Bits of dreams, here and there ...

Okay, this dream ...

I remembered that I had a bird that wasn't properly caged and I didn't want it leaving messes around the apartment/house/home. I tried putting it in one cage, but there was no door and there were other holes it could get through. I found a couple of other cages, but they also weren't secure. I think I finally found one that would work, but I would have to fashion a door, and by this time the bird had escaped where it was and I would have to find it in order to cage it.

This weekend, fries are su pposed to be free at Burger King. In my dream I went through the drive-thru at BK and ordered a hamburger or Whopper and fries. But to pay, I had to go inside. While I was waiting, I remembered I had given Cayla all my cash, and I was trying to figure out a way to pay. The cashier took a long time to come to the window, which was secure like at a currency exchange (we had them in Chicago). The cashier started talking about my health issues and said stuff about diabetes and other things (none of which is diagnosed since I haven't been to a doctor in ages). I got angry and said I wanted to pay for my meal but had to explain about giving Cayla my cash and offered to write a check. The manager said they would only take a check written from my savings account, so I threw the bag of food (which had to be cold by this time) on the floor by the door to where the cashier was and left.

There was a quest and a guy came back from it (he came from "there" to "here"). He was famous somewhere for being in a band. But he was unhappy "here" (wherever "here" was in the dream). He was washing dishes for a job and feeling like coming "here" was a mistake. I said, "you hate your job and want to quit. Write a song about hating your job and wanting to quit. Your fans feel the same way. They'll love it." He looked excited. Then I said, "unless it backfires." (Because his fans expect songs about great things like slaying dragons.)

I was in the parking lot at church and Cayla had been driving the van. There were kids running through the parking lot as though it was a playground and I was worried about that as a driving hazard. (In real life, I always check behind my van for small children when we leave church. Seriously.) I noticed something sticking out of the place where the gas cap is supposed to be, but when I told Cayla to wait, she drove off. But I was in the back of the van now and getting angry because she drove off like that. When she stopped and I could get out, I started yelling at her. There was also a moment where I could see her from the outside of the van driving through people's yard. Then I started yelling at her because it wasn't even our van she was driving, and we had to get this one back to church so the real owners could have it and we could have ours. Some of the reasons I could tell it wasn't our van (besides a back seat that faced the back window): pointy roof, wrong license plate number and not enough rust.

So, that's my dream for today. The sequences sort of connected to each other. The last two were a little interconnected. There was more to the last one, like Cayla wanting to wear a dress that was a little too big and trying to use a large safety pin to make it fit, and I tried to have her use the pin where it couldn't be seen. And I think someone brought a miniature donkey to church for those kids playing in the parking lot. There was also some more about driving through a campground and in a Walmart and then riding scooters or something.

No, I'm not on drugs. I just have really, really weird dreams ...

Into dreamland

This is not a work of fiction, per se. It is a fragment of a dream.

I often have what I call vivid dreams. These dreams are as emotionally charged as watching a movie, and I usually don't wake up rested after them.

Some are bizarre, which is what I also call them, when trying to explain to people why I look like I've been up all night, even though I got eight (or more) hours of sleep.

The one I just woke up from:

I'm in my kitchen, yelling at a passel of small children to get away from the sink. My scream scares them, and they run. But it's not the sink I want them to get away from, it's the stove. Where the pan I put on to boil water has been on a lit burner since before I took my nap.

I throw a dish towel over the pan and it bursts into flames. I grab at it and drop the pan on the counter (where in real life I promised in a signed lease that I would never place a hot pan - and this thought bothers me in the dream), where it leaves a scorched mark (I can actually see daylight underneath the flaked-off remnants, which is truly bizarre), while I try to deal with the flaming dish towel.

I get all of this under control - hot pan, fiery dish towel, and the next thing I know, I see in the trash my think bamboo cutting board (which I don't have in real life) and a bunch of my pretty, all-different-colors knives (which I do truly own). I don't know why they are in the trash, but I pick them out and start washing them all by hand.

And that, kiddies, is where I woke up.  There was more before that, but I can't make sense of it to write it down.

I've been wanting to write, and am part of a couple of writing sites and a closed forum, but yet can't get the fiction to come forth.

I have plenty of ideas, sometimes. I will see something and it makes me think, that should be a story. But I have a hard time getting started, even with prompts like the ones in the stories on this blog.

So I'm going to start putting my dreams down - as much as I can remember and is appropriate. Because there may be things in my dreams I don't wish to share for one reason or another.

I will try to remember to have the word "dream" in the title, to distinguish it from something that I make up with my waking mind.