Ben writes:
I was at my parents’ home—I don’t know if I was just visiting, or living there in the dream. My father informs me, quite somber, that he had found out that his close friend, who is also the father of one of my closest friends from high school, had been evading taxes, and after a lot of thought on the matter, he had decided to call the IRS to inform them. His friend had been hauled off to jail. I am shocked that this man who I’ve known all my life, would do such a thing. Later, I am hanging out with the same friend of mine, his daughter, and it’s exceedingly awkward. Continue reading
Katherine writes:
I dreamt last night that I was dreaming (yes, a dream within a dream) that I was in the house that I grew up in, and I walked into my father’s study. he was sitting there at his desk, and I came up to him and gave him a hug and told him I loved him so much. And he told me he loved me a lot. And then we just kept hugging, and I felt time speed up or at least it felt like days went by. Continue reading
John writes:
Pick up pick up stop drop stop drop pin drop skin drip
The powder fly
in
An
Old
House
Blue grey seven stories Continue reading
Smidge sends us:
I am driving from Duluth to the Black Hills with a group of people. Parents and children driving together as families. This drive takes many, many days.
Prior to each day’s drive, there is a staged dance – the children leave the parents – the parents are left alone to dance – each day the dances get more and more intense and emotional for the parents.
I am in the director’s role. I am not participating in the dance – I have no children – but I am visible on the stage.
I can’t see an audience, but I know we are being watched.
In my car is my dear friend Edgar and his parents. Although, in the dream, his parents are my parents. Continue reading
last night i dreamed i was dropping my boys off at their dad’s house. when we entered the home it was like entering a reality warp. it was all ozzy and harriet inside. his girlfriend had soup on the stove and roast in the oven. the house was hotel lobby clean. her dress starched, her apron starched, her hair up in a bun, just a little to tight and high on her head. the soup pot had vegetables that were whole, and larger than usual sticking up over the rim of the pot. a bouquet of carrots, celery, kate greens, whole leeks and garlics, not really cooking down though there was steam rising around them. my kids dad, who was once my husband, was formal and polite as he greeted us and welcomed us into the house. the boys seemed to pass through this warp. upon entering the home their disheveled ways transformed into clean behind the ears, tidied up and buttoned down appearances. they sat quietly and only spoke when spoken to. I was grossly out of place in this environment. everything was unfamiliar, even my own kids. i felt lost and scared and woke trying to convince my children to leave with me.
Alberta sends us:
Returned to grama’s old house in the country
New guesthouse in back yard. It is night, thge windows glow with warmth. behind it, The Woods. I am exuberantly whisper-screaming, sort of to myself “I love the country! I love the country!” I see the forts we built in the backwoods. They are still standing. I see my cousin. There is a 10 foot shallow terra cotta pot with a bit of dirt in the bottom.
“I love the country! I love the country!”
Honorary Dreamblog Rockstar Gina writes:
“I can’t remember the reason, but I am “sentenced” to die, to be shot – in a room, like a classroom. My mother has the same “sentence.” I believe my friend, J’s mother is also sentenced to die, but in the infirmary. I am “free” to make arrangements prior to being shot, and, as if this were a lesson, I know to show up. I am surprised, amazed and scared, yet something greater removes my impulse to run away.
In my dream, I walk along lines on the floor in a square, repeating the walk with my mother and 2 or 3 others. The executioner is Clarence the angel! from “It’s A Wonderful Life.” He is kind and very respectful of our anxieties. He tells me that I am to be first. The others sit down. A faint memory requesting that my mother not be present. I don’t remember what happened, just that his response was loving and respectful. Continue reading
Valerie writes:
I dreamt about my grandmother again. I woke up with an awful aching feeling, like someone had taken a grapefruit spoon and carved out my entire chest cavity. Gaunt and frail and brown, but distanced. Her presence felt there, only across the room, as if some invisible wall of time and space were between us.
This time, she was dead 10 years, or so I thought. By accident I opened up my mother’s mail and found a bill from some hotel in Vietnam, claiming that she owed them several years back-rent. My mother confesses that she and my grandmother faked her death in the hospital, to avoid creditors. My grandmother has been living in a small town some place in Vietnam for the past ten years. Continue reading
Sam writes:
laying upside down in a bed. i open my eyes and see fuzzy people in the hallway outside my room. i try and move, i can’t. she enters, and with a fish lens face says, get up, hitting the ‘p’ with a drop of spit. again, i try and move, i can’t. an older woman comes in, she is looking through my drawers, i notice now that i have nice things. she holds up tampons and tells me in french that i can get them downstairs at the local shop. i notice while i thank her that i have managed to get up, and am now looking in a mirror. my face is sparkling and i smiling at the sight, then realize i’m drenched in my own tears. i look back to the bed where i had come from, it is gone. i look back to the mirror and the old woman, there is a shed. i am outside, i’m okay with this. the old shed is behind the restaurant, you followed me in and put your hands on my waist as we pushed the door open together. i hesitate, you do what you need to and then look at me to cross the room. my back to the window wall, your face to mine. we want to but there is something that holds up back, we address it, and continue on. a hand sliding up my back and pressing me in. shameless and so fulfilled. Continue reading
I’m walking around some sort of amusement park or fairground with my parents. They both seem exhausted, subdued, and sad. My mother, usually bright and outgoing, is sullen, barely said a word. I’ve never seen her like this before. I am aggravated, and want more than anything else just to get out of there. My mother makes some reference to my older brother, and then I look down, and realize that she’s pushing a stroller, and in it is my brother, as a 2 year-old. And I know instantly that in this world, for some reason, he has never aged past 2 years. He can’t talk. My parents have been burdened with caring for him for the entirety of his life, and it shows. I try to explain to them why I’m so upset, but all they want to talk about is what I’m doing these days. My father explains to me that they spend so much time at home, caring for him, that what I’m doing with my life is the most important thing they have to think or talk about. I can’t take this, and I leave. I have to talk to someone about this, but I keep on remembering that the first person I would talk to about it is a mute 2 year-old. I try and tell my friends, my brother’s friends, see if they know anything about it, but they just think I’m joking, and tell me that it’s not a very funny thing to joke about. It seems that I’m the only person in the world who thinks that this isn’t perfectly normal. And so, I decide to do everything I can to try and bring him back to normal. It’s some kind of science, there are a lot of microscopes, but I’m not finding anything. I soon realize that I always talk to my brother about anything relating to school, and I’ve been totally aimless in all this. Pretty soon, I run out of time, and they take away all the microscopes and equipment. I couldn’t do anything. People think I’m crazy. My parents are crushed. My brother is still 2. I woke up, feeling that something profoundly horrible had just happened.
I dream of dada 