Monday, November 21, 2011

Weird Dreams

     I don't like to talk about dreams too much.  I understand they're just mixed up pieces of subconscious.  They may or may not have meaning; I haven't made a firm decision on that.  I remember a discussion I had with a film school professor--I used to just call her "my C-Word Adviser"--about how dreams didn't mean anything.  She had a high horse about how annoying it is when friends talk about dreams.  I understand being annoyed at dreams when they appear in movies and TV shows as a device intended to deceive, but when your friends are telling you about them, have a heart.  She probably didn't have any friends.  I'm probably not the only one who called her C-word.  (I imagine her other nicknames were "my c-word friend," "my c-word neighbor," "my c-word mother," and "my c-word bitch of an ex-wife.")
     I woke up this morning very disturbed by the dream I woke up from.  And I had actually woken up from the dream--I could feel it fading away because of noises in the apartment pulling me out of this weird deep sleep I had fallen into.  The dream was vivid and specific and real.  By real, I mean I recognized my dream self doing things I do in real life.  Late in the dream my sister was singing along with a song that was being played at the concert we were at.  I turned to her and asked "who sings this song.?"  This is a classic Nancy move that I picked up from our father, and dream-sister knew it.  He used to do this all the time to get us to stop singing along.  It's Melchert family rhetoric that we're all familiar with.
     When I finally did get up, I couldn't stop singing that song.  And the really crazy part about that--it's not a real song.  It was a song that my subconscious apparently made up.  Also, it was not a good song; it was very uninspiring and full of synthesizers. 
     I was shaken for the first hour after getting out of bed.  I made coffee and and the images of babies, blood, county concerts, sailors, and drunk driving kept going around my head.
      Earlier, I had a dream about working in oil fields, or something.  I knew where that came from--NPR was on the radio.  I manifested what they were saying; their words mixed in with the images of my subconscious.  The images were just as real, vivid, and specific, but they didn't bother me nearly as much as the weird graphic concert I was attending with my mother and my sister.  And I guess it's because I was more bothered by the fact that the drunk-driving babies and blood buckets are somewhere in my subconscious. 
     Drunk-driving babies and blood buckets being trapped in your subconscious are things that are good to talk with friends about.  That's why friends talk to you about dreams.  At the same time, I know there are some people who talk about their dreams too much.  I try really really hard not to do that.  I'm just saying that sometimes, when a friend says "I had a dream with you in it," or "I had a dream where I married a squirrel and then our squirrel children ate my face," don't be a c-word about it.  Just listen, nod, and say "interesting.  I'm sure it doesn't mean you're weird."  

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