As this is the third nightmare I've had (and remembered) about a rampaging elephant, I'm going to go ahead and call it a recurring theme.
In this dream, a mama elephant was stampeding through the neighborhood in Romeo where I grew up. She was looking for her lost babies, of which there were 4 or 5, all abnormally teeny for elephant babies. Mama was huge, probably an African Elephant due to her size, but even then on the large side. As in previous nightmares, I could feel the ground rumble at her approach before I heard her.
I was scrambling through the neighborhood looking for a subterranean nook in which to burrow so that I might avoid being flattened. I had determined that my parents' basement was not underground enough and was moving across Sisson in the direction of Croswell.
I ended up at my childhood friend Anna's house, trying to prepare their basement for the stampede with her mom. I kept changing my mind about where would be the safest place in their basement for me to be, and it always resulted in me running frantically around on the surface with my heart pounding.
Then, to my dismay, on one of these ventures to the surface I came across the wee elephant babes wandering around a field. I was suddenly conflicted, because I wanted to lead the babs back to their mama but there was no way I could do so without putting myself directly in the cross-hairs of the frantic behemoth, who would undoubtedly look upon me as a threat rather than an ally. To reunite the ele family would be to sacrifice myself under the mama's tremendous feet. And it would not necessarily save them, either, because as the rampage continued, police cars began showing up and I knew that even if I helped the babs back to their mama, she would not be allowed to live and would inevitably fall under the gunfire of an inept police force. She would die terrorized by humankind and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I tied the little ele babs loosely together with a long length of twine, like the way that preschool classes will walk through the hallway holding onto a rope to keep the kids all together. Holding one end of the twine, I started out towards North Salem Drive, the five little eles trailing behind me and trying to wander away. I woke up before Mama caught sight of me.
Wednesday, November 29, 2017
Thursday, April 27, 2017
Shot
Another dream in which I am shot (or at least about to be).
I had this dream shortly after the club shooting in Orlando in June 2016. I'm in a parking lot at night, having just left a venue. A dark-haired man shows up and I don't see the gun at first, but someone else does because they start screaming. I drop to the pavement between two cars in an attempt to hide. The gunman shoots two people, then somehow is right behind me. He drags me out into the middle of the parking lot so that everyone can see us. He has his arm around my throat and his gun is against my right eyebrow, the nose pointing down my face. I can hardly breathe, I'm so scared. I know there's no way that I'm going to get out of this alive so I'm just left in suspense, waiting for him to pull the trigger. I'm sobbing and begging and slobbering. I'm saying "Please, no, please," because I want him to turn the gun and shoot me in the temple, kill me quickly. I don't want him to shoot down my eyebrow because I'm afraid he's going to shoot my face off and I'll die slowly, drowning in my own blood. I don't remember what happened after that.
I had this dream shortly after the club shooting in Orlando in June 2016. I'm in a parking lot at night, having just left a venue. A dark-haired man shows up and I don't see the gun at first, but someone else does because they start screaming. I drop to the pavement between two cars in an attempt to hide. The gunman shoots two people, then somehow is right behind me. He drags me out into the middle of the parking lot so that everyone can see us. He has his arm around my throat and his gun is against my right eyebrow, the nose pointing down my face. I can hardly breathe, I'm so scared. I know there's no way that I'm going to get out of this alive so I'm just left in suspense, waiting for him to pull the trigger. I'm sobbing and begging and slobbering. I'm saying "Please, no, please," because I want him to turn the gun and shoot me in the temple, kill me quickly. I don't want him to shoot down my eyebrow because I'm afraid he's going to shoot my face off and I'll die slowly, drowning in my own blood. I don't remember what happened after that.
Nine White Horses
My friend Bel and I are sitting in the field behind my parents' house eating lunch. The weather is fair, there's no snow and it isn't cold but it isn't hot, either. Nine white horses trot out from the woods on either side of the field and group around us. Horses generally make me rather nervous and this is no exception, but I hold out the apple that I was in the middle of eating to the nearest horse and it eats it right out of my hand. Bel follows suit and we feed the remainder of our apples to the horses. The specificity of the dream - nine white horses - struck me as strange.
Tuesday, September 27, 2016
2 Bad Dreams
I.
I have orthopedic surgery on my leg and Dr. Wilson, who is an orthopedic specialist and also my former boss (important detail: at a veterinary hospital), is my surgeon and doctor.
Then we are trying to find our seats at the opera, which are supposed to be all 3 of us in a row but there's some confusion and then when it turns out to be a free-for-all, devolves into the standard Grace-can't-find-anywhere-to-sit-because-people-are-everywhere situation. The diva sings the "Queen of the Night" aria from Mozart's "The Magic Flute" because it's the only aria I know well enough to hear it in my sleep.
II.
I'm explaining to some neighbors of the Flowers' from church basic animal behavior and why they shouldn't think that the Flowers' dog is a bad dog because she acts aggressive towards them - fear and fight/flight response and such.
Then some asshole has rented an elephant and leads it up into the church parking lot where the Flowers children promptly do all of the things I told the neighbor to NOT do with the small dog and spook the elephant which sends it into a frenzied stampede that leaves a trail of blood and mangled bodies in its wake. The scariest part is right when I know that it's about to stampede but there is nothing I can do to stop it and the perpetrators disregarded my advice that would have prevented it. The elephant starts to buck like a horse, only every time it does so the ground quakes beneath my feet and because I know what's about to happen, my heart drops into my gut at the same time. The Flowers children are immediately crushed, whereas in a grainy, intellectual indie movie they would have been the lone survivors but this is my goddamn dream. Among the many dead is Mackenzie Ings, and when I find out I have a bunch of heart-wrenching flashbacks to my memories of her as a little girl.
The entire dream I am torn between being scared out of my mind of the stampeding elephant and feeling an intense sadness and compassion for it because it is a beautiful creature that was not only forced into servitude but provoked into this reaction by the ignorance of others, and yet I knew that when the dust settled, it would come out looking like the villain. There was no good way to express solidarity with the elephant while also saving my own ass from being trampled. (It was an unnaturally huge elephant, like a mammoth-sized elephant. Larger than an African bull elephant but I don't think it had tusks.)
I have orthopedic surgery on my leg and Dr. Wilson, who is an orthopedic specialist and also my former boss (important detail: at a veterinary hospital), is my surgeon and doctor.
Then we are trying to find our seats at the opera, which are supposed to be all 3 of us in a row but there's some confusion and then when it turns out to be a free-for-all, devolves into the standard Grace-can't-find-anywhere-to-sit-because-people-are-everywhere situation. The diva sings the "Queen of the Night" aria from Mozart's "The Magic Flute" because it's the only aria I know well enough to hear it in my sleep.
II.
I'm explaining to some neighbors of the Flowers' from church basic animal behavior and why they shouldn't think that the Flowers' dog is a bad dog because she acts aggressive towards them - fear and fight/flight response and such.
Then some asshole has rented an elephant and leads it up into the church parking lot where the Flowers children promptly do all of the things I told the neighbor to NOT do with the small dog and spook the elephant which sends it into a frenzied stampede that leaves a trail of blood and mangled bodies in its wake. The scariest part is right when I know that it's about to stampede but there is nothing I can do to stop it and the perpetrators disregarded my advice that would have prevented it. The elephant starts to buck like a horse, only every time it does so the ground quakes beneath my feet and because I know what's about to happen, my heart drops into my gut at the same time. The Flowers children are immediately crushed, whereas in a grainy, intellectual indie movie they would have been the lone survivors but this is my goddamn dream. Among the many dead is Mackenzie Ings, and when I find out I have a bunch of heart-wrenching flashbacks to my memories of her as a little girl.
The entire dream I am torn between being scared out of my mind of the stampeding elephant and feeling an intense sadness and compassion for it because it is a beautiful creature that was not only forced into servitude but provoked into this reaction by the ignorance of others, and yet I knew that when the dust settled, it would come out looking like the villain. There was no good way to express solidarity with the elephant while also saving my own ass from being trampled. (It was an unnaturally huge elephant, like a mammoth-sized elephant. Larger than an African bull elephant but I don't think it had tusks.)
Thursday, January 7, 2016
Hello Again, Nightmares (Which doesn't make sense because I haven't actually published any of the previous nightmares so fyi, I have nightmares now.)
To be honest, a large part of the nightmare-y stuff in this dream was totally incoherent, so I'll stick to the part that I remember clearly.
I was being investigated for murder.
I murdered Olivia Stoneman (a random girl I knew in high school and whom I once helped to re-pierce her lip in the back row of geometry class our sophomore year*) in the downstairs ladies' restroom at the church in which I grew up and to which my parents still go. It was an accident; we were inexplicably having an all-out, throw-down fight inside one of the bathroom stalls and I either broke her neck or knocked her out and her head hit the safety bar too hard. Afterwards, I decided that the only option was to dismember her in the stall.
The other murder for which I was being investigated was that of Emmett Milbarge, assistant manager of the Burbank branch Buy More ...and fictional character played by Tony Hale on the TV show "Chuck." This murder I was not actually guilty of - I was just an accessory. I don't remember any details.
The investigator showed up late at night (and several hours after we were told to expect him). My parents were there and Grandma Lois and Grandpa Jim were asleep in the other room - not entirely sure why they were visiting, but seeing as it's a stressful situation within the dream my sub-conscious probably just threw in a couple of family members who generally make me feel anxious when they're around.
The investigator was this big guy with a very Karl-Marx-ian beard and hair, although his hair was brown and not white/grey.
The hair/beard combo was a bit Hagrid-y, but he was younger than Hagrid and thinner and had an American accent.
He wore a long coat, like the stereotypical film noir detective trench coat but it was military green instead of the classic tan and obviously well-worn. The picture on the left is basically spot-on, although he was not wearing a suit underneath as I recall. Maybe a sweater or something.
It was all surprisingly casual. He sat down on a green ottoman and I was on the couch (also green) with my dad, and he just kind if starting asking me questions about myself that I was able to genuinely think about and answer honestly.
We broached the subject of religion fairly early on and I (probably unnecessarily) expressed my distaste for Christianity, much to Grandma Lois' dismay (although it was less dismay and more confusion). I guess she had magically woken up and been sitting in the living room with us the whole time. Also, in retrospect, it's not a great idea to bad-mouth Christianity when you're suspected of murdering someone in a church.
The setting was relatively tense and uncomfortable due to the fact that I had to say a lot of things about my personal beliefs that I never intended for my rather traditional grandmother to hear and that my parents always knew that I held but preferred never to address and/or accept. (Not to mention that I was actually guilty of a murder, although I think if it was accidental it would be considered manslaughter.)
Eventually, however, the disapproving family members just kind of faded into the (green) wallpaper and I ended up basically having an impromptu therapy session with the investigator, who turned out to be an excellent listener. We really connected. Also we kind of forgot about the whole murder investigation, although I felt very strongly that he knew intuitively that I had done it, and had known from the moment we started talking. It had a strange sort of liberating effect on our conversation because I could tell him all of my most vulnerable and raw, intimate thoughts since he already knew the worst thing I'd ever done.
At the end of the interview he left. It was snowing outside. He didn't arrest me or take me with him, but I knew that he would be back for me and we both knew that I wouldn't try to run or hide. I would
just be waiting with the same eerie sense of calm that I had felt ever since we'd started our conversation.
It was that sense of zen that you get after finding out you didn't get your dream job or you failed a test after days or weeks of anxiety over the results during which there was nothing you could do to change the outcome yet you agonized anyway - the negative outcome was welcome simply because it put an end to the nagging, pointless worry. Incarceration was something measurable and comprehensible and I felt that it would be far easier for me to handle than a great suffocating void of uncertainty.
It was all rather Dostoyevsky-esque.** The bushy haired/bearded investigator may even have been wearing a fur hat as he left.
So that is, essentially, the end.
*It was as horribly unsanitary as it sounds and was also one of the more impressive things that my geometry teacher failed to notice happening in his own classroom. It may also have been that he failed to care. I went to public school.
**I can say that with confidence because one of my proudest accomplishments in high school was legitimately reading Crime & Punishment cover-to-cover in AP Lit class. The same cannot be said for Wuthering Heights.
I was being investigated for murder.
I murdered Olivia Stoneman (a random girl I knew in high school and whom I once helped to re-pierce her lip in the back row of geometry class our sophomore year*) in the downstairs ladies' restroom at the church in which I grew up and to which my parents still go. It was an accident; we were inexplicably having an all-out, throw-down fight inside one of the bathroom stalls and I either broke her neck or knocked her out and her head hit the safety bar too hard. Afterwards, I decided that the only option was to dismember her in the stall.
The other murder for which I was being investigated was that of Emmett Milbarge, assistant manager of the Burbank branch Buy More ...and fictional character played by Tony Hale on the TV show "Chuck." This murder I was not actually guilty of - I was just an accessory. I don't remember any details.The investigator showed up late at night (and several hours after we were told to expect him). My parents were there and Grandma Lois and Grandpa Jim were asleep in the other room - not entirely sure why they were visiting, but seeing as it's a stressful situation within the dream my sub-conscious probably just threw in a couple of family members who generally make me feel anxious when they're around.
The investigator was this big guy with a very Karl-Marx-ian beard and hair, although his hair was brown and not white/grey.
The hair/beard combo was a bit Hagrid-y, but he was younger than Hagrid and thinner and had an American accent.
He wore a long coat, like the stereotypical film noir detective trench coat but it was military green instead of the classic tan and obviously well-worn. The picture on the left is basically spot-on, although he was not wearing a suit underneath as I recall. Maybe a sweater or something.
It was all surprisingly casual. He sat down on a green ottoman and I was on the couch (also green) with my dad, and he just kind if starting asking me questions about myself that I was able to genuinely think about and answer honestly.
We broached the subject of religion fairly early on and I (probably unnecessarily) expressed my distaste for Christianity, much to Grandma Lois' dismay (although it was less dismay and more confusion). I guess she had magically woken up and been sitting in the living room with us the whole time. Also, in retrospect, it's not a great idea to bad-mouth Christianity when you're suspected of murdering someone in a church.
The setting was relatively tense and uncomfortable due to the fact that I had to say a lot of things about my personal beliefs that I never intended for my rather traditional grandmother to hear and that my parents always knew that I held but preferred never to address and/or accept. (Not to mention that I was actually guilty of a murder, although I think if it was accidental it would be considered manslaughter.)
Eventually, however, the disapproving family members just kind of faded into the (green) wallpaper and I ended up basically having an impromptu therapy session with the investigator, who turned out to be an excellent listener. We really connected. Also we kind of forgot about the whole murder investigation, although I felt very strongly that he knew intuitively that I had done it, and had known from the moment we started talking. It had a strange sort of liberating effect on our conversation because I could tell him all of my most vulnerable and raw, intimate thoughts since he already knew the worst thing I'd ever done.
At the end of the interview he left. It was snowing outside. He didn't arrest me or take me with him, but I knew that he would be back for me and we both knew that I wouldn't try to run or hide. I would
just be waiting with the same eerie sense of calm that I had felt ever since we'd started our conversation.
It was that sense of zen that you get after finding out you didn't get your dream job or you failed a test after days or weeks of anxiety over the results during which there was nothing you could do to change the outcome yet you agonized anyway - the negative outcome was welcome simply because it put an end to the nagging, pointless worry. Incarceration was something measurable and comprehensible and I felt that it would be far easier for me to handle than a great suffocating void of uncertainty.
It was all rather Dostoyevsky-esque.** The bushy haired/bearded investigator may even have been wearing a fur hat as he left.
There was a confusing and semi-gruesome jumble of dream-bits after that which started in a creepy bath-house and were absolutely unrelated to the mostly-coherent dream I recounted above, so I won't just spew out fragmented images and internal monologue and emotion willy-nilly because that would be dangerously Dostoyevsky-esque.
So that is, essentially, the end.
*It was as horribly unsanitary as it sounds and was also one of the more impressive things that my geometry teacher failed to notice happening in his own classroom. It may also have been that he failed to care. I went to public school.
**I can say that with confidence because one of my proudest accomplishments in high school was legitimately reading Crime & Punishment cover-to-cover in AP Lit class. The same cannot be said for Wuthering Heights.
Thursday, July 9, 2015
Wedding
There was a moment of lucidity in which I considered that that is how I would feel if Kevin married his current girlfriend - I've always thought she seems perfect for him even though I've never met her in person. Then, still in my moment of lucidity, I marveled at the fact that I had managed to somehow not make an ass of myself in this particular dream situation, when I so often make an ass of myself in situations with far less ass-making potential. Then I wondered if I had just jinxed myself, which I had, because when I was fully immersed in the dream again, I looked down at myself and realized that I was wearing a long white dress. To a wedding. My high school boyfriend's wedding. Dammit, Grace.
**Update: Apparently I was doing that occasional psychic thing because on like July 10th or 11th Kevin and his girlfriend announced their engagement on Facebook. I'M A WIZARRRRRRRRD**
**Update: Apparently I was doing that occasional psychic thing because on like July 10th or 11th Kevin and his girlfriend announced their engagement on Facebook. I'M A WIZARRRRRRRRD**
Monday, June 22, 2015
6-21-15: Beyond the Sea
I stop to talk to this employee about dropping off a dead body that I apparently need to get rid of and casually, inwardly observe that the bodies that I can see on the ground and the ones already in the light-blue shrouds that the employees are using to contain them are mostly of a cinnamon-brown skin tone, which seems strange to me. The employee that I'm talking to (a black man) suddenly accuses me of being racist, which is startling because I have said nothing out loud nor was I aware that I was giving any sort of indication of disapproval or condescension. Defensively, I tell him that I was trying to ask him about body drop-off because I have a dead body of my own to bring in, thank you very much. A dead white body, because white people are not too good for the dead body warehouse place.
Anyway, while I'm hanging around in the warehouse this lady employee is doing a seriously invasive autopsy on a dead body - she has removed all of the skin from the front of his body, even from his face. I can see his ribs and lungs and the muscles in his face and the way that his nose is white cartilage. I notice that his lungs are red. All of sudden, the dead man takes a breath and starts speaking - asking questions, like "Where am I? What's going on?"
The employee stares at him, shocked and obviously totally unequipped for the sudden revival of one
All of a sudden, somebody starts to sing.
Somewhere... beyond the sea,
somewhere waiting for me...
I realize that I'm the one who's singing. I must have just started singing the first song that I thought of, which for some reason was "Beyond the Sea."
The weird thing is, it works. The formerly-dead guy puts his arm back down at his side and looks up at me. My instinct is to put a hand on his shoulder or cheek or something, but he has no skin so I just kneel down next to him and maintain eye contact and keep singing. He knows the song, too; I can see his mouth moving and hear his voice - barely more than a whisper - singing along with me. He has blue eyes. I keep my eyes locked on his so that he can't look away and see what's going on around us. I imagine us slow-dancing in a gazebo on the beach, our arms around each other, both of us smiling serenely and gazing into each others' eyes. (This is a variant of something that I do at work when handling an unhappy critter - I imagine that my serenity is a pool of water and it's slowly rippling outwards and spreading to the kitty cat in my arms. Sometimes it seems like it works, but I might just be imagining it.)As EMTs come scrambling in with a stretcher, the not-dead guy closes his eyes slowly and they take him away.
Since I woke up this morning, "Beyond the Sea" has been stuck in my head.
Sunday, February 23, 2014
New Pet
I had a dream the other night that I got a pet giraffe, only it was smaller than a real giraffe - it was like a Great Dane with a giraffe neck. I brought her home and she galloped through my house breaking things. I thought that it is a good thing I'm young and capable because she'd be hard to control otherwise. Then right after thinking that, my right hand fell off at the wrist, leaving an open wound and everything.
I ended up getting a "hand transplant," although the first one didn't take (graft vs. host, I guess) but the second one resulted in a rather unresponsive hand being attached to my wrist. I couldn't do very much with it as far as fine motor skills, and for the rest of the dream I was extremely paranoid that if I over-exerted myself, the donor hand would tear off.
While my giraffe was outside on the dock (no idea why there was a dock) there was a Halloween rave with black lights and glow sticks going on inside the building that I was in, which was now looking like it was the student center of a university. I was trying to find somebody, and was navigating the dark and wild rave with my transplanted hand tucked in my hoodie pocket. I finally found a hallway that had the fluorescent lights on, and was walking down it when I had to circumnavigate a posse of what turned out to be bodyguards, because for some reason Justin Beiber was standing there in the hallway in a really shiny metallic purple jacket. (He was a little bit Michael Jackson, too.) I was just going to continue walking because Justin Beiber had not been who I was looking for, but he stuck out his hand in greeting - presumably for a handshake - and I found myself in the awkward situation of either refusing his handshake or offering my left hand and then having to explain myself, both of which involved me spending more time than I had intended in the lighted hallway. I ended up offering my left hand, and he switched hands and said, "You're a lefty?"
Which I am, so I said yes, but then explained that that's not why I don't shake hands with my right hand and pulled the sleeve of my hoodie up to expose the gnarly-looking scar tissue that went all the way around my right wrist where the donor hand and my arm (which were slightly different skin colors) had been connected. Justin Beiber nodded understandingly, as if hand transplants were fairly common and he recognized one by sight. Then I put my hand back in my pocket and left.
When I got home (never having successfully found whatever I was looking for) there was the director of a dog rescue at my house with two dogs - a brown dog with a healing leg fracture and a white pit bull who had a pink nose and pink eyes. The pit bull was young and looked to be about as rowdy as the giraffe that I already had, but I said I would foster the two dogs even though I didn't think I could handle them all with only one functional hand. Luckily, when I brought my giraffe inside, she and the white pit bull instantly hit it off and went bounding around the house together, breaking things but ultimately keeping each other entertained while I sat on the dock with the brown dog, watching them tiredly.
Friday, December 13, 2013
Ostriches: the Silent Killers
I don't remember much of this dream anymore, but I do remember the gut-wrenching fear.
I was at work at the vet hospital and this guy comes in with his psychotic, two-headed ostrich and it got loose in the treatment area.
We were collectively trying to trap and restrain it, but none of us really knew how to deal with an ostrich. This horrifying image happened at least twice: I'm on the defensive, looking around me cautiously, and across the hospital I see another employee doing the same only as I'm watching, an ostrich head slowly rises up from behind a cabinet or something right next to them and they don't see it.
Pretty much take every horror movie scene where something is behind somebody and the audience sees it before the person does and insert an ostrich. It's seriously creepy.
I was at work at the vet hospital and this guy comes in with his psychotic, two-headed ostrich and it got loose in the treatment area.
We were collectively trying to trap and restrain it, but none of us really knew how to deal with an ostrich. This horrifying image happened at least twice: I'm on the defensive, looking around me cautiously, and across the hospital I see another employee doing the same only as I'm watching, an ostrich head slowly rises up from behind a cabinet or something right next to them and they don't see it.
Pretty much take every horror movie scene where something is behind somebody and the audience sees it before the person does and insert an ostrich. It's seriously creepy.
The Incredible Sulk
July '13
I have the best dreams sometimes.
I have the best dreams sometimes.
Here's the main plot, as it unraveled: Bruce Banner (or at least a Banner-like character) is mutated by gamma radiation and so becomes the Hulk when angry - the love of his life was also in the house and was exposed to the radiation as well. She turned out to be more tragic, though, because she had less control over her emotions and would become a monster at any intense emotion whatsoever. The love between her and Banner was too sad and strong - she had to stay far away from him if she was going to have any chance at controlling her "other guy." She ran with a sidekick, a superhero, who was strong enough to keep her in check when she lost control. He was a companion but never a love interest.
By chance, they both end up at the same show. She sees Banner first - immediately begins transformation out of intense joy, looks to her handler for permission to go embrace her love, which he reluctantly gives. Banner has at this point gained significant control over his Hulk alter-ego and upon seeing her running towards him and transforming, assumes Hulk form so that she can jump into his arms and they embrace, laughing, overjoyed, haven't seen each other in months. It was a Kodak moment. (Remember when "Kodak moment" was a colloquialism?)
Other details: my mom was on overbearing suicide watch, dad and I got stuck in a marching band routine, I tried to play the marimba but a black guy saved me from embarrassment by starting to actually play guitar. I got up to leave since he had given me an out, but was afraid that I would seem like I was leaving because he was black so I made sure to lovingly pat his kid's shoulder as I went past.
Sunday, May 5, 2013
Miscarriage
I'm at work and there's something urgent and horrifying happening around the dental table. I see Deanna, one of the technicians, she's scrubbed in and everything but is sobbing, which makes me think it isn't an animal that they're working on. There's a loud honking alarm going off that I've never heard before - it's obviously from a human hospital.
I see the face of a dying human infant on the table. It is pale and deformed, underdeveloped.
I know in my gut what is going on before anyone tells me, but I don't believe it until someone explains. Deanna miscarried her baby at work and Dr. Shanti is trying to save it. Despite her best efforts, it is crashing.
Suddenly, everyone around the table and mess of machinery cheers - they have a heartbeat from the baby. I'm amazed - the fact that a veterinarian could revive a premature human infant using only the resources available at the vet hospital was astounding. Dr. Shanti must have been the best of the doctors, since she was the one chosen to work on the child.
As this was going on, the other assistants and I were conflicted, cautiously continuing to go about our business as the catastrophe unfolded in the middle of the treatment area. Whenever an animal crashes or there's an emergency, it seems to be the thing to do to continue as if nothing is happening, staying out of the way being the best way any of us assistants can contribute. But on the other hand, this was different than business as usual - this was a human life, the child of one of our co-workers. Deanna was recently married and she and her husband have been trying to get pregnant - I hear her talking about it all the time.
The success does not last - it was unlikely that it would. They lose the baby again, and this time cannot revive it. The baby dies on the dental table.
I feel horribly uncomfortable, never quite knowing how to act around the grieving. I feel extra pressure, since Dr. John Krieger is there and he's quick to judge me for being anxious and timid. Dan is there, too, and we're in another room, but I don't know how to act so I just do my usual goofy stuff that I do with him and he plays along, although it's obvious that we're both uncomfortable and have no clue what to do.
Deanna is crying in treatment, nobody has been able to be of any help or comfort for her - she keeps shrugging away from anyone who tries to comfort her. I retreat to the back hallway so as not to have to watch her hysteria. To my surprise, Deanna walks out into the empty back hallway shortly after, having needed to escape the situation herself. I don't know how to act towards her, I don't want to be patronizing or too sympathetic, since she's being bombarded with that sentiment on all sides. I tend to prefer normalcy to sympathy myself. I greet her as I would normally, and she replies with equal casualness, her sobs subsided, a sense of numbness setting in. After a moment of agonizing, I wrap my arms around her in a bear hug, which is a risk I have decided to take, since historically I'm not good at dealing with the reaction to misguided attempts at comfort or comoraderie - I avoid these situations especially because in the past I have shed embarrassed tears over my bruised feelings after trying and failing to help someone who is upset. The shame of crying over something like that was the worst feeling.
Fortunately, Deanna finally accepted an embrace. She wrapped her arms around me, too, and I rubbed her back while we held onto each other.
I couldn't help but feel good that I had done something right when nobody else was able to do anything for Deanna - especially when Dr. Krieger walked past the two of us embracing.
Deanna decided she was going home even though her husband wasn't home from work yet. She put on her coat, but stalled instead of leaving, which made sense to me, because I'd rather stay and distract myself with work than sit alone at home with nothing to do but grieve. I was trying hard to make sure I didn't overstay my welcome comforting her.
She kept asking things like, "What do I do now?" and "Now what?" and "I don't know what I'm supposed to do." I knew that she was not asking for an answer about the mourning process, she was asking out of sad desperation how she could help her infant. I could hear the resignation in her voice, but I also knew that she hadn't accepted yet that the baby was dead and felt awful that I couldn't give her answers. At that point, when I was having to come up with things to say in answer to her questions or ways to step around them, I was getting uncomfortable and wanted to pass her off to someone else before she got sick of me and I started doing more harm than good.
I was leaving, too. I got in my car and Deanna got in hers and I began driving down to some specific destination. I remember that I needed to use the bathroom as soon as I got there, wherever I was going.
Unfortunately, on my way, traffic slowed to a stop and I pulled over to the side of the road with a handful of other drivers, seeing emergency vehicles and a road block. I got out of my car and went to try and see what was going on. Instead, I saw a middle-aged woman walk past the subject of the road block, look directly at it, and hurry past, her hand over her mouth in horror. I leaned far enough that I could see paramedics bent over a man who was slumped on the pavement, but not far enough to see the wounds that had nauseated the passing woman.
Tired from the trauma of the day at work, I decided to walk downtown and find somewhere to pee rather than staying to witness another tragedy. An older woman pointed me in the right direction. That was pretty much where it ended.
I see the face of a dying human infant on the table. It is pale and deformed, underdeveloped.
I know in my gut what is going on before anyone tells me, but I don't believe it until someone explains. Deanna miscarried her baby at work and Dr. Shanti is trying to save it. Despite her best efforts, it is crashing.
Suddenly, everyone around the table and mess of machinery cheers - they have a heartbeat from the baby. I'm amazed - the fact that a veterinarian could revive a premature human infant using only the resources available at the vet hospital was astounding. Dr. Shanti must have been the best of the doctors, since she was the one chosen to work on the child.
As this was going on, the other assistants and I were conflicted, cautiously continuing to go about our business as the catastrophe unfolded in the middle of the treatment area. Whenever an animal crashes or there's an emergency, it seems to be the thing to do to continue as if nothing is happening, staying out of the way being the best way any of us assistants can contribute. But on the other hand, this was different than business as usual - this was a human life, the child of one of our co-workers. Deanna was recently married and she and her husband have been trying to get pregnant - I hear her talking about it all the time.
The success does not last - it was unlikely that it would. They lose the baby again, and this time cannot revive it. The baby dies on the dental table.
I feel horribly uncomfortable, never quite knowing how to act around the grieving. I feel extra pressure, since Dr. John Krieger is there and he's quick to judge me for being anxious and timid. Dan is there, too, and we're in another room, but I don't know how to act so I just do my usual goofy stuff that I do with him and he plays along, although it's obvious that we're both uncomfortable and have no clue what to do.
Deanna is crying in treatment, nobody has been able to be of any help or comfort for her - she keeps shrugging away from anyone who tries to comfort her. I retreat to the back hallway so as not to have to watch her hysteria. To my surprise, Deanna walks out into the empty back hallway shortly after, having needed to escape the situation herself. I don't know how to act towards her, I don't want to be patronizing or too sympathetic, since she's being bombarded with that sentiment on all sides. I tend to prefer normalcy to sympathy myself. I greet her as I would normally, and she replies with equal casualness, her sobs subsided, a sense of numbness setting in. After a moment of agonizing, I wrap my arms around her in a bear hug, which is a risk I have decided to take, since historically I'm not good at dealing with the reaction to misguided attempts at comfort or comoraderie - I avoid these situations especially because in the past I have shed embarrassed tears over my bruised feelings after trying and failing to help someone who is upset. The shame of crying over something like that was the worst feeling.
Fortunately, Deanna finally accepted an embrace. She wrapped her arms around me, too, and I rubbed her back while we held onto each other.
I couldn't help but feel good that I had done something right when nobody else was able to do anything for Deanna - especially when Dr. Krieger walked past the two of us embracing.
Deanna decided she was going home even though her husband wasn't home from work yet. She put on her coat, but stalled instead of leaving, which made sense to me, because I'd rather stay and distract myself with work than sit alone at home with nothing to do but grieve. I was trying hard to make sure I didn't overstay my welcome comforting her.
She kept asking things like, "What do I do now?" and "Now what?" and "I don't know what I'm supposed to do." I knew that she was not asking for an answer about the mourning process, she was asking out of sad desperation how she could help her infant. I could hear the resignation in her voice, but I also knew that she hadn't accepted yet that the baby was dead and felt awful that I couldn't give her answers. At that point, when I was having to come up with things to say in answer to her questions or ways to step around them, I was getting uncomfortable and wanted to pass her off to someone else before she got sick of me and I started doing more harm than good.
I was leaving, too. I got in my car and Deanna got in hers and I began driving down to some specific destination. I remember that I needed to use the bathroom as soon as I got there, wherever I was going.
Unfortunately, on my way, traffic slowed to a stop and I pulled over to the side of the road with a handful of other drivers, seeing emergency vehicles and a road block. I got out of my car and went to try and see what was going on. Instead, I saw a middle-aged woman walk past the subject of the road block, look directly at it, and hurry past, her hand over her mouth in horror. I leaned far enough that I could see paramedics bent over a man who was slumped on the pavement, but not far enough to see the wounds that had nauseated the passing woman.
Tired from the trauma of the day at work, I decided to walk downtown and find somewhere to pee rather than staying to witness another tragedy. An older woman pointed me in the right direction. That was pretty much where it ended.
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Three Stands Alone
It's either "I am Number Four" or "Buffy" or both, there are ten people and we're numbered 1-10 and I'm number 7 and the only two of us left trying to survive are 3 and 7. And the only way one of us can survive is by killing the other, but I don't know where 3 is and she knows where I am.
All of this played out like deja vu, I knew what was going to happen in this weird way.
Kevin came over to my house, we were chatting, he tells me he still has feelings for me. I say, I'll always love you, too, but we don't go together. Mine was more of a "Oh, well, you'll always have a special place in my heart, but..." I was thinking of Connor. Kevin got upset and said that I need to stop texting him and calling him (which I literally do maybe once every six months but I guess in the dream it was more frequent) because it was torturing him. I was sad because Kevin is a good friend, but reluctantly agreed. The problem remained that we were still in the same class, because apparently we were attending a college that was set up like an elementary school? I don't know. We were in the same class.
Then Kevin and I are in a Catholic church and everyone's getting up to take communion when it turns into a surreal, Tim Burton-esque scene after an elderly couple dies and then reappears as a pair of ghouls, and then we all swing danced with dead people. (Told you.)
Somehow I knew this was foreboding for me.
As we're filing back into our classroom, I identify No. 3, my to-be murderer, and see that she's holding a handgun in plain sight. Nobody else has noticed. I could run or try to hide, but something tells me that it's supposed to happen this way, so I just file in and take my place in the rows of students, directly in front of her.
It's not until she presses the gun to the back of my head that anyone else notices - everyone falls silent and 3 gives some monologous speech about being the victor and conquering me, et cetera. She's waiting, and I realize what she's waiting for - the students are still filing in and Kevin has not entered yet, and she wants him to watch.
The two rows of people in front of me are staring at me with horror and pity and it suddenly occurs to me that when 3 shoots me through the back of the head, the contents of my head are going to splatter all over them. I feel really bad because that will be traumatic and horrible, so I told them I was sorry in advance for splattering my brains on them, but I didn't say splattering my brains on them, I said I was sorry in advance and then trailed off and then mimed with my hands my brain contents being flung at them. I kind of tried to smile or laugh because I wanted to cheer them up, but my face disobeyed me and I ended up grimacing instead, like when you're going to cry even though you're trying really hard not to and your mouth just pulls down at the corners whether you want it to or not.
Then, Kevin walks through the doorway. 3 gives him just enough time to see us, then pulls the trigger and I'm dead.
The professor, a middle-aged woman, starts freaking out and trying to get to 3 to restrain her, but she knocks the teacher out. 3 started out asian, but now she's white with long light brown hair and she's wearing a sophisticated tweed dress and long gloves. Then she makes everyone give her money and promise not to identify her as the shooter or she'll get them, too, and now that she's the only one of the 10 who's alive so she's the victor, she has special slayer powers and everyone's terrified of her so they do everything she asks.
All of this played out like deja vu, I knew what was going to happen in this weird way.
Kevin came over to my house, we were chatting, he tells me he still has feelings for me. I say, I'll always love you, too, but we don't go together. Mine was more of a "Oh, well, you'll always have a special place in my heart, but..." I was thinking of Connor. Kevin got upset and said that I need to stop texting him and calling him (which I literally do maybe once every six months but I guess in the dream it was more frequent) because it was torturing him. I was sad because Kevin is a good friend, but reluctantly agreed. The problem remained that we were still in the same class, because apparently we were attending a college that was set up like an elementary school? I don't know. We were in the same class.
Then Kevin and I are in a Catholic church and everyone's getting up to take communion when it turns into a surreal, Tim Burton-esque scene after an elderly couple dies and then reappears as a pair of ghouls, and then we all swing danced with dead people. (Told you.)
Somehow I knew this was foreboding for me.
As we're filing back into our classroom, I identify No. 3, my to-be murderer, and see that she's holding a handgun in plain sight. Nobody else has noticed. I could run or try to hide, but something tells me that it's supposed to happen this way, so I just file in and take my place in the rows of students, directly in front of her.
It's not until she presses the gun to the back of my head that anyone else notices - everyone falls silent and 3 gives some monologous speech about being the victor and conquering me, et cetera. She's waiting, and I realize what she's waiting for - the students are still filing in and Kevin has not entered yet, and she wants him to watch.
The two rows of people in front of me are staring at me with horror and pity and it suddenly occurs to me that when 3 shoots me through the back of the head, the contents of my head are going to splatter all over them. I feel really bad because that will be traumatic and horrible, so I told them I was sorry in advance for splattering my brains on them, but I didn't say splattering my brains on them, I said I was sorry in advance and then trailed off and then mimed with my hands my brain contents being flung at them. I kind of tried to smile or laugh because I wanted to cheer them up, but my face disobeyed me and I ended up grimacing instead, like when you're going to cry even though you're trying really hard not to and your mouth just pulls down at the corners whether you want it to or not.
Then, Kevin walks through the doorway. 3 gives him just enough time to see us, then pulls the trigger and I'm dead.
The professor, a middle-aged woman, starts freaking out and trying to get to 3 to restrain her, but she knocks the teacher out. 3 started out asian, but now she's white with long light brown hair and she's wearing a sophisticated tweed dress and long gloves. Then she makes everyone give her money and promise not to identify her as the shooter or she'll get them, too, and now that she's the only one of the 10 who's alive so she's the victor, she has special slayer powers and everyone's terrified of her so they do everything she asks.
Monday, March 25, 2013
Foster-Baby-Elephant-Walrus-Russ
A baby elephant was admitted into the Sparky Fund and I was trying to get clearance to foster it. BECAUSE HOW AMAZING WOULD THAT BE? AN ELEPHANT? LIVING IN MY HOUSE? I could come up with so many puns for this.
I wanted him to have a really cool name so I could post a picture of me and him on Reddit and get a shit ton of karma, but some idiot in the Sparky Fund named him "Walrus" when I wasn't there.
This was horrifying to me and I spent a long time contemplating a solution before happening upon the incredible revelation that I can just refer to him as "Russ."
I spent the rest of the dream bargaining with my mother to try and get her to let me bring Russ home. I came up with several crazy ideas including a scenario in which I lived in the bathroom and slept in the bathtub and Russ got my whole room to himself.
A compromise was not reached before I woke up, but I did spend a good two minutes upon waking up still under the delusion that I was going to be bringing home an elephant.
This was actually strangely coincidental. About a month later I got an email telling me that I was accepted into the Elephant Nature Park volunteer program for this summer, overseas in Thailand. Only two weeks, but it's all I could afford through ISV. I'm excited on this strange level where I don't want to express it because I'm still not sure it's real, like I'm not really going to believe it's happening until I'm literally standing there touching an elephant. Like a weird sort of shock. This could be my future. This could be my foot-in-the-door of travelling, researching, and animal conservation. Or it could be two awesome weeks with elephants and that's it. I'm cool with either scenario. Here's the park in question, if anyone's interested in donating or just checking them out. You can read about all of the members of the herd and their stories - it's basically a giant elephant version of the Sparky Fund. Which you can also read about on the link below the elephant one. Both are great causes for amazing animals.
Elephant Nature Park in Chiang Mai, Thailand
The Sparky Fund
I wanted him to have a really cool name so I could post a picture of me and him on Reddit and get a shit ton of karma, but some idiot in the Sparky Fund named him "Walrus" when I wasn't there.
This was horrifying to me and I spent a long time contemplating a solution before happening upon the incredible revelation that I can just refer to him as "Russ."
I spent the rest of the dream bargaining with my mother to try and get her to let me bring Russ home. I came up with several crazy ideas including a scenario in which I lived in the bathroom and slept in the bathtub and Russ got my whole room to himself.
A compromise was not reached before I woke up, but I did spend a good two minutes upon waking up still under the delusion that I was going to be bringing home an elephant.
 |
| This is Chang Yim, a baby elephant living in the Elephant Nature Park mentioned below. I might nickname him Russ. |
This was actually strangely coincidental. About a month later I got an email telling me that I was accepted into the Elephant Nature Park volunteer program for this summer, overseas in Thailand. Only two weeks, but it's all I could afford through ISV. I'm excited on this strange level where I don't want to express it because I'm still not sure it's real, like I'm not really going to believe it's happening until I'm literally standing there touching an elephant. Like a weird sort of shock. This could be my future. This could be my foot-in-the-door of travelling, researching, and animal conservation. Or it could be two awesome weeks with elephants and that's it. I'm cool with either scenario. Here's the park in question, if anyone's interested in donating or just checking them out. You can read about all of the members of the herd and their stories - it's basically a giant elephant version of the Sparky Fund. Which you can also read about on the link below the elephant one. Both are great causes for amazing animals.
Elephant Nature Park in Chiang Mai, Thailand
The Sparky Fund
Saturday, March 23, 2013
The Saddest Dream Ever
I had a dream that Adam Devine (of Workaholics) died.
It turned out to just be a rumor.
Which I found out while frolicking around on a dock with him and Blake, and Ders.
Which was really fun.
I'm glad he isn't dead.
It turned out to just be a rumor.
Which I found out while frolicking around on a dock with him and Blake, and Ders.
Which was really fun.
I'm glad he isn't dead.
Thursday, March 14, 2013
Guy with face burned off
I'm playing a character
Character has adult gay dude friend
Gay dude friend gets in car accident, stumbles out of car, his pants are on fire but no one notices.
My character sees the fire and chooses to ignore it.
Another civilian is on fire, me and another guy immediately react to it with emergency procedures, thus proving that I was totally capable and willing to save a burning person but had consciously chosen not to with my gay friend.
After being left burning long enough, the fire spread very suddenly and completely engulfed my gay friend. He began screaming, people ran over from all directions, but he was burning and they couldn't stop it. I watched his skin burn off and he crumpled to the ground, his skeleton showing through his charred body. People were unsure what to do to help him, they had no fire blanket or water or extinguisher. Someone tried to support his head as he collapsed, engulfed in flames, but as soon as they touched his charred neck, his head fell off and thudded onto the ground. It was horribly disturbing.
Later on, I resumed my role and was suddenly swept upon by a cloaked villain, who was out for vengeance upon me.
The twist was pretty obvious, the cloaked villain eventually revealed a flash of his face, which was a strange, orange and red mask that was obviously covering some sort of deformity. I realized it was my gay friend I had allowed to burn to a crisp and die right in front of me. I kind of laughed sheepishly at the realization that my character was kind of screwed and also a jackass. Then me and everyone else around me got in order based on height.
Character has adult gay dude friend
Gay dude friend gets in car accident, stumbles out of car, his pants are on fire but no one notices.
My character sees the fire and chooses to ignore it.
Another civilian is on fire, me and another guy immediately react to it with emergency procedures, thus proving that I was totally capable and willing to save a burning person but had consciously chosen not to with my gay friend.
After being left burning long enough, the fire spread very suddenly and completely engulfed my gay friend. He began screaming, people ran over from all directions, but he was burning and they couldn't stop it. I watched his skin burn off and he crumpled to the ground, his skeleton showing through his charred body. People were unsure what to do to help him, they had no fire blanket or water or extinguisher. Someone tried to support his head as he collapsed, engulfed in flames, but as soon as they touched his charred neck, his head fell off and thudded onto the ground. It was horribly disturbing.
Later on, I resumed my role and was suddenly swept upon by a cloaked villain, who was out for vengeance upon me.
The twist was pretty obvious, the cloaked villain eventually revealed a flash of his face, which was a strange, orange and red mask that was obviously covering some sort of deformity. I realized it was my gay friend I had allowed to burn to a crisp and die right in front of me. I kind of laughed sheepishly at the realization that my character was kind of screwed and also a jackass. Then me and everyone else around me got in order based on height.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
I just purple myself
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The 2nd installment of My Mom's Dream - we take our dog Chewy to strange new veterinarian, go to pick him up later and he's purple. Mom gets upset, asks what they did to him, they act like nothing's wrong and insist that he's fine.
The clear issue that my mom is struggling with here is the fact that a while ago, Chewy was attacked by a bullmastiff and had to have stitches and a drain tube in his neck. Since then he's been showing new signs of dog aggression and it's been very difficult for my mom.
See (not really very) graphic photos below of said injury.
Monday, October 8, 2012
Winners.
I was really happy because it was a very nostalgic Grace-and-Joe moment. When I fully woke up, it was my cat that was actually sitting next to me.
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Me, I'm just the lucky kind.
I'm at some sort of convention or arts camp or conference of some sort where there appear to be not only avid animal-lovers but also the majority of people there were young adult musicians. We were assigned hotel rooms based on the name of our pets rather than our own names. I’m rooming with Anna and we use Rosie’s name instead of Max (her dog) because it’s less common.
Performers play and sing at every meeting and meal, and at our opening gathering a stocky brunette starts playing “Things We Said Today” on guitar and singing. I really vividly remember him standing up a few feet away from me on the white tile floor with his acoustic guitar and playing those kind of low and fast notes that start the first phrase in that song - I'll probably post a video for clarification. (Pretty much the first thing you hear. He was a decent guitarist.)
He forgets the lyrics almost immediately. I’m sitting at a table to his right just observing, but I know the song so I start to sing along to help him out. He smiles at me gratefully and continues to occasionally forget his words but I know all of them and am confident when not in the spotlight so I keep singing along with him until the song is over. I worry that I was kind of annoying to everyone else but he thanks me sheepishly.
At that point I go upstairs to find my hotel room, which takes me forever. (And that's not specific to dreams.)
When I finally get to the room that says “Rosie” and then my name and Anna's name in smaller print underneath it. Instead of going into the room, I sit down just outside the door on the carpet; at first I’m not sure why, then I realize it’s because I’m suddenly holding a newborn infant. I seem to have found it on the floor. It’s a baby boy (named Ethan, but I know it's not EMS.) with a scrunched-up pink face and little pink hands. He’s wearing a dark green ones-y and a dark green knitted hat on his head, both with the a large white S (the Michigan State logo) on them. I remember feeling the weight of him in my hands very distinctly. I was supporting his head with one hand and his body with the other and he couldn’t have been more than seven or eight pounds. He was warm. I held him close to me instinctively, and as I did, my mom walked into the hallway. I started babbling, trying to pass off the fact that I was holding a baby (which was apparently somehow my baby) as some sort of silly circumstance, but as would happen in real life, I was actually being struck with deep fear and shame and very quickly stopped feeling maternal and wanted the baby to go away.
Performers play and sing at every meeting and meal, and at our opening gathering a stocky brunette starts playing “Things We Said Today” on guitar and singing. I really vividly remember him standing up a few feet away from me on the white tile floor with his acoustic guitar and playing those kind of low and fast notes that start the first phrase in that song - I'll probably post a video for clarification. (Pretty much the first thing you hear. He was a decent guitarist.)
He forgets the lyrics almost immediately. I’m sitting at a table to his right just observing, but I know the song so I start to sing along to help him out. He smiles at me gratefully and continues to occasionally forget his words but I know all of them and am confident when not in the spotlight so I keep singing along with him until the song is over. I worry that I was kind of annoying to everyone else but he thanks me sheepishly.
At that point I go upstairs to find my hotel room, which takes me forever. (And that's not specific to dreams.)
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Grace ponders human mortality.
This dream is from about a week ago, before I had my hernia surgery. That may or may not have had something to do with the subject matter.
I was standing in a hospital hallway with my younger sister who was somehow also my twin. (And was also an accident, according to my mom.) She looked like a rather skeletal Mayim Bialik. We had just been brought to the hospital because we were both getting faint and having dizzy spells, and we had just found out that we both had a life-threatening pulmonary condition. I left the hospital with the strong sense that one of us was inevitably going to die.
We were at an indoor public pool later in the week when my sister suddenly collapsed. I caught her body and tried to stand her back up or support her but it looked like her head was lolling so far back that I couldn't see it. I shifted her around, trying to find her head so I could see her face, until I suddenly realized that her was no longer attached to her body. I looked around for her head while still clinging onto her body, and finally spotted it at the very bottom of the pool next to us. It was leaking a growing cloud of bright red blood into the pool water.
I started yelling for people to help us, astonished that they hadn't notice the decapitation taking place right next to them. At first no one heard me, and when someone finally did, they didn't take me seriously and just kind of casually walked over before finally realizing it was an emergency situation. It was obviously too late for my sister, her headless body was already dead in my arms, and there was nothing I or any of the others could do to save her.
It turns out she died because she had sex directly after eating. (We had weirdly specific physical and dietary restrictions due to our heart condition.) She was like thirteen years old and I'm a nineteen year-old virgin so I kind of said a little "thank you" to the gods and I'm pretty sure my mother did too because she was upset but not SUPER upset that the twin had died because as she told me very bluntly, my sister had been an accident and I had much more promise anyway. We took her body but left her head, hidden in the cloud of blood, at the bottom of the pool for someone else to retrieve and clean up because that would be too disturbing for us to do.
Later on I'm in a band or orchestra class, in a flute section with Jake and Irene. (The picture is an old photo and Irene and I at a real orchestra rehearsal.) At every rehearsal they would give each other a look, then get up to "go to the bathroom" at intervals so they could hang out in the hallway. I would occasionally participate, but on this instance I really had to use the bathroom (and it was either the same day or the day after my sister died so I kind of got a free pass) and I asked after Jake and Irene had both left, and the teacher said I could go but I had to text someone from the bathroom so she knew I was okay because she was afraid I'd be upset and suicidal.
On the way there I ran into the other two flutists and we strolled down the hallway a little ways, chatting and laughing which made me feel better. We passed Jake's locker which had a sign I had made for him with his name and big hemp glasses frames on the door, and next to it was his friend who had committed suicide's locker, which had lots of pictures and letters taped to it in his memory, and it made me awkward and quiet for a moment as we passed it. I woke up shortly after arriving in what I'm pretty sure was the girl's bathroom from my old middle school.
The weird thing is that my old flute buddy Jake died earlier this year, in March. It took me a while after waking up to remember that it wasn't a friend of his who had killed himself. I really enjoyed seeing him again, even if it was in a dream. He was a good guy.
I started yelling for people to help us, astonished that they hadn't notice the decapitation taking place right next to them. At first no one heard me, and when someone finally did, they didn't take me seriously and just kind of casually walked over before finally realizing it was an emergency situation. It was obviously too late for my sister, her headless body was already dead in my arms, and there was nothing I or any of the others could do to save her.
It turns out she died because she had sex directly after eating. (We had weirdly specific physical and dietary restrictions due to our heart condition.) She was like thirteen years old and I'm a nineteen year-old virgin so I kind of said a little "thank you" to the gods and I'm pretty sure my mother did too because she was upset but not SUPER upset that the twin had died because as she told me very bluntly, my sister had been an accident and I had much more promise anyway. We took her body but left her head, hidden in the cloud of blood, at the bottom of the pool for someone else to retrieve and clean up because that would be too disturbing for us to do.
On the way there I ran into the other two flutists and we strolled down the hallway a little ways, chatting and laughing which made me feel better. We passed Jake's locker which had a sign I had made for him with his name and big hemp glasses frames on the door, and next to it was his friend who had committed suicide's locker, which had lots of pictures and letters taped to it in his memory, and it made me awkward and quiet for a moment as we passed it. I woke up shortly after arriving in what I'm pretty sure was the girl's bathroom from my old middle school.
The weird thing is that my old flute buddy Jake died earlier this year, in March. It took me a while after waking up to remember that it wasn't a friend of his who had killed himself. I really enjoyed seeing him again, even if it was in a dream. He was a good guy.
Eyebrows, Guns, and the art of being intertwined.
I brought Red Leader to some kind of extended family thing to meet everyone. It included my dad's whole side of the family with the exception of my cousins Beksahn and Megan, my maternal grandparents, and my mom's brother, Uncle Bob.
All of my dream cousins were completely psycho and some of them were not real. For example; there was this trio of pyromaniac cousins, my cousin Gil being the only one that I knew among them, who I'm pretty sure were trying to kill me with a Bunsen Burner and some fireworks. There was an evil version of Tom Hanks who was a cousin too, he tried to cut off my left eyebrow with a knife to prove that I was a man. He was being crazy and cutting facial hair off of my other cousins to try and prove their gender, because everybody knows that only a man can get his left eyebrow sliced off. Anyway he was being pretty scary and at one point I put my foot down, resisted his threats, (called his bluff) and brought my younger cousins downstairs so they’d be safe. We had a discussion in our office with my parents and Aunt Janet who was sitting in the blue rocking chair about how Tom Hanks’ violence was becoming a real issue for the family.
After that fiasco we had a family dinner. We were eating something like salad and chicken, and they didn't really have a vegetarian option for me. (Vegetarian Problems.) I was sitting to the right of my Uncle Bob and somewhere to my left was my grandpa. I believe we were at my G'ma Leta's dinner table, I was facing the giant wall of windows. Partway through the meal I noticed that there were the words "Fuck You" carved into the side of one of the wooden bowls holding salad, which I pointed out to my parents, except it was "Fuck You," and then a name that started with "D." So I asked my mom who the person with the name starting with "D" was and she said it wasn't a person, it was an underwater gun that was used in WWI. And then she used some metaphor to describe what people turn into when this underwater gun shoots them, it was some very graphic food metaphor like "salsa" or something equally chunky, red, and liquified. Her metaphor was in Zoe from Firefly's voice, kind of like when Zoe was describing why she and Mal both sliced their apples. I kind of gnawed on a crouton for a little while after that and then left the table before the meal was over with Red Leader in tow.
We went up some wooden stairs and passed a girl who apparently goes to college with Red Leader (because we were suddenly in a hallway of dorms) and he had previously talked about how awful she was, (and had referred to her as a "despicable cunt," a phrase he reserves for the few women he can't stand) and I was like, "Hey, is that the despicable cunt?" And he said, yeah. She's a huge dick to everyone. And I asked him what specifically does she do to you, and he said that whenever she's walking behind him or he walks into a room, she sarcastically yells loud sexual innuendos to imply that he's obviously gay and she's being ironic. (Like "OH HOT DAMN, HOPE YOU BROUGHT A CONDOM" or "UH-OH, IT’S MY MAAAAN.” or shit like that in a sarcastic voice.)
I thought that was really funny and just endeared Red Leader to me more, so I hugged him very tightly for a long time and it was really vivid, we were just standing in a dorm hallway in front of a whiteboard that was in between a couple doorways and just hugging each other so tightly that every part of our bodies were touching and my arms felt like they were wrapped around him at least three times and I remember he was wearing his Green Lantern shirt because when I opened my eyes, my face was buried in his neck and I could see the light green collar against his skin.
Then I drew a cartoon of Tom Hanks cutting off my eyebrow on the whiteboard and shortly afterwards discovered that my awesome cousin Beksahn (pictured here being awesome) was in the bedroom right in front of us, lying on his stomach on a double bed, reading. I ran in and jumped on top of him (I do that sort of thing with him) and he groaned and laughed and swatted me because that's what we do. Then I looked at the book he was reading and about 1/3 of it was Chinese symbols (he speaks Chinese) and the rest was in English - the English was the normal text and the Chinese was the dialogue. At first I saw the name "Harry" and a few other familiar phrases and thought he was reading Harry Potter in Chinese. But then I saw a few Lord of the Rings references and got confused, and finally decided that it was some random book that I had never read before.
I remembered that Red Leader was still standing in the hallway and I called him over to meet Beksahn and get up onto the bed with us to talk, but unfortunately the dream ended shortly after so I have no clue what we talked about. Whatever it was, it was interesting and hilarious because the three of us were involved.
At the very tail end of the dream, I was getting changed for work in my high school friend Miles’ house, and the bathroom door did not lock. (One of my least favorite situations in the world.) I was trying to put on this v-neck soccer-jersey-looking long-sleeve shirt that was black and orange, and directly over the breast pocket had the word "PUBES" written in bright orange. I never managed to successfully dress myself in the "PUBES" shirt, but at one point I had six or seven layers of clothing on my body and Miles walked in and commented on how big my clothing was. I guess it was supposed to be a compliment.
We went up some wooden stairs and passed a girl who apparently goes to college with Red Leader (because we were suddenly in a hallway of dorms) and he had previously talked about how awful she was, (and had referred to her as a "despicable cunt," a phrase he reserves for the few women he can't stand) and I was like, "Hey, is that the despicable cunt?" And he said, yeah. She's a huge dick to everyone. And I asked him what specifically does she do to you, and he said that whenever she's walking behind him or he walks into a room, she sarcastically yells loud sexual innuendos to imply that he's obviously gay and she's being ironic. (Like "OH HOT DAMN, HOPE YOU BROUGHT A CONDOM" or "UH-OH, IT’S MY MAAAAN.” or shit like that in a sarcastic voice.)
I remembered that Red Leader was still standing in the hallway and I called him over to meet Beksahn and get up onto the bed with us to talk, but unfortunately the dream ended shortly after so I have no clue what we talked about. Whatever it was, it was interesting and hilarious because the three of us were involved.
At the very tail end of the dream, I was getting changed for work in my high school friend Miles’ house, and the bathroom door did not lock. (One of my least favorite situations in the world.) I was trying to put on this v-neck soccer-jersey-looking long-sleeve shirt that was black and orange, and directly over the breast pocket had the word "PUBES" written in bright orange. I never managed to successfully dress myself in the "PUBES" shirt, but at one point I had six or seven layers of clothing on my body and Miles walked in and commented on how big my clothing was. I guess it was supposed to be a compliment.
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