Mister.

I'm married to Danny Glover and any attempts at marital intimacy are thwarted by a little girl running into our bedroom and yelling about ghosts in her closet. I am very frustrated.

Oh God, please NOOOOO

I have to walk into my parent's church holding a child that is not mine. I know the explanation is too outlandish to be believed about why I have a baby in my arms. Still, I sheepishly walk in (late) to the Sunday School class and make my way to the back as everyone stares.

I see faces I recognize and a few hushed whispers reach my ears.

As soon as I sit down, the damn ball of flesh starts crying. It's not loud, but oh it's there. I try to hush the child. Nothing works. I'm getting anxious and sweating a little. Makeitstopmakeitstop!

Running with Oprah

I am, for whatever reason, running the Las Vegas Marathon. It's held on a series of boats somehow connected via an elaborate system of stairs and ramps. I pass Oprah and a gaggle of girls content to run behind Oprah. Oprah is gracious and wearing the most ridiculous running outfit I've ever seen: "stylishly" disheveled overalls and boots. She's making good time, though, despite her silly getup.

I take a wrong turn and end up going up an escalator. The adjacent escalator coming down contains a couple that sees me in my flimsy running gear and warns me that the escalator comes out in Korea and it's very cold. I get spooked and hope the banister and go back down. And then I think, When am I ever going to get to see Korea? I apparently am not concerned about North vs. South and which Korea I would be popping in to. I hop the banister again and go up and through the big wooden door and see a gorgeous mountain range and green things and then, over to the right, some sort of construction area and a very tiny wooden block emblazoned with a swastika. I see Megan Morris there, taking pictures, and I say to her, "Hey, I think I've seen that (the swastika) on a website somewhere!" meaning Google Earth or whatever. She seems to know exactly what I'm talking about, and resumes reviewing her digital photos.

I notice that it's not as ridiculously cold as I had imagined it would be, and think it seems slightly odd that a boat in Las Vegas would provide passage to a mountain in Korea, but whatever.

I go back down the escalator and try to resume the marathon, but it becomes harder and harder to choose the right paths, and there's usually no one around to tell me which way to go.

Ballsy

I'm staring up at the cloudy night sky, amid some sort of turmoil, and I scream, "I HATE YOU!" into the darkness above me.

Que hora es?

I'm standing on my parent's porch from their previous home. It's wintery and I'm talking to a girl that I don't know in real life, but am in a relationship with in m dream. I can't recall her face, but she's wearing a dark colored peacoat and a fuzzy scarf with red and gray stripes. We're saying our goodbyes...possibly after a date. I catch myself saying something that seems out of the ordinary for me and question whether or not I might be dreaming. I turn to see what time it is and have a hard time reading the red digits on the alarm clock. It's 10:48...no, it's 49...no...the numbers keep changing. I can't seem to keep the clock in focus. Before long I can make out that it's after 11 and the numbers just keep ascending. I tell myself "Now, I know I'm dreaming." as I recall the whole not being able to read time thing in Waking Life.
I wake up and look around my room. It's my bedroom from the house before the other house. I still can't see what time it is and it's starting to freak me out. I feel like I want to wake up now that I know I'm dreaming. My mom is walking around with a basket full of laundry. She sits down on the edge of the bed and we begin talking. She asks me a question and my response startles me. I try to explain to her that it's normal because I'm dreaming. I explain that I know I'm dreaming because I can't see what time it is. I ask her for the time and she looks astounded when she can't focus on the clock.

Then I wake up. For real. At least I hope. I'm looking at a clock right now and it isn't dancing around.

Silverback

Last night, I was a gorilla on the run from people trying to put me back where they thought I belonged. It was some area of Africa full of rain forest and residential development.

I ran for my life, swinging from trees and leaping over obstacles with ease. For a while, I was sailing over vast expanses of forest, occasionally reaching for another branch to use on my next swing. I carried with me an animal who also needed to be rescued. I don't remember what animal it was, but it was small and fragile.

The next moment, I was struggling to find my way through half-constructed houses. Most walls were concrete with window holes cut through.

The houses were haphazardly built and rickety scaffolding obscured some walls. It was dusk and the only workers I encountered were trying to pack away tools and go home. None of these houses were complete. It was just a series of walls in no particular pattern.

I knew someone was chasing me and I knew the objective was to capture me and move me to another place. I didn't care if it would have been harmless, I didn't want to be near them.

Abruptly, I found myself in a house that was structurally complete. The walls were up and there was a roof. The tile floors were cool against my feet, but there were no furnishings in the house whatsoever.

I was standing in an entryway full of teenagers milling about. Few seemed to notice me or recognize that I was an animal and not a human. I released the small animal from my arms and it trotted away as someone, a somewhat disheveled boy, approached me.

He talked to me for a bit while I said nothing. He seemed enchanted with me even though I couldn't respond. All I wanted was for him to remain calm and not seek out anyone who might aid in my capture.

Then it was like we were pals. He took me around with him and insisted that we stay together. He liked to be hugged and I kept at least one gorilla arm around him at all times. He laughed at each hug and stayed close to me as though there was some maternal connection. No one bothered us. His friends all smiled at me and greeted me as though it was normal.

not quite

amy ten years from now is humming to herself in the kitchen, tidying the counters and preparing food. she stoops to open the oven door and pulls out a rectangular glass baking pan. there is steam rising from the dish, it swirls thick like words. she smells the contents and pricks it with a toothpick.

i try and float towards the ceiling to see what's in the pan. she looks over at me (even though i'm not really there) and says, 'it's not quite ready.' i stare at her, and then the pan. 'it's your true name,' she smiles as though i were a very silly child for not knowing this. the steam comes into focus for an instant before she replaces the pan in the oven, 'know me' it reads. before she closes the oven door, i catch a glimpse of what it holds.

Dream or past life?

Voices clatter and clammer in my head.

They tell me to do various things. One time, I shoved a zebra ornament up my vagina. Friends always tell me, "Edith, you're one crazy Victorian bitch." I usually respond by flinging pickled cabbage in their faces.

"Improper," they say. "Edith Fitzgerald is an improper Victorian lady!" Hogwash. Absolute hogwash. At least, I know I'm alive.

Occasionally, I'll run around downtown Dublin in my knickers. The town constable furrowed his brow and talked about indecency and moralistic jibberjabber.

Granted, I'm not the most popular Victorian-era woman on the block. Mrs. Reingald doesn't invite me to her prim-and-proper tea parties with her sophisticated dollies, chintzy china and half-baked crumpets. Whenever she sees me on the street, she turns up her nose. Hmpfh. Hmpfh.

What Mrs. Reingald doesn't know is that I urinated on her hydrangeas one October morning after drinking a pot of fresh cider.

Uninvited guests

I am passed out drunk on the couch and I hear my dad's voice and realize that he has somehow gotten into my apartment despite having no key. He comes into the living room, followed by my mom and my brother — the 12-year-old version of my brother, that is — and they are looking around at the mess and I give them hugs and try to wake and sober up and am just stricken with embarrassment and guilt that they've caught me in a severely mortifying moment.

apocolyptica

is it any wonder that i believe my fate lies in the gnashing teeth of the risen dead?

we were in a compound along with three other families that we didn't know. we had built up walls and fences around what looked like a small suburban neighborhood. my mother rushes in to our house and starts sobbing and thrusting family heirlooms into my hands while saying 'don't forget any of them. put them in your bags and keep them safe'. and i do, even though i think she's being irrational and impractical. i don't know why, but i know that we have to leave soon.

we are all waiting in the boat house for everyone to be prepared to leave. i'm bored and cold. there's a tv playing staticky re-runs of a 1970's sitcom and some of the guys are playing cards.

suddenly, there are zombies filtering through the barricades we'd set up. they fan out over the compound grounds and some find their way to the boat house. i can hear gun shots and banging as the zombies break down the large sliding door. they are slow, but not rotted. they are very strong. there are more of them than us and two men fight off a cluster at the entrance. i'm up on a large fishing boat and i start to panic. then it happens, not in slow motion, but more deliberately than i would have thought. i don't have anything to fight with, so i'm pushing the zombie's head into the gear shift of the boat and trying to shake its grip. i think to myself that once i've killed this one, i'll be fearless and able to kill anything. i'm the last one wrestling with my foe and they are gathered around me, encouraging me but also waiting to jump in if it takes a turn for the worse.

it is at the moment that i succeed in pushing my fist through its forehead that i realize i'm also the only girl left alive in the boat house and my first thought when i wake up is of my mother's heirlooms.

I got worms

I wake up, either from an afternoon nap gone awry or way too early in the morning. On my way to the bathroom, I encounter my male roommate in the hallway. He's wearing boxers and a t-shirt, which does nothing for my inability to gage the time of day because he's so damn peppy and in my face. (I've never met this person in real life, which is a symptom of dreaming I always find creepy. Who are these people?)

"What's up with your face?" he says.

I go to a mirror and find that each and every one of the pores in my face is oozing a wiggly, threadlike worm. I sit still to make sure they're moving and not some overnight curse of oncoming middle age. Sure enough, they're moving the way worms and Stevie Wonder do. I turn back to my roommate, who has moved on to something else in our happy homestead but is still available for shouting at from another room.

"It's cool," I say. "They wash right off."

I get in the shower and, sure enough, they do.

Closeted

My friend Jay is sitting in a closet. I come up to him and begin kissing him. I notice that my mouth is dry. He kisses back and we make out pretty passionately for a while, hands going everywhere. He pulls back and looks me in the eye, smiling intensely. He does not leave the closet, though.

A Steven Spielberg production

Last night, I had an alien dream. It wasn't just aliens running all over the place either. It was like a movie was playing out the way areas came into focus.

I was at a lakeside house along with some blond guy and a bunch of friends. I guess he was romantically linked to me although we didn't act that way. Everyone else called on me with issues related to the guy.

It was some sort of typical college-kid party where people carried red Solo cups and "rebellious" music played in the background.

Something was wrong with the blond guy's dog. He and I were in a room where the dog's leash was attached to the wall. The leash ran down the length of the room on the floor, out some sliding glass doors and down a floor to the sandy beach below. The dog had plenty of lead to run and play on the beach, but it was laying down close to the house when I looked.

As the guy told me how the dog approached some creature he'd never seen before, the leash rose off the floor as though charged with an electric current. Lights began dancing outside like something from Close Encounters of the Third Kind and the camera view shifted from the second floor where we were to pan down behind the dog. The lights out on the lake danced behind some trees as the dog barked furiously.

The dog had enormous ears like no domesticated species and a horribly short, wrinkly face. It raced toward the trees where the light emanated and pulled the leash taut.

The scene shifted back to the second floor where I was with the blond guy. His eyes had become red and alternately flashing like a child's toy. I was sitting on the floor as the blond guy crossed the room, his eyes flashing, saying, "I told the dog not to go over there. Stupid dog. I don't want to lose it, though."

All at once, the dog stopped barking, the lights stopped flashing and the blond kid dropped to the floor. His eyes had returned to normal colors and he could not breathe. He laid clawing the carpet and at his chest trying to take a breath.

I called for help and knelt over him as he grew more frightened. "Breathe!" I bellowed. He took one gasp. "OK, you can do this. Come on!" I encouraged. "One, two, three, BREATHE!" and he took another gasp as other people entered the room curious as to what was happening.

I SAID DO NOT TOUCH MY SCREEN

Last night I dreamed that CA columnist Geoff Calkins walked up to my computer to tell me something, and leaned over, and put his finger on the screen (just underneath the sign that says, "This screen with eat your fingers if you touch it") and rubbed it vigorously, the pixels swirling and going mad, as if to taunt me.

I screeched and smacked him in the face, which he didn't like very much.

Lightning crashes

The great thing about not being able to sleep soundly is that you have a shit ton of dreams in one night. Or, well, I do.

So on my second round of trying to sleep in the wee hours this morning, I dreamed that my family and I were at Wal-Mart, outside in the parking lot. A storm rolls in and rains so heavily that Wal-Mart has decided to close. These huge chainlink fences slide closed around the store, locking everyone out. I pull out my Blackberry and try to photograph the action and send it to Twitpic and Flickr. (Yes, I know.) We get inside our vehicle to wait out the storm and lightning flashes around us. I realize that the lightning is actually hitting vehicles in the parking lot when I see these creepy trails of smoke leading from the ground to the sky, which is seemingly churning with anger now.

I see lightning strike a truck a few rows over, and then another vehicle closer to us. There's a slight flash of light near the ground right before the lightning bolt hits its target. I assume that at any moment, our car is going to be smote. I decide we've got to get out of there.

And get out of there we do. We're driving through a corn field, the storm still raging around us. We're following my dad, I think, and I keep wondering where mom is. My sister tells me she's behind us, and I can tell by the tone in her voice that she's doing something my sister disapproves of. The corn field, I notice, is faded and withered, which means it must be October.

Choose your own adventure

There was a scene in Mad Men last night that I was sure was going to play out like so: Man falls asleep on couch, man opens his eyes and is suddenly dreaming, man stands up and things happen that the audience understands are dream things, etc., man wakes up. Except it didn't pan out that way; man woke up. But it's a common scenario in movies and television — the falling asleep and dreaming that one is in that sleep position, "waking", and then doing dream stuff. I thought to myself, that doesn't really ever happen to me, self. I never really fall asleep in my bed and then start dreaming that I am in my bed as a starting point for a dream.

Which means, of course, that that kind of happened in my dream last night. Kind of.

Last night in real life, I left my friends D and A's apartment and drove home, like, half a block away.

Last night in dream life, I had a few false starts from D and A's apartment, trying to get home.

During the first one, I was in my car and completely, completely drunk. I couldn't find my way out of the parking lot so I turned around and took some convoluted alternate route and ended up driving over a median and puttering out into the street, unsure if traffic was coming or not. I think I made it home.

Scenario No. 2 had me stumbling out into the parking lot with friends Ay and B, and B lagging behind because he had found something electronic blinking in the grass. He realized it was my Blackberry and handed it to me. I'm grateful, of course, because clearly I dropped it and would have left it behind forever and ever. And then I realize that I must have dropped it hours ago, because it's busted as hell — keys missing, panels warped, screen cracked, not functional at all. I instantly start freaking out because I don't have insurance on it and even if I did, would it cover stupid drunken mishaps like dropping it in a parking lot and people running over it with their cars? Doubtful.

Scenario No. 3 has me leaving D and A's place and getting on some kind of shuttle full of bona fide creepy freaks. I'm sitting in the back of a standard van — two people up front, three in the middle row, and then me and someone else in the back. The driver looks in his rearview mirror straight at me and saying, "Hey, baby, where you headed?" and other barely masked innuendos. He goes on and on and I try to stand strong and silent and wait for my stop. The person sitting beside him turns to look at me and I see what I can only describe as a Satanic nose, pierced by a huge, tribal-looking nosering. The van finally stops at McLean and Poplar and I get out and try to walk quickly across the parking lot of the strip mall there, but the driver of the van is walking briskly to catch up with me. Ay and B are walking close behind and B wants to know what's wrong, so I start yelling at the van driver, who is some skanky old dude with long blonde hair, "You can't just look at a girl like that and say 'Hey, baby, where you heded?" It's creepy!" B's all, "What!? Yeah, man, you can't do shit like that!" I'm screaming at the skanky dude and B and Ay try to console me as I break down into tears.

I don't know if I ever got home.

When in China

I am visiting Fritz at Fuckleberry Hound's place, except that they're in a house and not an apartment, and they're in China, not Harlem. The place is really quite spiffy and Fritz and I can't stop gushing over how nice it is. He shows me where he does yoga in the bathroom and I swoon; the bathroom is huge and his yoga mat is a big blue comfy looking thing. I imagine him meditating there on the bathroom floor and instantly want to do yoga again.

Moving

I am in a new apartment, one that's quite roomier than my current home, but one that's still strewn with moving materials and my usual packrattery. I walk around and look at the place with some confusion; I vaguely remember my ex helping me move into the place, and I feel guilty about having asked him to do so. But mostly I can't remember how I picked this place, or why. It's sufficient enough, and I'm digging the roomier bedroom, but as I walk outside onto the stoop, I see some things lining the stairs that I know are not mine, and that would seem to have belonged to a previous tenant.

There's an owl figurine, and some kind of dusty flowerpot. I get the distinct feeling — the fear — that the woman who lived here before me (I can feel that it's a woman) must have died in the apartment. I wonder how she died. And why I got to move in so quickly.

I am suddenly struck with another fear — how easy is this place to break into? I peer into the bedroom window and see my bed, and wonder who else could have been watching. I don't feel unsafe, necessarily, but I also feel like I might be at risk. Especially since I have no idea where these apartments are located and their reputation for safety. They seem nice enough, but looks can always deceive...

Then I remember my old apartment and can't recall ever giving my building manager any notice that I was going to be moving out. I imagine him and his wife walking into my empty, echoing living room and wondering where I've rudely run off to.

Good aim

I'm at a gun range with a friend of mine. Said friend has taken me to a gun range before in real life where I performed rather poorly.

This time, I'm hitting the high point areas of the target repeatedly. I'm shooting through some of the same holes, enlarging the rip in the paper, with a very sleek .45. My friend is thoroughly impressed.

He offers at one point to help me with some of my aiming. I take another few shots that hit the target in close to the same spot every time. There's a gaping hole to the left side showing I don't need any help.

"Nah," I reply. "I think I'm doing just fine." I grin and empty the clip.

I think I already know what's going on with this dream. I had been wondering for the past few days if I should trust my instincts on my evaluation of this friend or consider that maybe I've misjudged him. My subconscious apparently thinks I'm right on target.

This is just fragmentary. Some things were seen, others were understood. I was someone else in this dream. I think I was in high school or college, but definitely a student since some of the dream took place in a school building.

"Weird" light isnt necesarily better than the dark, but the dark is still scary. things can seek us out better in the dark when they have the lights. sort of like turning on your high beams in a deer field to blind them (i've never done this, but i understand it's popular with poor hunters).

innate uneasieness when you're in the dark, even in populated areas. "watch the edges around buildings at night, and shadows from large objects and even telephone poles, but mostly big areas of darkness like the woods and fields." (i saw the quoted part in text form, like i was reading it in a book.) when you can see distant city light but you're not there yet, that's the most dangerous because the things that want to find you stay close to people but are in larger groups on the outskirts of a city.

i have a close friendship with a teacher who reminds me of kathy bates. everyone thinks she's a lesbian, including me. i dont have many friends and am apparently troubled. when i get stressed out, she lets me come sit in her private office after school to write and she talks to me. every afternoon the older, black dean comes into her office to have a scotch and talk with her. one day i understand that they are quietly in love with each other and have been for 23 years but it has always been secret for reasons not revelaed to me. i think he is married. when i realize that they should have been together all this time, i tear up and start crying. it's the saddest thing.

im with a good friend, a female. we are going through some sort of outdoor cafteria line at night. maybe for a drive-in? i'm disgusted with the country fried steak. the operation is student-manned. the cashier, jose, whose employee number is 6579, is acting obnoxiously and singing. he's slowing down the line. people are going to call and complain. i am still just grossed out by the food but i get a country fried steak, mashed potatoes, gravy, broccoli, and a roll with a tiny tub of country crock spread. i head toward the car. i stop at a friends car to get something. am aware of something like headlights beaming on us from a nearby field but am not very troubled. i open the friend's car door but she appears to be sleeping so i go back to my other friend's car, the friend im staying with. it is chilly but not cold. she tosses a blanket toward my side of the car. i open the door and balance my food while grabbing the blanket to spread over me after i sit down. we sit down and begin eating. the light is getting brighter. i suggest that we turn on our own headlights, for no rational reason. the headlights dont immediately turn on and we get outside to check them. the other headlights flicker, grabbing our attention. there are strange loud whooping noises, many of them, all around but mostly coming from the direction of the headlights, which are rapidly becoming blinding. i understand that something is communicating with like others out there. i say for us to jump in the car. we do and hurry to roll up the windows. i start screaming to turn on the interior lights. it occurs to me to keep our lights on while simultaneuously blocking theirs, so i hold up my blanket to my window.

i wake up.

i fall back asleep.
*****WARNING: THE FOLLWING PROBABLY CONTAINS TOO MUCH INFORMATION, EVEN FOR A DREAM. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED*****

I'm myself, but I'm an actor or some kind of performer. I'm in a dingy-looking place, and im being filmed. im with another woman and a man, and we're on a bed. the man looks like he is asleep and i understand that we are acting and that i am supposed to mourn him like he's dead. the other woman sits on the edge of the bed with her back towards us. she smells really good. i fake-cry and run my hands over the man's face. i lean forward and kiss him. i notice he has an erection and im vaguely attracted to him, but much more interested in the woman. i continue my fake grieving and the man who is filming calls cut and leaves the room. the man i was mourning sits up and smiles. he makes a comment about his "wood" (his word) and i just kind of nod. it's gotten much bigger. im scared of it. it's grown in length, to where it is almost under his chin. he says he wants to kiss me. i say ok. but he says he also wants to kiss the other woman. she walks over. i see that she and i are both naked. the man is topless. the woman is beautiful but she looks very sad. she sits down and we both kiss him. he focuses on me and pushes my head down. he coerces both of us into fellating him briefly. i feel disgusting and i just want to hold the pretty girl. he finishes and im left with a mouth full of semen, an incredible amount. i spit it out and lay my head on the woman's shoulder. i reach out to stroke her back in a comforting way, and the man slaps my hand away.