JERRY: (Trying to read the note) What have I done? I can’t read this! Ful-hel-mo-nen-ter-val? I got up last night, I wrote this down, I thought I had this great bit.
(Tries to focus on the paper) Wait a second, wait a second… “Fax me some halibut.” Is that funny? Is that a joke?
…
(The TV is showing the same exact movie Jerry was watching at the start of the show)
TV VOICE: (Germanic) It’s just as you prophesied. The planets of our solar system, incinerating. Like flaming globes, Sigmond. Like flaming globes. Ah, ha, ha, ha…
JERRY: (Pulls the note out of his pocket) That’s it! That’s it! Flaming globes of Sigmond! Flaming Globes of Sigmond! That’s my note! That’s what I thought was so funny?! …That’s not funny… There’s nothing funny about that.
/obligatory Seinfeld reference
I woke up one morning thinking that I had been hired to work at Target and I was to be there that morning. The dream was so real that I was thoroughly convinced that I had applied to work there. In real life, I’ve never filled out an application for working at Target or ever even considered employment there.
Just this morning this is the dream I was having right before the alarm went off.
I was “Juniper” the worlds greatest super hero. I was being chased by a giant werewolf. He wanted to catch me not to hurt me but so that he could mark his territory.
I woke up thinking, “That’s about the dumbest dream I’ve ever had, but if I made the werewolf an actual villian that might be a good comic book. Though what super power would “Juniper” have? I guess he could make junipers grow instantaneously. Nah that’s just dumb.”
There was the one where I woke myself up because I was laughing out loud. I can still remember that dream. I was on the stairs leading from the terrace of a stately home down to the grassy area below and cheerfully lobbing cannonballs over where they sank right through. My friend shouted to me “Stop! You’ll put holes in the lawn!” at which point I burst out laughing. It’s clearly a phrase that hits the laughter bit of my brain cos it makes me smile every time I think about it.
Then there was the time I woke up and was trying to pack my bag for a class. I searched my flat upside down for about ten minutes before I realised that I don’t actually own a navy blue backpack and that I’d just dreamt about it. Although oddly enough, one of my lecturers gave me a bag later that day (but it wasn’t navy or a backpack).
Well, yeah. This whole morning, from about I’d say 1 a.m. to 6:50 a.m., when I finally got out of bed, involved a “dream hangover”. In fact, that silly 60s song I Had Too Much To Dream Last Night totally applied. Not just a weird thought, but a weird mood, brought on by extremely vivid, disturbing, distinct, and alas, very much lucid, dreams during the early part of my night time last night. I remember not the specifics of the dreams, alas, but their intensity, and the attempts to rouse myself from them without success. So I was lucid dreaming (well aware I was dreaming) but unable to break sleep paralysis to the extent of making enough noise for my husband to jostle me, as he will thankfully do if I’m in the midst of a nightmare. Alas, I know I wasn’t able to swim up from the depths enough to achieve wakefulness, and yet, I was dreaming and aware at the same time, and haven’t had such vivid dreams in a long time.
I had a dream once that set off a six-month depression. I still remember it fairly vividly…for some reason I was in England (or some variation Dream-England) and had to take the train to work in the morning from a little village right out of a Miss Marple book, except that the village industry was dog food, and they butchered the cows right out in the fields. The tracks went through the fields for some reason, and everyone on the train could hear a Doppler whine getting louder and louder. Suddenly, the train was jolted and stopped instantly, as the nose-spar of a fighter jet smashed partway down into the car.
I can still remember the thought process that went through my dream head…the likely result of that sudden stop on the pilot being predominant. I kept imagining images of, basically, the piles of butchered beef out in the fields, inside a flightsuit. And then the blood started to drip down the spar that was sticking through the roof of the car.
There was a long argument among the commuters in the car about the wisdom of getting out and walking back to our homes, since the train hadn’t gotten very far out of the village before the accident happened, but the thought of knowing what had happened to the pilot and having to walk past all the bloody piles of meat out in the fields to get home made us all very ill.
There was just such a profound inevitability, a feeling of entrapment, to that dream. It kicked off a depression that lasted six months and ended with me failing all my classes and leaving the university. The memory of that dream still disturbs me, though the initial effect has faded to the point where I can think of it (and recount it) without triggering anything.
THat phrase has stayed with me since I read it- I keep imaginging who the 10 were and who were the three, especially the three. Were they part of the ten? A sacraficial three to stop something horrible from happening? Volunteers to die for something?
I read it to my husband and he was similarily affected.
Your kind words have encouraged me to think about writing that book again! If it rings true for others as it has for me, perhaps it will be the start of something.
A few days ago I apparently sat up, looked at my roommate and said, “I want some computer pie!” Then I went back to sleep. I have no idea what computer pie is but I assume it would be delicious if I wanted it bad enough to sit up and tell her about it.
I’m afraid I have this disorder too— and even worse, my dreams just before waking often involve me actually performing the song, surprised to discover that I sound exactly like Barry Manilow/Rupert Holmes/whoever that guy from Bread is/et cetera, a talent I had somehow completely overlooked prior to that very moment.
I have dreams all the time now where they lay out perfectly like a story I’m going to write. There’s almost no dream-like occurrences where something changes into something else or I’m here then I’m there. They flow linearly. I remember them perfectly when I wake up and write them down and develop them later.
I dream all the time that I’ve found a huge sum of money. I’m talking hundreds of thousands, if not millions of dollars. It’s scattered on the ground and I start to pick it up. Nobody else is around.
It almost always turns out to be , except for a few bills, all in coins – and the dissapointment always wakes me up.
When I quit smoking marijuana back in '97, I had really strange, quite vivid dreams for a while. One I had, for some reason, I was trapped in this really deep, rectangular depression (like an expanded football field without the markings). There were gorillas in there and I was afraid. Right before I woke up, one looked deep into my eyes, we “understood” each other and I was afraid anymore.
When I opened my eyes, for a while, I thought I was *that *gorilla.
I quit smoking cigarettes in '91 and haven’t smoked one since. I’ve had dreams where for some reason I smoke in the dream. I’ve woken up and, being convinced I actually smoked, am angry at myself for a moment.
Ya’ll are lucky to remember your dreams so vividly. I rarely remember my dreams. When I do, it’s usually a disjointed string of weird stuff so there’s no pleasure or pain there. When I do remember my dreams, I’m thrilled.
Yep. I had these too. Had them when I quit drinking, and again when I quit smoking. They scare the daylights out of you. I remember waking from one once and begging my husband to forgive me for getting drunk again. He had no idea what I was talking about and it wasn’t until he told me I’d been with him that entire night that I realized it was just a dream! It felt so dang real.
