I've heard this from enough people that I'm comfortable saying, what you see by day often ends up in your dreams. Some things hop directly out of the daylight and into your shut-eyed visions, like angry bosses, sports you play, or the girl from third-period English class. (Those last two examples may come with some nighttime embellishments, but you get the idea.) Other things are left to ferment in your memory until they're sucked up by a passing sand wave and plopped as one big, muddy mix behind your eyes. Last night, my dream self stumbled headlong into one of those muddy mixes:
However things began, I ended up in the middle of a dramatic conclusion, wherein a frustrated soldier was attempting to prove his worthiness to join an elite squadron. I stood with the conflicted man in the lobby of a luxury hotel, whose levels of interior balconies, dangling vines, and stone warrior statues were probably pulled straight out of my in-laws' latest vacation slide show. The soldier had obtained a set of torso armor and a closed helmet, both made from glossy blue metal with gold ornamentation along the edges. The war-gear rested on his head and shoulders like antique football pads, but I knew instinctively that he hoped this power armor would enhance his abilities and usher him into the ranks of the Space Marines. (Clearly, my ongoing fascination with Games Workshop has begun populating my dreams.) So accoutered, the soldier charged up a nearby stairway to a third-floor balcony, where he confronted the planetary governor and demanded a spot among his retinue. Of course, the governor's bodyguards immediately burst from cover with guns leveled and ordered everyone to stand down. So I left.
Walking around a corner, I rejoined my parents, brother, and wife, who were all hurriedly packing. We were about to miss our train, and I was the hold-up. We stuffed our bags, checked our watches -- it was 2:55, we needed tickets by 3:00 -- and started running for the platform, which we could glimpse across the hotel lobby through our room's window. As we charged down a side hallway, my wife assured me that the train would not leave until 3:15, and we had plenty of time. (She told me something similar the other day as we ran to catch our train home: "Don't worry, it's only 1:25, we can easily catch the 1:30." "Then why are we running?!") Still, in our rush up the next escalator, my brother and I tangled, tripped, and brought all five of us down in a heap sure to stall our travel plans. I hopped up.
And suddenly we were back home in my parents' kitchen. The room appeared exactly as I had last seen it, including the piles of snow on the driveway outside. Moreover, three of our guy friends were there. They had come for Christmas, but were now putting on footwear before leaving. We exchanged hugs, and I was pleased that one of my buddies was making good use out of the Hercules-style sandals my mother-in-law had been trying to foist on every male in the house during our last visit. The three walked out of the house, and the closing door woke me.
Now, that kind of dream melange rampages through my brain all the time, full of images that come from easily recognizable sources. Nonetheless, I do also get truly left-field weirdness. Like, after awakening briefly when the door closed in my parents' kitchen, I went back to sleep and was dropped into a rough, flashy nightclub. I had been entered into a crazy karaoke contest where I had to perform a Lady Gaga song while threatening some old lady with a giant cleaver. Only halfway through, I really needed to pee. So I headed over to a convenient urinal and took care of business while some mountain-man type threw up in the stall behind me. And all the time I kept singing along and aiming the cleaver at the old lady's forehead.
If you want to offer an explanation of where I got that last bit, be my guest!
Sent through the gate between January 29th and 30th, 2011.
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