Tag Archives: Dad

Stephen Colbert Dream

I don’t know about other people, but when I dream, the people in my dreams that I know or have met IRL, including myself, are usually younger than they currently are. For example, I had a dream the other night (which I wasn’t able to write down at the time) where my dad looked like he did maybe in his 50s or 60s. He was going into some high class gambling hall and gambling behind my mom’s back. I guess that would be my anti-dad, except it looked just like him. That dream also included some guy with a moustache who was a friend of my dad’s who claimed he had a brother, but it might have just been his dual identity. I don’t know who that guy was at all.
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The Carborundum

A couple years ago, Bill was helping my mom clean out the basement. I am fortunate to know a chemist, as I would have no idea what to do with all the stuff my dad had collected and stored away for all these years. I told Bill to keep a lookout for a piece of carborundum that my dad had. Carborundum is a man-made “mineral” that has industrial uses but also is collected by those of us who appreciate its aesthetic qualities. My dad had given me a very small piece of carborundum a long time ago…about the size of a thumbnail. In true father form, he never gave me the large piece which was a couple inches or so across, although it’s not as if he kept it out on display, or brought it out to enjoy once in a while. Just like with the carnival glass–stored away in the basement, hidden from view, while his daughter could be enjoying it, he was keeping it just because. Just because it was his, and he and generosity were strangers, except when it came to strangers–strangers in the name of the Catholic Church Charities–then he was generous.
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Dream about Buildings and Church

I dreamt for some reason, who knows why, I had to go to the church my dad used to go to. Maybe I had to go to it to deliver something [but what? why?]…it certainly wasn’t because I wanted to “go to church.” In the dream, my dad was still able to go to church, and I didn’t want to enter it at the time he’d be there and have him see me there because I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. I was driving with Stan, and I told him to go around the block a few times and wait until the church got out before I went in it. As we drove up Mountain Ave., it seemed more like University Ave. in Madison around Bascom hill. A few years ago a whole bunch of buildings were torn down on the north side of the street at the base of the hill to do some rebuilding/remodelling on campus, and that’s what Mountain Ave. in The Fort looked like in this dream. I guess that would include the Avery House and all the creepy church related houses to the east of it. A loss for architecture, but not so much for the other things.

I didn’t have that sense that “hey, I don’t have to go do this, I can leave” as I always do during nightmares when I’m in a church. That’s why I don’t think this had anything to do with churchness, but rather something else, like delivering something, or maybe it was a neighborhood meeting (that they sometimes have in churches), or a poling place or something unrelated.

Bad Dreams

I wish I would’ve written this dream down sooner as I would have been able to remember more of it earlier today. All I know is I woke up crying. I dreamt that Stan and I were driving around Fort Collins and going to the nursing home where my dad is, except my dad was a combination of two male coworkers that Stan works/ed with, one of whom reminded of Stan of my dad, and one of whom reminds Stan of a Faux News Giant Talking Head as KO would say. But this person was shorter and thinner and younger, like in his 50s. He had dark hair. Sometimes dreams are so strange that the situations simply can’t be explained. But I was in this giant pen, like a combination of boxing ring and a very large walker with big padding on the side. My grandmother was in the “ring” with me and arguing with me. She was taller than me…it was like she was 5’9″ or something…over a foot taller than I remember her in her old age. She reminded me of someone, but I can’t remember who…and it wasn’t my grandmother. Someone from school? college? My dad was mad at me too. Then I start to cry and explain my position (I can’t remember what they were mad at me about or what we were arguing about) and gradually my “dad”–or the weird little dark haired guy who didn’t look at all like my dad–starts to come around to my way of thinking, and he pats me on the back.

I have no idea what this dream was about, but I wake up crying.

I went back to sleep and had a very surreal dream about some ugly hippie guy walking around with a very odd erection. I had no idea who he was, or what the dream was about.

I wish I could remember more

Remembered Dreams

I’ve been too busy to write down my dreams lately, but here’s a few excerpts from what I remember over the past week or so.

Stan and I were driving to a large city at night…either Denver or Milwaukee. It was snowing hard and we were exiting off an interstate ramp. We were both in the backseat and Stan was driving from there. The hood of the car was high and with the combination of the night and snow, I couldn’t see where we were going. It was frightening. I think we ended up in some public building…can’t remember the rest. But I think the same night/different dream I dreamt I was driving/biking/walking up a hill near Midvale and traffic kept coming downhill towards me in my lane. I kept dodging cars, but then a yellow school bus came down towards me in my lane, and I had no choice except to turn off into a side street to avoid it. Unfortunately, the bus decided to turn onto that side street as well. I kept trying to dodge it, but it became inevitable that the bus would hit me, and there was no where else to turn because the sidestreet was a bridge. I lay down on the ground, knowing that I will get run over. The bus runs me over, but I don’t feel anything. I’m quite surprised it didn’t hurt. Then I woke up.

Last night I dreamt I was talking to my dad (in person) and he was small and shrunken…like Benjamin Button. He was shorter than me! But he was walking,