I’m sure I’m not the only person plagued by a nightmare that upon daylight reflection is baffling as to why it’s scary. Yet it is, somehow.
This is a reoccuring dream, and I’m confused as to why I wake up from it so unhappy… There’s a village/small town at the top of a steep steep hill. You know the hill the Grinch lives on? Like that, but with a big enough summit for a few hundred people to live there. I never see much of the houses, but the downtown area is typical of most downtowns in New England. If you’ve been to Amesbury, Haverhill, Portsmouth, or Portland, you should be able to get the gist of what it looks like - lots of small brick buildings crowded together. It’s perfectly ordinary, other than a few odd statues (the one I noticed last night seemed to be The White Rabbit from Alice In Wonderland) and the fact that it’s on that hill. I drive up there willingly enough, and drive around town for a while, becoming increasingly anxious about driving back down. It’s too steep. In the end, I’m never able to make myself drive back down on the direct downward path, but end up getting lost for a long while trying to get down another, indirect meandering way.
That sounds terrifying, doesn’t it? :rolleyes: Yet I woke up this morning with a bruised wrist, just like I do after many nightmares, because I somehow get ahold of the wrist in my sleep and squeeze with the other hand it when I’m scared.
For awhile (from about 20 to 5 years ago) I would very commonly dream of what I called the “Boremare” universe, a place which was terrifying in its complete lack of anything significant existing or happening within it. It was a simulacra of this universe with a few very odd/inexplicable differences (as in the center of the country being a huge lake crisscrossed by numerous causeways and isthmuses). I would typically wander around in my car, hopelessly lost with no possible destination in mind at all, and nothing interesting would ever happen to me. I’d just drive along drinking in the scenery, rarely interacting with anybody (it was very sparsely populated). Having a monster jump out and try to eat my face would most certainly be welcomed, as it would definitely liven up the proceedings a bit. I recall on several occasions going semi-lucid, and screaming like a lunatic at the paper-thin sky that it open up and reveal its ultimate nature to me, but it never did.
Since then it’s kind of changed into something a bit more interesting (or rather my perception of it has changed for the better)-still “off” (like there being about 50 more miles of dry land to the east of me (eastern Florida)), with an aura of undecipherable otherness, while still being more or less mundane and static. I still dream of it maybe 2-4 times a week. I doubt I will ever divine its secret(s), as its fundamental inscrutability is likely its whole raison de etre in the first place.
I’m in the tee box.
I tee up.
I notice I can’t complete my backswing because something is blocking me. (Tree, wall, post, whatever.)
I move to a new location.
Same thing.
I try again, and although my backswing may be clear, I have no direct path to the hole.
People with me are becoming more and more frustrated as I fumble around trying to find a spot for my ball.
I become more and more frustrated when it appears I will never be able to tee off.
Usually I find some sort of compromising stance and hit the bleeding ball about 100 yards.
Then it begins again.
A second “nightmare” that has frequently recurred with me is one where I’m trying to dial a phone number, but keep pressing a wrong digit. Ah, crap. Start again, and still key in a wrong digit. Over, and over, and over I try to dial the number but at the last second … keep pressing a wrong digit and have to start all over again. And yes, people are staring over my shoulder waiting for me to dial THE DAMNED NUMBER ALREADY!
(Yes, I too see similarities in these “nightmares.”)