I lead a fairly stress free life, but my dreams are filled with anxiety. In my dreams I am usually lost, late for something, or both. Normally, I don’t remember much of my dreams, but lately, I have been having more vivid and more memorable dreams. I think there are two reasons for this. Number one is that I ran out of pot, and my sleeping self is probably trying to make up for the hallucinations it is missing. Number two is that I have been going to sleep listening to audio books, and pieces of the book are appearing in my dreams.
Last week I listened to Dead Heat by Dick Francis. The protagonist, an award winning chef, investigates a bombing at a racetrack outside London where he has catered a gala event. Following clues, he flies to America, rents a car, and goes off to a polo club to question employees of his main suspect. He gets attacked by a polo mallet wielding madman. His arm is broken and he makes a mad dash to get away. He gets to his rental car, but has trouble starting it because his right arm is broken. The mallet wielding madman smashes most of the windows in the car before Chef Max finally makes his escape.
In my dream I am driving a car to work. On my way I pick up five people to give them a lift. They are the comedians Danny DeVito and Brian Posehn, my friend Tilda, and two others who I don’t remember. They have to stop at various places and I am running late. Danny DeVito wants me to stop at his aunt’s house, and I complain that doing so will make me late for work. We go there anyway. The aunt is not home, but Danny has a key. Tilda goes in with him. Tilda is a seamstress, a costume designer, and a perennial do-gooder. She comes out and tells me that the aunt’s curtains are in need of repair, and she wants to fix them. I tell her that I cannot wait. I’m supposed to be at work at 8 o’clock and it is already 8:30. I go to start the car and it won’t start. Why won’t the car start? What am I doing driving, anyway? The last time I drove a car was back when Jimmy Carter was the President. What am I doing going to work? The last time I had a full-time job was when George W. Bush was President. What am I doing with Danny DeVito and Brian Posehn? This can’t be happening. It’s not. I wake up.
The next night before bed I watched a rerun of Two and a Half Men and Allan has to babysit for his ex-wife Judith. In my dream I wind up babysitting for a cousin. I’m doing a good job and the baby in my arms is asleep, but I start wondering. Why am I babysitting? Nobody ever asks me to babysit. I’ve done some dogsitting in my day, but never babysitting. Whose baby is this, anyway? I’m 67 years old. All my cousins are way past their childbearing years. This can’t be happening. It’s not. I wake up with my pillow cradled in my arms.
The next night I read a Tony Hillerman novel about his Navajo policemen, Jim Chee and Joe Leaphorn. It takes place in New Mexico. I fully expected my dreams that night to take me to New Mexico, but I guess the written word is not as powerful to my subconscious as the spoken word. I wound up back in England, and I was packing for a flight from Heathrow. The phone rang and it was Brother X. We talked for a minute, but I couldn’t pack with one hand and hold the phone with the other. I told him that I had to catch a flight, was running late, and that I would call him from Heathrow.
As soon as I put down the phone, it rang again. It was Tilda. She told me that the curtains for Danny DeVito’s aunt were finished. I told her I couldn’t talk because I had to catch a flight and I was running late. “What time is your flight?” she asked. I didn’t know. How could I not know what time my flight was leaving? This wasn’t happening. I was dreaming, and I knew it, but I didn’t wake up. I went on dreaming, but I stopped packing, stopped worrying about the flight, and decided to enjoy my dream. I went out to see the sites of London. I went to a fancy restaurant and had a superb dinner with a table full of people, whose names I can’t recall. We split the bill and my share was only $22. So I left $30 to cover the meal and gratuity. Why was a London restaurant charging dollars instead of Euros or Pounds? This can’t be happening. It wasn’t. I woke up.
Now, I’m going to go to the library to check out another audio book, and I’m going to make sure it takes place somewhere I would like to go to in my dreams. Either that or I’m going to pick up some more pot.
Peace & Love, and all of the above,