I dreamed that I was back in college, and my roommate was Prince Charles. At one point we were dining with his folks, and we informed them that we were more than just friends. The Queen and Philip started planning our wedding.
I told my husband about this dream, and he pointed out that at college age, Charles was kinda hot.
The bizarre dream that bothered me most, I had long ago.
Somehow, I found myself in the OR, performing major facial reconstructive surgery on a female patient. Unfortunately, I had no training in plastic or reconstructive surgery. Worse still, I was drunk.
The OR suite was dimly lit with lights flickering. The scrub and circulating nurses left and didn’t return. The patient was under general anesthesia and the anesthesiologist spoke a language I didn’t understand. He just stared at me, shaking his head.
I checked the name on the chart and was horrified to realize I was operating on a neighborhood girl I had a crush on as a teenager.
Her face was completely disassembled, with bits and pieces spread all over the mayo stand. Skin flaps gaped down to bone. Cauterized blood vessels popped open and oozed profusely all over the field. I opened a saline jar labeled “nose” and there was a pig snout in it.
I didn’t recall doing any of this, but I knew I had to get her face put back together the best I could. I tried sobering up, to no avail.
I was doing a fine job with the deep and running subcuticular sutures (type plastic closure), but the bits and pieces of face were like mis-matched jigsaw puzzle pieces that just weren’t lining up correctly. I was in sheer panic, realizing I was unintentionally turning this once beautiful woman into a monster.
Then I woke up…in a cold sweat and bounding pulse.
I was in some sort of post-apocalyptic situation, atop a house and picking off approaching invaders after my stuff. Ended up shooting one point blank but my dreams won’t let me be violent at short range so the guy ended up looking something like this. So I wrapped him with the chain of a flail and pulled, causing him to spin off like a top.
Turned out the guy had a couple of young kids with him, who I took in. Then some of their relatives showed up but decided to not give me any trouble after seeing all the bodies. The kids, who were now armed, decided they’d prefer to stay with me despite my suggestions that they go off with their kin.
That’s when I woke up.
Yikes!
Couple nights ago, dreamed I checked a new book out of the library. A modern novel about hardships of economic life in suburbis. Title was “The Prophet of Thebes”, meant to be a play on the words “profit of thieves”. Next day I googled it to see if this was an one of those obscure expressions of yore. Nope. The only hits were to people who were stumped by a crossword definition “prophet of Thebes”. And, of course, the mythological Tiresias, whom I’m quite sure I’ve never heard of, even subliminally.
I remember a fragment of a recent dream. Neil deGrasse Tyson was walking towards me, smoking a cigarette, and I was all pissed off at him for smoking. I have no idea if he smokes, I never met the man, and I have no idea why that scenario would pop into my head.
My sleeping brain is a puzzle.
I had a dream last night that I was in a meeting with a bunch of colleagues. That’s it. We were looking at copies of a spreadsheet and talking about it. I haven’t been in a physical meeting in a year.
A crossover episode between Snowpiercer and Kim’s Convivence; all I remember clearly was that Kimchee was a brakeman.
I was told long ago by a friend that this is very common and probably due to the fact that the brain switches off motor responses during sleep. Which is a good thing, otherwise we would move a lot during sleep. When this system does not work correctly people become sleepwalkers, that can be anything between interesting and dangerous. But as the brain imagines some action and at the same time registers that the movement is not happening, it tends to process this discrepancy as a difficulty in executing some usually straight forward task.
I knew somebody who regularly claimed not to be able to move at all shortly after waking up, but she could already talk. She told me this was the opposite of sleepwalking: her motor centers were waking up slower than her consciousness. After a couple of minutes everything was normal, but she was quite frightened the first time it happened, she said.
I believed her, but never bothered to verify with additional sources.
My sleeping brain has come up with a workaround for this phenomenon: don’t look at whatever task is to be achieved and it will get done. Like playing a guitar: as long as I don’t look at my hands in the dream, I can play perfectly.
Sounds good, if I only knew how to remember this in my next dream!
I was in a tavern, your bog-standard place where adventuring groups are formed. This particular tavern was in a subtropical area – lush, hot, humid. Back in one dark corner of the tavern stood some thieves who had been working the area; evidently they were having a quarrel with one of their own.
You know Yondu and his arrow from the movies? I had this metal butterfly thing with razor sharp wings. I kept my distance while the butterfly slit most of the thieves’ throats; one didn’t die right away so the butterfly knocked him out. I then walked up to the remaining thief, a woman with a snake familiar around her shoulders.
“You were spared for a reason,” says I. Seeing the snake about to strike me, I grabbed its head. “You were spared for a reason. How would you like to work in a more hospitable climate?” The thief agreed to this. “Let’s go meet some of my friends.”
Woke up.
I’ve had three dreams recently in which I was dating Mayim Bialik. Although in the dream I had last night I found out she wasn’t actually Mayim Bialik; she was a robot like the ones in Westworld. Apparently in the dream I’d said something that made her feel insecure about her body, so she went off and had her consciousness transferred into a completely different robot, like Dolores in season 3 of Westworld.
A couple of days ago I had a dream that a momma bear and her cub were living behind the wall of my closet. In my dream I caught them coming out and raiding my kitchen cabinets of assorted foodstuffs. I went to report the incident to the apartment manager but she was nowhere to be found, and I made the dream-logic assumption that she had been eaten by the bears.
I mentioned this one in another thread recently. I was riding in a car on a country road. Suddenly, a group of Prohibition era gangsters appeared and started shooting at the car (I don’t remember who was driving. The bullets made neat holes in the windshield, and I looked down and saw that I had similar holes in my arm and torso. There was no blood, but I figured I was probably going to die. I woke up freezing, but went back to sleep after getting completely under the covers and snuggling close to my wife.
This morning. I was in a night car chase and the pursuers turned into dozens of tiny toys, matchbox car size, so I decided it was a good time to get some sleep. They followed me into my bedroom and spread out around and under the bed. When I woke up I found the lead car and stuck it in a tight place between the blanket and the wall, figuring that it would buy me enough time to pack clothes and get into the car again. I went to the closet and then turned around and saw the rest of the mini cars streaming over the covers and out the door. I looked out the window and saw them getting under the hood of my car to sabotage it so I decided to buy bus tickets. Then I heard a scream and thought “Oh no they got the girl, how do I save her?” Thank goodness, then I woke up.
I was going to take a shower with an old boss of mine, and a woman he went to college with. We all got naked, but that’s as far as it went. I think I woke up to pee.
In last night’s dream I was being stalked by Fred Armisen and Carrie Brownstein…but not the nice, funny, offbeat Portlandia Fred and Carrie. They were very creepy and would pop up out of nowhere no matter where I went to escape them. I was still fleeing them when I woke up.
