was Stan behind it.

That sounds really cornball.

Anyway, the dream continued in a LOST vein, because we went into this strange place like a dungeon with chains and shackles and torture equipment, and Charles Widmore was there. It was rather sinister. As I was dreaming it, I was thinking how cool it was that I was actually experiencing my very own LOST episode.

I wish I could remember more of the dream, and perhaps I would've if I could've written it down afterward like normal, but it's been very difficult lately.

Labels: Dreams, LOST

1) I had suddenly remembered where I had put my old solid perfume compacts from a couple posts ago, and found them inside my vanity (IRL they were not there, I checked this morning just to be sure). The scents were not the ones I remembered. I had a compact that contained 3 scents I never had, one was something called "Mandarin" (orangey, neroli-ish, I presume), another was "Caraway", which IRL was actually from the Herbs collection I never bought, and the third one might have been "Vetiver" but I can't remember precisely (mmm...Vetiver...yummy). They were rather dessicated and a lot of the scent was gone, but I was so glad I found them, yet puzzled about why I didn't remember buying the Mandarin/Caraway/Vetiver trio. (probably because I didn't buy it, and it didn't even exist). OK, that settles it, I will have to buy some Essential Oils and try a combination with those scents.

2) I was in an old university-type building, which I have reoccurring dreams about, like the buildings on Bascom Hill at the UW or around the Oval at CSU. I was standing on the steps at the front door, looking outside and waiting for a ride. A car pulls up, maybe a taxi, and the man in the back seat looks like Desmond from LOST. Then I realize he also looks like John, my former Boss from Kinko's over 20 years ago (IRL, I don't see any resemblance...John was taller, darker hair, different features, no resemblance). Then I start telling people who are there that it's no wonder why Desmond is my favorite LOST character, because he reminds me of my favorite boss. Truly odd. Actually, IRL Stan commented while watching a Larry King interview a few months ago with Eric Clapton (yeah, I know, odd, but not as odd as the Larry King/Snoop Dog interview probably was...I didn't watch that one in case you're wondering) that Eric circa the 1980s(?) resembled Desmond, and there actually is a resemblance there, but not with John my Kinko's boss.

3) I was in a reoccurring-dream mall, in a clothing store that usually has a lot of things I can find (in dreams, that is), but this time I couldn't find anything. I kept finding odd hats like maybe they'd wear in Western Asia. Then as I'm waking up from this dream, I realize that on the radio IRL they're talking about Tibet.

Labels: Dreams, LOST, Rock and Roll, Scents

I was in a park in a city where the snow was still on the ground, but a section of this park was in spring and green. I was thinking about moving my cactus plants there and there was a female deer eating grass near me. A tall hairy faced man with dark skin came to the park, and he looked like someone who was once a teacher of mine. He was hunting the deer with a pistol, and when he arrived the deer started charging at me. The deer ran right past me and stood on top of a stone wall with me between the gun man and her.

I approached the man and asked him not to hunt this deer in the park and if he was going to kill it he needed to wait until the deer left the park. The man then pointed the pistol at me and told me I was going to die a long painful death. His hand was shaking as if he was having some difficulty about pulling the trigger. Another male deer ran past us and stood by the female deer. I turned around to look at them and they had transformed into deer with human heads - both of them were African American. I was still standing between them and the gun man.

The gun man was still trying to point the gun at me and shaking. I believe he wanted to kill me so he could then kill the deer, but then I woke up.

Labels: Dreams

I was renting an apartment. I don't know if I was renting with Stan as well, but I had at least one female roommate who was Asian. The apartment is on the second floor, and as I walk into it, I immediately notice that the place has changed. My roommate had taken down all my art, painted the walls light sage green (in the dream they had originally been a light golden sandy color...how did I know this? I have no light golden sandy color rooms in my house) and placed only one painting per wall, and the art wasn't even done by her, but instead a third party. There was also a large dining room table in part of this great room taking up a great deal of space. I go into a rage and try to explain to her that there will be no art by third parties hanging on the wall, that the art must either be done by her or me. Then I start hanging a bunch of my old paintings on the wall--not my recent paintings, but paintings I did over 20 years ago. There is plenty of wall space to hang lots of my art, but I try to explain to her that we have to hang our art on the walls because there isn't enough storage area within the house (which is what we deal with IRL) and that's why I don't want anyone else's art here except the occupant's. This roommate's mother is there too, and she speaks even less English, and she seems really confused by everything. I think there's another roommate there, maybe someone I shared a studio with in grad school, and she has these wall art pieces with these brightly colored fabric balls (approx. 3-7" in diameter) hanging off of them. They were kind of stupid looking, like a clown suit, except better colors. Then I go into the basement to get more of my paintings, and it turns into this reoccurring dream basement which haunts my dreams so frequently that I often forget to include it in my dream journalling. This basement seems so familiar, and I'm wracking my brain to remember if I ever experienced it IRL, but I can't recall any house that had it. It's a basement that goes on forever, it's very long and you keep walking back into it to find more and more storage. The color white is prominent, and sometimes the concrete floors slope. I don't know where I draw this from, it could be the Chemistry Stockroom, but it's very residential, not institutional and the CS was grey and green, not white. This basement is also very old, maybe 100 year, but all the old house basements I've been in have been very small. I don't know what happened next, but I hope I kicked the roommates out. How dare they redecorate the place without consulting me!

Hey, speaking of 100 year old houses, our house turned 100 this year.

Labels: Dreams

Stan and I were on a vacation and traveling in the west. It was like we were viewing a map of the US, or traveling very high in the sky looking downward. There was narration in the background, some man talking about how when Texas was settled, they didn't know it led to the Pacific Ocean. I was looking at Texas from my aerial vantage point, and saw that it did have a very small part of its southwest corner that attached to both the Pacific Ocean and Arizona. Then we start descending on a very steep mountainous road. We wonder if our van will make the steep inclines. We go around a curve and find a hotel. There are a lot of old white-haired people wandering around. I am wondering if we should spend the night there. It's only about 4 pm in the afternoon and we could go further, but we don't know what's ahead, and when we'd find it. I go inside and it's nothing like your usual hotel lobby. There's no comforting furniture, just rows of doors painted in late cold war-era yellows and oranges, more like a grade school. I ask the man at the desk if he takes some kind of discount, and I couldn't remember the name of the discount, but I do remember my Trip Rewards card and pull it out, as well as a credit card. He never comes right out and says yes or no, but he's stalling, telling me he can't give me a room for free (not that I asked for one) and that the rooms are filling up because of some planned execution of some criminal that Bush is taking part in that is staged for that day or the next (?huh?). As he's stalling, I'm getting ready to grab my cards and leave because he's wasting my time while we could be traveling down the road.

Labels: Dreams

Part of the dream was a real mess and I can't even begin to describe it...something with bathtubs and coffee (which they were discussing on the radio...the coffee part, not the tub part). But the part I remember was I was in the CSU art building, walking towards the Drawing wing. It was big like a mall and grey, with lots of confusing twists and turns that don't exist there IRL. I was telling someone I was with, either a real person or someone in my head (imagine, someone in my head...inside a dream...whoah, it's like looking in a wall mirror while holding a hand mirror, and you're looking at the hand mirror in your reflection in the wall mirror) that I like dreaming or being in this art building better than the "Other One" (i.e., UW). I see Dave Yust there...he is carrying around some cut-out wood pieces that were similar in form to Henri Matisse's leaves. We didn't say hi or anything; I don't think he recognized me.

Then I get the the end of the line, which is a great big huge drawing room the size of a gymnasium. They have a bunch of my metal leaf on textural acrylic paint paintings on the wall, and each and every one of them has a red mark on them. It's large, like tags or graffiti but it's very cryptic and scribbled. Sort of like when you see cars that are to be parted out in a junkyard. I have about a dozen paintings there, as if there was an exhibit and all the other exhibitors had come to pick theirs up already.

I'm aghast, and don't know what to do. I think I find someone, a professor or someone, and tell them what happened. There's a young woman there who starts taking pictures of each painting with her cellphone, I don't know if it's for evidence or what.

Labels: Art, Dreams

I must have been visiting my parents because I was with my mom, and she was going to a creative writing class she was taking (something she might have done back in the 70s). I went with her to the class--she wanted me to come and meet the people. IRL I would not have come. IRL, she would not have even wanted me to come. I sat in the back of the class. There were only two rows of chairs. She sat in the aisle across from me. She went up to the blackboard to write down "my website" (IRL, I have more than one "website") for the class. She seemed very small as she stood up there. Much to my embarrassment, she kept getting the correct URL wrong. She kept writing it "www.eyebalm.com/silver" or something which would yield a big old 404. Each time she tried to correct it, it was still wrong. She was also trying to introduce who I was. Finally, I just spoke up on behalf of myself and said something like I've been doing graphic design for websites for 12 years, but my mom is confused with the URL, blah blah blah." I forgot how that ended. I think I ended up wandering around in an empty university building, like the dreaded inumanities buillding at the UW.

Somehow I found myself on the southwest corner of University and Midvale, waiting for a bus going south on Midvale to take me home (WRONG WAY!!!) I had gotten there via another bus, but forgot to ask for a transfer, so I was frantically trying to find enough change to pay for a bus trip. Here's the weird part...I had the car with me, and Stan was there too, so I said, "why don't I take you to work, then I can take the car home and you can take a bus home from work?" (so logical...he has nowhere to park a car at work anyway, so why should he get to drive it and leave ME stranded?) So I leave with Stan. It's still winter and we're driving through strange snowy areas on the west side that seem like they're out in the country, even out in the country somewhere on the west side of Fort Collins. He pulls off onto a yellow sandy dirt road that is not too snowy. It's very bumpy and really should be driven with 4WD. We go up a very narrow road that is like The Superstitions in Arizona, but sandy colored, not red. There is some weird canal with a footpath with steps that parallels it. We go on the footpath, but it is a very tight squeeze. There are men going the other way, one is carrying a weird seal/fish hybrid beast he caught. They are hunters and fishermen. The footpath now seems like it is in the interior of a building with windows. I look through the windows and see a gym and exercise equipment. I tell Stan I want to leave and go home.

I don't think I ever got home. Instead I find myself at Bitch's house. I'm talking to her (ex) husband, but then he starts smoking pot and gets in that "duh" uncommunicative, quiet state that serious pot smokers get which makes me hate to be around them. I get really mad because these people invited me over and now they're ignoring me, so I start to go off the deep end, banging on walls and yelling and making a big commotion. Some other guy appears, and he starts saying, "Whoah, what is going on? Stop it or you'll hurt the fish!" They had very large koi fish in aquariums. I didn't want to hurt the fish (just the people, heh), so I stopped banging on walls only on behalf of the fish, but I kept yelling and crying at the people and told them they were rude to invite me over and then ignore me. There were a couple other guys there, and they all agreed not to do that. But then they started right up again, so I start yelling at them again, and IRL I am seething and crying and flailing and I wake myself up and I can't stop until I come out of that half-conscious dream state. It was one of those horrible human interaction dreams where everyone ignores you.

I go back to sleep and have a really retarded dream that I'm watching some dumb 60s sitcom where people burst into song complete with orchestra (which isn't on the set). I was part of it, and they wanted me to do "Cleopatra" and the music from Bizet's "Carmen" is playing in the background. I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing...I didn't feel very spontaneous and couldn't relate to bizarro 60s hybrid musicals that only exist in the subconscious. WTF. it was stupid, but at least it wasn't nightmarish as the paragraph above.

Labels: Dreams

This dream might have been influenced by something that was on the radio this morning. I dreamt I was in a small crowd of people, and there were young white supremacists there. They were getting booed by the crowd, and I yelled at them and told them they were Nazis. The white supremacists started to leave and one guy (tall, short almost shaved head) came up to me and I thought he was going to be violent, but he hugs me and he says "you don't really hate us, do you?" And I said "Yes I do!" and tried to shirk away from his hug.

Later in the dream, or possibly it was a precursors to the Nazi part--I can't recall which, I was amongst a whole bunch of college students. We were all walking toward something in a migration, and I wasn't walking. I was moving by pulling myself along with my hands, as if I had no legs. My hands were getting sore from the concrete. Then I was in a classroom and I felt completely out of place because everyone was so young, less than half my age.

I know there was more, but i can't remember it.

Labels: Dreams

They were talking about The Stupid Economy, Stupid, on the radio this morning, and Bush's silly "stimulus package" (ew, that sounds dirty). I dozed off momentarily into dreamland:

Stan and I were sitting in a ski lift (?WTF?) and we were discussing Bush's silly "stimulus package" (ew again). I was saying how ridiculous it was to give people a one-time $800, and what this country really needs is a long-term economic plan that will help the middle- and underclasses, but not just a one-time handout. Stan said "Well, fine, if you don't want your money, then you can give it to me, I have bills to pay." I thought his response rather odd because, yeah, duh, we both have bills to pay, but it's not a long term solution and I thought it was very shortsighted on his part and just plain odd to be so "Thank you, Uncle George!"

We'll have to wait for Stan's response to this one as his computer is in the shop (loooong story) so that hypothetical $800 would be welcome...but still, a very shortsighted solution nonetheless.

*Yes, Keith Olbermann may have used that term a few nights ago, but I was thinking it weeks before he said it!

Labels: Dreams, Politically Incorrect

I was out riding my bike in Fort Collins (not inconceivable if we go there this spring). I was coming back to my parents' house and they had all this junk in their front yard, old yard equipment, and a coffin-sized hole dug right near the sidewalk. It looked like no one was home and they just left this clutter there, which is very unlike them. I walk in the front door and realize they actually are home, but the first floor is rearranged. It transmogrified into a split level, where the kitchen and dining room are a half a level up. It was hard to explain, but things were switched around and there was a balcony looking down to the living room below. My parents are sitting at a table, and it looks like they're playing Scrabble. My friend Barb is there with them, and she has a totally bored out of her mind look on her face, and she was reading a magazine. She was wearing earplugs that are in the shape of 1970s cartoon daisy flowers. I ask her, "you must be losing," thinking that because of her inattentiveness to the ongoing game. "No, actually she's winning," someone said, so I figured my parents are too easy for opponents. It was almost as if she was babysitting them in my absence, and since I returned I could take over her spot. I started looking around this remodel, and discovered two bedroom, each pretty dark with two small windows (because it would be in the attic and my parents have no attic windows). I told them I love these rooms, but I have never seen them before, and why didn't they open the house up like that when I was living there?

If only that house was interesting...it has the most boring floorplan in the world.

Labels: Dreams

I don't have nautical dreams very much, mainly because I have few opportunities to go on water. In fact, this was the first dream I can ever recall being on a boat. The different times spent on a water vessel can probably be counted on one hand: 1) in 1975 when my parents and I went to Yellowstone and we took a tour boat on Lake Yellowstone; 2) in 1976 when we went to the Wisconsin Dells and we rode on a "Duck" (Wisconsin Dells back then was nothing like the monstrosity theme park it is now); 3) In 1987 when Stan and I went to Seattle and took a Ferry up to one of the islands; 4) 2002 When we went to New England and took a Ferry to Block Island; and 5) 1990-present summers when we take the Merrimac Ferry across Lake Wisconsin. Oh, and I forgot...I guess this makes a polydactyl hand. One late summer in the mid-90s Stan and I took this strange Pontoon ride with a bunch of old people (we didn't know it was going to be so Geri...we just wanted to have fun) on a Sunday morning from Tenney Park down the Yahara across Lake Monona to Olbrich Park. We got off at Olbrich Park and walked home, got the other car and drove back to Tenney to pick up the car we drove there. At that time, we just couldn't bear heading back for more ride on the S.S. Minnow filled with Thurstons and Lovies but no Professors or Mary Annes and Gingers. Anyway, that's my very limited history on water. And here's my dream:

I was in a boat docked near land. It was like a home, and simultaneously as I had this dream, I also had a side dream that my mom and dad had a fight. I was trying to call my mom...it was like she had more independence than she does IRL and had gone off...driven off somewhere (IRL my mom doesn't drive). I was trying to call her...I was worried. I looked out the window of this boat and it was right in front of a 20-30 foot tall ship that was also docked. I could see the captain's window, and there was a woman who was sitting in the captain's chair, but she wasn't a captain, just a guest on board chatting. For some reason I felt safe being next to the ship, like the ship was protecting my boat. But later in the dream I looked out of the window and the ship was gone, and I was alone, maybe 800 feet from the pier. "The Sea was Angry that Day, My Friends. The Weather Started Getting Rough, The Tiny Ship was Tossed." I was getting scared because I did not know how to get back to shore, and I was afraid the boat would capsize and I couldn't swim.

Labels: Dreams

It was like I was in a place that was a cross between LOST, some rural hillsides that could have been *anywhere* hilly/mountainous in a temperate zone (Colorado? Wisconsin? Who knows), in an old downtown/industrial neighborhood in a somewhat small town....sort of like downtown Baraboo. I can't remember too many specifics, but I remember standing around in old buildings where some LOST castaway-types who looked more like extras from some '80s office-girl movie were trying to move a large wall, but having lots of problems. One of them was very tall with dark hair and glasses and wearing fishnet nylons with little socks...very 80s, very misplaced on the set of LOST, however. But I also remember seeing Hurley and possibly other actual LOST types. And I specifically remember John Locke. I was sitting next to him in a vehicle and we were traveling up a hill. He was talking to me like he knew me, like he was a co-worker (I always wanted to work for a box company...). It was not tropical in the slightest. We drove through some strange, large garage with chains. We were plotting something, but I don't know what. I wish I could remember this better.

Mostly, I wish Desmond and Sawyer were there.

Locke?!?

You know, that character is supposed to be around my/Stan's/Barrack Obama's age. No way!

Labels: Dreams, LOST

It's 5 am, I'm half asleep, my nails are long and in the way of my keyboard, but I have to write this silly dream down before I forget it.

First, some background. Stayed up to watch the Iowa caucus speeches on MSNBC...Edwards, Clinton, Obama, Huckabee (along with Chuck Norris's enormous head), not Romney, however, noooo...that comes later. But speaking of Romney, it's my opinion, and maybe mine alone, that he reminds me a little physically of Jack Shephard's father, Christian Shephard, you know, alcoholic father and the corpse in the coffin on doomed flight 815? And you've heard PETA-enraging tales of Romney's Griswoldesque American Family Vacation with the dog in the box on the top of the car? Yes, all these things must have played into the formulation of:

WEIRDEST. DREAM. EVER.

So I'm like in...Ireland or something. WTF. I'm at the country home of some family whose mother has died. She had some young children. She lived next door to her parents who are both still living. Her mother, the kid's grandmother, comes out to talk to people who are with me. We go into the house. The dead mother is displayed in the parlor. They are having a green funeral, probably to be buried in the green hills of Ireland? WroNG! No, this corpse is coming with us, back to Madison, in a van being driven by Mitt Romney! As we're leaving, Mitt or somoene asks, "Doesn't this women have parents who live next door?" but I guess I was the only one who saw them. I didn't say anything, because I figure there's a reason her parents didn't want to be seen by the others.

This whole thing was surreal, like I was halfway participating in the dream, but also halfway watching it on tv. It especially got tv-esque when someone was worrying about the dead woman's toes curling up as she hardens, so someone whips out some booties and demonstrates how to pull a string in the booties which causes the toes to straighten and not curl. Beauty secrets for the dead. WTF.

Anyway, we're driving along highways (probably hwy 151 traveling eastward) in Wisconsin going towards Madison. I think Stan is in the van too, along with me, some orphaned Irish kids, and a corpse wrapped in plastic. We're also hauling a boat behind us. There is no backseat in the van, similar to the way ours is frequently when we've had large paintings to haul. I'm finding it hard not to sit on the corpse due to lack of space and the way Mitt is driving, which is rather erratic. I'm also rather puzzled what we're going to do with the corpse once we get to Madison...it's not like we can have a green funeral in Madison (which is the problem I have with this whole green funeral movement anyway...you really need to land (read: money) to do them, and what about the multitudes of urban poor, or just plain urban without a plot of green to their name unless they have ancestral land in the country (read: family money)...it's just another politically correct trendy fad that is extremely impractical for those who are disenfranchised. Yet I digress. So I ask Mitt The Driver, "we can't bury the body normally in the ground, can we?" To which he responds that we will have to sneakily bury it vertically down a hole. Flashing back to my corpse in an underground gas tank dream from a few weeks ago. I'm bobbing around in the back of the van trying to avoid sitting on the shifting corpse, and Mitt says to watch out for the cop. There was a policeman behind us, so we all try to act like nothng was abnormal.

We're getting close to home, we're on Johnson St. and First St. where Johnson continues to the right and veers off on the left merging onto...Aberg? (I've lived here over 18 years and I'm still confused by the streets). At this fork in the road, Mitt is not paying attention, he's babbling to the passengers in the van and drives up onto the strip of median. Then the van stops. We get out. I wonder why he doesn't just drive back onto the road, but Stan tells me that the power steering must have gone out, which was why he steered into the median and couldn't steer out of it. I wonder how we'll get out of this one...what will we do with the corpse? How can we hide the corpse from the towing company? Should I walk home and get a blanket to cover it? We walk over to a nearby business which is also a car repair place (which doesn't exist in that area IRL), where Mitt is inside talking to people. Stan's hair is very long and very blond. He makes a weird gesture at a young mechanic who seemed like he was making a weird gesture at me. And then I woke up. I assume Stan and I walked home at this point, leaving the problem to Mitt Romney. After all, it was his idea. Heh.

Labels: Dreams, Politically Incorrect, WTF

I wish these dreams would stop. I had another dream where I STILL HADN'T COMPLETED MY GRADUATE DEGREE. Make it stop. I was looking at course schedules and I still had all these courses to take, courses like math and science and things that are actually more like requirements for a Baccalaureate. (Only 3 credits or one course of an "outside" credit, and 6 credits or 2 courses of Art History were required for my MFA at the UW). I was thinking that since I already had completed a good deal of studio time for many semesters in a row that is required, I could ease off and take my required courses gradually. It's odd, because Stan already has his Masters in these dreams, whereas I'm the one waiting to finish up. IRL Stan got his after I got mine (only 3 years later though) and we shared one year together (which was the best year there for both of us). Anyway, there was some announcement on the news that the campus was closed off and not allowing any people on it, but I tried to go anyway because I had to get things done. I was walking toward it, but it morphed more into CSU, and I was approaching it more from the direction as if I was still living on Peterson, trying to cross the Oval. There were barricades and couldn't get to my destination, which was somewhere around the Clark building or Student Center or beyond. I walk further south, near Pitkin (this totally is CSU and not the UW), and am able to maneuver around and head toward my destination. There is snow on the ground and it is cold (which it usually is in these dreams). I also remember being in an art studio and there is a lecherous professor there who is wearing an extremely short diaphanous skirt. He is trying to seduce a male student. The male student says he has to go, and the prof says "great, why don't we continue this discussion at your place?" He was a gross old thing, short, with a big fat body like some failed drag queen in a comedy. I also remember walking around the art building (this was clearly the 6th or 7th floor of the Inhumanities building at the UW, not the more fun CSU art building which also reappears in my dreams as well) trying to get into lockers to get my art supplies. These lockers were full-height, like lockers in Jr or Sr High School, not the stubby lockers for art supplies only that they have in college. I couldn't remember the combination. I hate it when that happens. You go through every possible locker combination you can remember and nothing works, and the only thing that will save you is waking up from the blasted dream.

Labels: Art, Dreams

Damn, this was a disturbing dream!

I was with a dream-partner...I don't know if it was Stan or a female or who (sometimes these dream-companions are very non-descript, and I naturally assume it is Stan because who else would it be, but at times they have female-like attributes as well. Maybe it's my shadow-self.). But we had killed someone, some female, no one I knew, but someone who must have pissed us off somehow. We were going to dispose of the body, and the dream-partner suggested we put the body in one of those tanker trucks that carry gasoline and deliver it to gas stations. Supposedly, in the dream, the hose that deposits the gas is wide enough for a body to slip through. So we got a tanker somehow, put the body, wrapped in plastic, inside of it, delivered it to a gas station, the body slipped through and into the underground tank. Then we left. It was like we were in Fort Collins around the cemetary, and we were heading by foot, running, down Mountain Avenue towards Shields and Beaver's Market, which is where the gas station supposedly was that we deposited the body. (IRL, there is no gas station there) People were going about their business like there was nothing wrong, but I was getting these horrible feelings of guilt, not as much for killing someone but for hiding her body, and no one will ever know what happened to her.

If I can feel so guilty in a dream-state, I wonder how people who actually murder and then try to cover it up feel. I guess they don't.

Labels: Dreams

I was in a condominium or apartment or hotel in some city that wasn't Madison. I think my parents and Stan were there. We were on a non-ground-level floor, probably around the 5th floor or so. We went outside to leave and there was a stone ledge. I saw a black Pug, I think it was Lucifer Sam, on the ledge. My parents and Stan were already outside, and I was surprised to see them let the Pug on the ledge. I went to grab him, but he jumped. I awoke with a start, my heart was pounding.

I hate dreams like that.

Labels: Animals, Dreams

What an absurd dream! Partly based in reality as Stan and I really were laying in bed (imagine...dreaming while in bed) and we both have been sick. I dreamt that Stan's mom got us a gift to use while we were sick, a weird blend of technologies. It looked like a cassette tape recorder from the '70s, but it had to have an internet connection because it connected to podcasts. It also came with some cassette tapes, but they would only work if connected to the podcast they were associated with. Wouldn't be so bad if it was an interesting podcast like "This American Life" (I never seem to be able to catch the radio broadcast) or another NPR show, but, get this, it was a tape of some lame 70s sitcom that was a spinoff of the Mary Tyler Moore show, like "Phyllis." Was that even a show? I know there was "Rhoda", but "Phyllis?" Talk about something I don't ever think about appearing out of nowhere! This cassette device also came with a set of headphones that had to be worn while listening to it. So Stan is lying in bed with headphones on, but I can't listen to it unless I plug in a different set of headphones into an adapter that allow for another connection. I do happen to find a set of headphones laying around, and lay down with him and listen to the dumb show. As it turns out, all it is is a newscast, which is much more interesting than "Phyllis". Then I realize that it's the radio on IRL.

Labels: Dreams

I dreamt I was at a farm or ranch or very large greenhouse. Plato was there and he jumped over a large gate to get to me, even though he could have gone through some holes in the gate/fence. There were some young boys around 7 years old there, and Stan asked them whether they wanted to play with our dog or some other option that to me seemed less desirable than playing with a dog. They chose playing with Plato, so we let them go off on the ranch with him. Then I was walking through a greenhouse-like area, but some of the plants looked more like rocks, or trays of soft pastels layed out in rows. Then it got quite surreal. I was hearing Bill's voice, but I couldn't see him. Then, the greenhouse turned into art studios or the 7th floor gallery at the inhumanities building at the UW, and I had to sign up for a show schedule (another grad school graduation anxiety dream 15 years too late). Later, I saw Stan walking back to the entrance area with Plato, and I guess we went home.

Labels: Dreams

I've been sick for almost a week now with a really bad sore throat. I got it from Stan. He's better now, and it progresses every day (today it's not as sore as it was, but my ears feel like they've been stuffed with cotton), so I know it's nothing serious, just some obnoxious virus.

Each day Caligula hisses less at Apollo, but they're far from snuggle lovers. That might take years. Apollo actually gets along with Plato the best, probably because they're both Alphas and they've worked it out (meaning little kitty bites Plato, Plato puts little kitten in his place). Apollo likes to lovebite Lucifer Sam, but the bites are getting less annoying and Lucifer Sam is tolerating him more.

Watched a really enjoyable show last night on Sundance channel called "Nimrod Nation." The Nimrods is the school mascot for Watersmeet, Michigan. It's a documentary that revolves around the high school basketball team, the Nimrods, but it also shows a lot of the small town life and local characters. The setting is very Fargo-esque, and a good thing to watch on a cold night because it makes you feel glad you're in balmier climes. No really, the best line I've heard from any documentary came from "Nimrods" when a teenage girl is complaining about living in the Upper Peninsula and says "I don't like living in Michigan, it's too cold. I want to move to Wisconsin." Stan and I went through Watersmeet a couple times. We spent the night there once in a grungey little hunters' motel/cabin to see the Paulding lights back in 1997. We refused to stay in the casino, the only other lodging in town. That was mid-September and the weather was nice, and the pond by our cabin was idyllic. But this documentary is shot in winter, not as welcoming.

I have this horrible reocurring dream that is always the same theme: I haven't graduated from either under-grad or graduate school, I haven't scheduled my final show yet, or taken an outside credit, or even figured out which semester I'm going to graduate. I had one of those dreams last night. And at the end I'm always thinking, "maybe I can put off graduating another semester, it doesn't really matter anyway." Ugh. I'm so glad that part of my life is over and completed. I don't know why I keep having these dreams.

Labels: Animals, Art, Dreams, This Boring Life, TV

This weekend was a rollercoaster of emotions. I sold a painting...a large one, which really helps since this past month or two has been dead dead dead for the online sales. The family who bought it saw it at Sundance Cinema a few months ago. Sundance, by the way, called me back for a return showing a few weeks ago since the people/gallery/organization they had scheduled pulled out at the last minute because they thought Sundance's exposure would "dilute" their "image"--ok, whatever...I'm really glad I showed there, not just because it resulted in a sale of a large piece, but just because it's good exposure. At first I thought the people who pulled out were maybe some kind of snooty artschool conceptual theory types, but when I found their gallery online, I was really amazed that they had the nerve to pull out of a classy venue like Sundance. Well, their loss is my gain.

Anyway, I'm digressing. I was feeling a bit melancholy missing Letha and how her magenta rainbows will never embrace our wall again. And then Stan found a new lump on Lucifer Sam. This one is on his back.

The rest of the night I spent puking and endlessly voiding myself. I stayed up all night in a delirium, like a bad drunken reaction or a horrible flu. I simply cannot take another episode of these pet disasters. I hate to play favorites, but Lucifer Sam is my favorite pet. And this happening to him again is too much for me.

I suspect I have a panic disorder. But all the triggers are known, they don't happen out of the blue. Recently, it has been pet health issues, like when I thought the little kitten was horribly ill because he had diarrhea and vomited...all it was was too much running and a change of food. But the lump...a couple months after his other cancer...this is just too much.

I couldn't eat anything yesterday, but towards the middle of the day I had Stan get me some donuts. That was the only thing I had a taste for. Why donuts? Who knows. These situations give me weird cravings, usually for food I normally don't eat. We seldom ever eat donuts. We probably average one donut a year. Except this year sort of blew that average because of yesterday.

We take Lucifer Sam in today to get checked. I am so fearful.

I get these attacks when something is messing with my life, either with pet health issues, or when people mess with me interpersonally. This last one with the Pug was the worst yet. Stan said I looked really weak and pale. I looked up panic disorder online, but it seems those are more spontaneous in occurrence. This is not spontaneous or an unknown trigger. I know exactly what causes it. I'd be just fine if there was no lump on my Pug. I'd have been just fine in the past if people weren't being assholes. I'm not talking run-of-the-mill difficult customers, I'm talking people who have it in for you through no fault of your own, because they're mentally unstable or petty or bullies, or whatever, and they act like 10-year-olds even though they're adults.

Last night I had an embarrassing dream that I was making love to Johnny Depp. His hair was too short, though, pity. I kept wondering in the dream "what does he want with ME?"

Labels: Animals, Art, Dreams, This Boring Life

I was with my parents and Stan (I think). They were trying to find a place to rent--an apartment. They/we drove to a large 3-4 story apartment complex with a whole bunch of playground equipment on the outside of the building, like scaffolding or waterpark equipment. Despite all that hideousness, the apartment building looked very nice from the outside; not so nice on the inside. My parents went into the unit that was for lease, but I was later in coming in, so I had to call out "Mom!" in front of a whole bunch of doors before she responded. I went into the door and it was just awful inside. The walls were mid-century lime green-painted cinder bricks, the windows were up high like basement windows although this was a first-floor unit. Although I didn't go into them, the 3 bedrooms all came off of the long, dark, main room. No hallway, no area of separation, no privacy. I have no idea why, but I was going to live with them (horror of horrors), possibly with Stan there as well. Just give me the razor blades now. Anyway, I wandered around toward the back of the main room and found an open doorway that led directly into another room that was a very nice, classy furniture store/art gallery. There was also an open stairway that led upstairs, but I didn't go there. I walked into the store room and saw that it was a functioning business during business hours. Why it was attached to this apartment was a mystery. There was some art on the wall that resembled my own, some like the way I painted maybe around 20 years ago with abstract figures, and then some others that looked like the way I paint now, except not as beautiful and colorful, and more like the tar paintings in the Wim Winders movie, Million Dollar Hotel (apologies to Stan for using a movie reference in here that he hasn't seen...I watched it one day on IFC or Sundance when he was at work...sorry). I went back into the apartment and saw the realtor agent/landlady there who was or looked like a teacher of mine from high school (creative writing and drama). I asked her if the furniture store/gallery was actually part of this apartment, and she said no. I told her about the paintings and how they resembled mine, and that although I don't like the apartment, I would rent there if this place also showed my art. She thought it was a great idea, and that we should talk to the people there to see if that would be ok. I followed here there and I was expecting her to do the talking because I hate doing stuff like that. But no, she just waited for me to talk (thanks a lot). I explained my situation to a couple of people there, and one woman started shaking her head "no" before I even finished what I was saying. They seemed like pretentious assholes from the UW, a gallery full of shit-painting friends. As I wandered around the place some more, there was a studio area where some of the artists were still working on pieces. Some of the paintings were hung upside down so the paint would form stalagtites (as if that were possible).

Then I got caught up in eating reception food that was quite odd. I commented to Stan that this whole thing was like the movie "After Hours". (In fact, come to think of it, some of the art seemed like the art in that movie, except it was painting, not sculptures) One of the reception foods was a hard-boiled egg that was the size of a mango. I took my egg over to a high table with barstools that was difficult to eat at, especially because sitting next to me was this very heavy-set ruddy-complected bare-armed biker man with tiny orange freckles all over his body. Then my egg, which had paprika sprinkled on it started to resemble the man's freckles. It was gross. I looked over at some plants by a window and there was a cat or something chasing a chameleon around a large tropical. Not an anole, but a true chameleon...with the weird eyes and hands.

The whole dream left me with a pissed-off feeling about the art world and why I hate it. It's no better than Bush administration cronyism.

Labels: Art, Dreams

Just when I said I would't write for a while...

Stan and I were in a very weird Disneyland sort of store or museum. OK, I've never been to Disneyland or Disneyworld* so I have no idea what it is like other than the hideous images I see on TV*. Actually, this was darker and more sinister. It had a very curious display of animatronic animals...puppies, kittens, ducks, bunnies. They were rather realistic except they had no fur or feathers...just a soft rubbery substance that was so soft to the touch it only seemed like fur. They were prompted by people's reactions to them to come up to you and get petted, roll around on the floor, act sweet, but never nip or bite. I was amazed that a robot could react so naturally to environmental prompts, yet puzzled that the exterior remained furless, and that they also looked rather slightly cartoony with exaggeratedly large heads and eyes. I think it would be easier to get the thing to *look* real rather than to program it for real reactions, but what do I know, I'm just an artist and not a geek.

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Instead of sitting on the futon/couch scrunched up with a Pug while I type this, I'm upstairs with Apollo. Last week we decided that since this quarantine is going to be longer than we had anticipated--even though all odds are that he's perfectly fine**, I'm going to have to find a way to actually make my time productive while I'm up here on kitten socialization duty. Yes, I can paint in the blue room, but I can't really watch the kitten well when I paint and I don't always want to paint. Yes, I can work on my desktop computer in the green room, but I would have my back to the main action, and I really don't use that as my main computer anymore anyway since I've gone into laptop mode. So I thought that having a small table up here to keep in the main upstairs room that I could sit at on the floor and work on jewelry or draw would be a good idea. This room is small and filled with plants, an exercise bike, boxes of envelopes (for my business), and art, so there's not room for a "real" table and chairs. I found some short table legs and some wood at Menards and Stan put it together for me. It's perfect. I sit on pillows on the floor, and the table is lightweight and can be moved aside so I can get out from under it. It's very Eastern, like some tea rooms at Asian restaurants, or some Middle Eastern restaurants where you can sit on the floor. I can eat here (I had a ham sandwich last night which I tried to train Apollo not to beg for) and right now I'm using my laptop on it. It's the perfect height. I'm surprised this sort of setup isn't more popular. It is very comfortable, and very non-Western. I'm not much of a chair person, and I hate dangling my legs. Even when I work on my deskop computer, I either put my legs up on my chair or up on a footstool. This way I don't have to. Why is this culture so chair-obsessed and anti-sitting on floors? I think floor sitting keeps one young. When I think about my parents or grandparents, they never sat on the floor. I don't want to be that way.

*Even if my parents had the money to, they never would've taken me to a place like that, which is one of the rare things I can respect about them. And why would I want to go as an adult? I hate artificial entertainment like that. Give me a natural history museum or a national park any day. Las Vegas, Disneyland...blech. You couldn't pay me to go.

**I did know a kitten that had Leukemia...Otto or Otis or something...one of the only Manx I had known. He was a next door neighbor cat--they thought he had been given vaccinations, but maybe he had come pre-infected and the shots didn't help. He got skinnier and skinnier until he died...sad, sad sad, so I don't want to take chances, although Caligula could stand to lose a few pounds if Apollo had it (I'm just kidding of course).

Good news...despite his sassier demeanor as of late, and his ambivalence about his own name, Apollo *does* know what a stern NO! means. If he's trying to get at a plant or some other bad cat thing, and one says "NO!", he'll chortle and run off.

Labels: Animals, Dreams

Some time last week I had a dream that Stan and I were looking for kittens. I think we might have gone to Noah's ark. There were a whole bunch of them, and they were very young. They had a wet quality to their fur, like newborns. I saw a turqoise one and wanted to get that one, but it seemed too young.

The strange thing, is that it was so matter-of-fac t. A turquoise kitten--oh, that's a pretty color, not A TURQUOISE KITTEN?!?!?!?!? WTF?

---

The following night, I again had a dream about a turquoise kitten, this one a little older, maybe 4 months. It was a darker turquoise, maybe a teal. Very pretty. Again, very matter-of-fact, like, "Oh, here's another turquoise cat."

---

Last night I had a very weird dream that I was in an old apartment with very high ceilings---maybe 12 foot high. It seemed more like a old store converted to living space. Supposedly there had been a fire on the top floor where other people lived. They sent in a building inspector or a landlord to look at my unit and ceiling to determine if there was anything wrong. I was worried that my place would catch on fire. They pulled tiles from the ceiling to examine what was up there, and it was a convoluted thick matrix of wiring (The Matrix, Stan!!!), not what one would expect to find inside a ceiling in an old building. The inspector/landlord was talking to me that they would have to do repairs and at that time I'd have to find another place to stay temporarily. I said it was a good place my parents lived in town so I could stay with them, so I guess this place was in Fort Collins. Stan was not in the picture. Weird.

Later, I was at my parents and I had a young cat with me who looked just like Persephone, but had more meat on her. My dad was enjoying this cat. I think I was with Stan in this part of the dream.

Later still, I think I was back at the burned apartment building, standing on the side of it with Stan and talking to some neighbors (late 20s, early 30s) who lived nearby. I showed them an electrical wire that looked like barbed wire and asked them if it was theirs. We discussed the fire. The building was painted similar colors to ours except less subdued and maybe of a mid-value. It was very Victorian-looking and made out of brick.

Labels: Animals, Dreams

Here's a weird dream for you. I might not have had any dream at all or of any significance last night, as has been the case lately, except for these series of events that caused deep sleep and odd dreams.

This is not the dream...this is what happened yesterday. Stan and I went to Pug Play. Not too many people there because it was still so wet/end of summer lethargy/who knows. Lots of weeds growing around the park, too wet to mow, I would guess. Stan picks up a weed to examine its flower structure...such a nerd. Upon plucking evil weed, I see it release a cloud of pollen. Oh, just terrific. I could've strangled him. Shortly thereafter I start experiencing extreme throat itching and then, sneezing. I'm pretty miserable, and I'm not armed with any equipment like facial tissue, after all, I was FINE in the morning. Usually if I have allergies during the day, I pretty much wake up with them at home, not acquire them because some nerdboy picks up a wafting weed in my presence. After we left and I went back home, I downed a Claritin. Claritin does help clear up my allergies quite well, unfortunately, it also leaves a host of side effects...tiredness, jitteriness, dizziness, weakness, depression, spacyness, sleepiness, insomnia. Yes, I know sleepiness and insomnia seem mutually exclusive, but it's true. Just read this consumer review on Claritin-D. I've experienced all those symptoms when taking Clairitin except for severe diarrhea, which, I honestly don't know how someone could have that happen since Claritin dries you out like an Arizona sponge. Claritin is pretty much a last resort measure. If my sneezing is so bad that I can't do anything because I'm constantly holding tissue to nose, then I'll take a Claritin, because if I won't be productive anyway, I might as well not be productive and not sneezing as well. If I'm still able to function with the allergies, I do not take Claritin. It's just not worth it except under extreme symptoms. So, I'm pretty much a vedge...physical and mental...for the rest of the day, unable to go for a bike ride (next time, Stan, don't waft the weed, ok?). I'm pretty much unable to work on much for fear that I'll make some dumb mistake due to my absent mental acuity. Because the inability to sleep from taking Claritin, I fortunately have an old and running out prescription for Lorazepam (before the health care provider switch...hope they'll renew that) which was prescribed for taking with Claritin for exactly that reason. Lorazepam is great...it allows me to sleep. Hard. It even allows me to get back to sleep if I wake up, which I seldom can under normal conditions.

So here's the dream, caused by the somnorific effects of the Lorazepam:

Somehow I was caught up with a bunch of Stan's relatives...cousins and the like, but also with people I used to work with. IRL, I really DID work with someone, back in the old Fort Collins Stinko's days, who married a 2nd cousin (or something like that...) of Stan's. Let's see, Stan and his cousin shared the same...grandparent? Except for her they were great grandparents ('cause her mother would actually be the cousin of Stan? Would that make them second cousins once removed or what? I have no idea, since I have no relatives at all, I never learned that secret code. So she marries this guy I work with and I marry Stan...That's too small town...that's too odd, too close for comfort. It's not that we were all close or anything, we weren't...we were just acquainted. But Fort Collins is like that...everyone knows everyone. That's when I knew it was time to leave. Yet I digress.

I don't really know the plot of this dream, but it was a lighthearted, fun dream. I'm with the husband of Stan's 2nd cousin (as mentioned above), and I'm with a supervisor I had at Depression's...two different co-workers, from two different times in two different states. We're in a car, and another one of Stan's cousins is driving (the cousin who we frequently visit when we go out west). It sort of looks like him, but it also looks like Dick Smothers. Yes, Dick Smothers, I kid you not. When you think about it, though, he has a younger brother who would be Tom Smothers, the dorkier one, and this cousin of Stan's would definitely be Dick, the straight man. The Smothers Brothers? WTF? So we're driving around in a car and the supervisor from Depressions and I are joking and in a jovial way I am putting her in her place for suspecting I was a bad worker or bad seed or something. I don't know if this was in fact true for this person, but it was in the dream. She also looked nothing like she did IRL. In the dream she looked like the wife of of a mob boss. This dream seemed to last a long time, and when I woke up, I was listening to the radio and they announced the name of the guest they had been talking to. Now here's the weird part. The name of the guest was the SAME NAME of the father of Stan's cousin who married the guy I worked with at Stinko's. Sure, it's a common name (like Mike Jones...not Mike Jones, but similarly common), but still. WEIRD. I also know that this could not have influenced my dream because the show hadn't been going on as long as my dream had. My dream had started much sooner than that show.

"A lot o' people don't realize what's really going on. They view life as a bunch o' unconnected incidents 'n things. They don't realize that there's this, like, lattice o' coincidence that lays on top o' everything. Give you an example; show you what I mean: suppose you're thinkin' about a plate o' shrimp. Suddenly someone'll say, like, plate, or shrimp, or plate o' shrimp out of the blue, no explanation. No point in lookin' for one, either. It's all part of a cosmic unconciousness." -Miller in Repo Man

Labels: Dreams, WTF

I was in a house that seemed to have been in a natural disaster like a tornado or hurricane. I didn't recognize this place as anywhere I've lived. I was talking on the phone to some woman, and then someone else comes on the line, and it's Sylvester Stallone. WTF. He says how he likes listening to her program, and then I realize I'm talking on some talk show.

Sylvester Stallone? WTF?!?!?!?!??! Yuck! Dreamwriters and directors, get someone decent in here, will you? What, you say I don't have the budget for Eastwood or DeNiro? Oh yeah, blame it on the producer.

The dream continues...I go outside and there are these large snails/small mollusks that are hopping around in pools outside. I never knew mollusks could hop (they can't). Some of them look like kittens...10 week old brownish-ginger-colored kittens. They're really cute, so I pick one up and go back in the house to show people. It's very hard to handle and seems much more feral than any kitten I've held. It's pawing and biting and trying to get away. I'm trying to keep it away from the other cats in the house. I'm talking to someone--I don't know who it is--but I'm trying to convince them that I don't want to KEEP the kittensnail, I just want to show it to them because it's so unusual that a snail looks like a kitten.

Labels: Animals, Dreams, WTF

What a unique time in history! Starting in September, we will have the first lobotomized president in office! Karl Rove, aka Bush's Brain, is leaving at the end of this month.

I heard this on the news this morning, but I was extremely tired and didn't process it other than to incorporate it into my dreams. I dreamt I was watching Karl Rove, but I didn't know whether it was in person or on TV. He looked different than he did IRL...he was taller, skinnier, extremely disheveled ...he had scraggly wavy long hair tied in a pony tail, sometimes it was dark, other times it was grey, with facial hair. He was wearing a leather vest and jeans. He looked like a stuck-in-the-70s drug addict one would find around the downtown saloons in Fort Collins in the 1980s. He kept moving around, twitching, jerking, like drug addicts often do, not stiff like he was IRL like during his Horrible Hip Hop "MC Rove" performance at a press dinner several months ago.

While I was "watching" this Karl Rove thing, I was also being pawed by some guy while I was in a store looking at beads and jewelry. It was turning me on. I thought maybe I could use him, but then figured it wouldn't be fair to Stan.

Labels: Dreams, Politically Incorrect

I dreamt I was a part of "LOST", except the only character in my dream that was the same as the TV show was Jin, and he was pretty out of character (damn, where's my Desmond dream?). In fact, the island wasn't even part of the dream! How much does that suck to not even dream you're on a tropical island? The Island was in fact an old house, like an old, dark bungalow sort of like my grandmother's was if you didn't open the shades, except it was a lot bigger with a lot of bedrooms, which was good because there were a lot of people there. I was trying to figure out what my role was, not in terms of an acting part, but literally, what should I do to help us survive in the house? I was cleaning up areas, sorting through stuff. I was alone, not with Stan, and knew that I would have to sleep by myself on a small bed and leave the larger beds for those who were couples. I was sitting on some ledge and Jin comes by and starts talking to me, but it's in Korean and I'm having a hard time understanding, but I hear these whispers which are rough translations and it's as if he's talking dirty to me and coming on to me (which is very out of character because in the show, Jin seems very devoted to Sun and has not given any indication he is otherwise). I'm freaking out a bit and go into a room, hoping to be by myself, but it is a bedroom and there are three people there lying in a king-size bed, a woman, man and their young son. I realize the woman is someone I knew from high school, not a friend, just an acquaintance (actually, I have a friend who is friends with this woman's older sister). The woman in the bed recognizes it is me and is saying what a coincidence it is that I'm there and I'm someone she knew from high school. For some odd reason, I don't think it's a coincidence at all--but it should be, right, I mean, what are the odds? Then she's saying how this person and that person from high school are also "on the island," one of whom is named Dawn, but I didn't know a Dawn in high school (although I do on the web--obviously not the same Dawn). I had no idea who these people were that she was talking about.

Labels: Dreams, LOST, TV

I had some sort of road trip dream were Ann and I were driving in our car on some roads of unknown space. At some point on the road there was a large smashed turtle on the road and we had to go around it. It was kind of sad.

Labels: Dreams

I had a dream that I saw a butterfly in our garden with a wingspan of about 16 inches. It looked sort of like a Monarch, but more like a Queen (not found in these parts) in coloration, but the wings structure made it "squarer" as opposed to "rectangular" in dimension...if that makes sense. The color was very reddish-orange-brown-purple. I tried to catch it, and in doing so punctured its fragile wings. I felt like such an idiot for doing that.

Labels: Dreams

I had on a winter coat that I was trying to lace up like a shoe. It wasn't working too well, so I decided to get a new coat. Stan and I went to a mall that is sort of a reoccurring motif in my dreams, and I found a coat that was soft and white (white's not really my style for coats), but it too laced up. I was struggling with this lace thing, so I decided to forget about getting a coat. Then we were walking around outside either our house or some other house, and there were these Coleus plants with humungous leaves, similar to some of the varieties they have now, but the leaves were shaped differently. In this garden area I see my cat, Persephone walking around and throwing up all the time as soon as she eats anything. Stan and I take her and put her in the car. We are driving on a street that is similar to Bluemound in Milwaukee or Midvale in Madison. It wasn't one of those streets, and I don't know what city we were in, but the main feel of the streets were similar. The back windows are open, and we drive over some roadkill. Persephone must've smelled the roadkill, and she jumps out of the window. Instead of stopping for her immediately, we continue driving. There is a third person in the car, but I don't know who it is. We park somewhere, and all three of us start going different directions, except Stan and I are sort of going the same general direction, back to where Persephone jumped out. I see something in the road several blocks away, and figure it was the roadkill we ran over. I see birds and other animals picking at it. As we get closer, I also see Persephone there, but she has changed into our cat who died 6 years ago, Natasha. This Persephone/Natasha cat is going around biting chunks off everything she sees, then throwing it back up. It's quite disgusting. I woke up from that dream with quite a disturbed feeling.

Later, I dream that I am in a department store and accompanying a woman who is maybe in her 50s or 60s and seems disabled somehow. We find an escalator, and the "down" one is blacked out, so we ride the "up" one, but it seems to be going down. She gets on and is several steps ahead of me and she is trembling a lot. I am afraid she is going to fall. I walk toward her to help her, but there are other people in front of me and I can't seem to get to her.

Labels: Dreams

My dreams were like a patchwork quilt last night, a little bit of this, a little of that, with no discernible structure, plotline or composition. IRL In the morning around 7 or so, I was listening to the radio and they were talking about airline travel tips. This must have crept into my dreams because I was able to make out one vague snippet:

Stan and I were in an airport or someplace far away, possibly in Europe (I've never been there). I looked out the windows and everything looked like a black and white print or photocopy of large, old buildings. Nothing was in color. It became late at night and we were hungry, so we walked a long way in the airport to a cafeteria that was still open, but just barely. Instead of a cafeteria line, it was more like a loosely arranged grocery store produce department, where you picked your food from little stands as opposed to a tray line. Nothing looked appetizing to me except for some fried chicken and mashed potatoes and gravy, but I couldn't get to it because this big SUV-driving American male tourist was in my way and wouldn't budge. Finally he left, and I was able to check out the chicken. I also saw some pine cones laid out by the mashed potatoes. I thought it was odd that they were serving pine cones to eat--I don't think these were from piñon pines either.

Labels: Dreams

I was travelling east on I-80 around Grand Island, Nebraska. An old pickup merges onto the interstate in front of us, cutting us off. It seemed like the interstate was more like a country highway (like Highway 34 on the plains of Colorado around "Masters" or "Deerfield") because there was an old decrepit building/former gas station on the corner of wher