Tawna

I totally have the school dreams too. Every time, the class that I’ve forgotten about or failed to take is a math class.

Last night, for example, I dreamed that I was at a board meeting for my old job. I then took the Chairman and a group of others to my dad’s hunting camp, which was really his actual house on the lake. The car slipped down to the lake and I was trying to push it back up. The Chairman stopped to help me. The water was foaming white, and all of a sudden I was yelling at my nieces and nephews not to go in because they would freeze to death. There were boards missing on the dock, making it quite treacherous to move. I managed to stop the car just before it moved. My stepmother made hot chocolate for everyone, but when I went to look for them, they had all disappeared. I then saw my dad struggling to carry an anchor up the hill and I was so angry at everyone for leaving and letting him do that. I was worried he would have a heart attack (in actual fact, he passed away three years ago). When I got back to the house, my stepmother reprimanded me for playing basketball on the deck and disturbing the neighbors when I’d had some friends over a couple of weeks ago.

The only common themes I can find here are a lot of “uphill battles,” fear for people’s safety and a sense of abandonment. But how all these things come together in one dream… don’t ask me.

Awesome….loving it. Some of my nightmares would make Clive Barker scream like a little girl. For years I had to be medicated for horrible night terrors. I wouldn’t sleep for days at a time, was too afraid of what waited for me in my mind. If I could capture a glimpse of that torment in my writing Stephen King would be out of a job. But I like helping people more than scaring them, so I guess it all worked out.

My dad came to visit last night during what little time I slept. The oddest thing was that an old George Clooney was riding shotgun for him. Dad doesn’t do well under the wheel anymore.

Now George was really peculiar in this episode. (Not that he does episodes in my dreams normally — only cameos.) There he was wearing an odd embroidered beanie (not a kippa) and going all philosophical. The philosophy, though, was geared more toward that of a hobo on steroids with other drug issues in the background. He did seem to like where I lived which was nice.

My dad had come because he figured it would be his last hurrah and why not visit the daughter who didn’t live a normal life like the rest of the family members.

It all ended with reconciliation, making mice, and watching George wander around the lushly green and slightly drippy property.

Not earth-shattering, as you say, but revealing in so many ways. Dad really is going downhill quickly and a visit soon will be necessary. I really don’t live like any of the other family members. I’m a writer, after all. And George clearly represented the next intended phase of my existence due to begin in the spring if at all possible.

The reconciliation of all those facets of my current life is a good thing, at least from my standpoint.

Loved your dream, too. I’ve been having complete SF movies running through my nights here lately. It would be great, however, if I could just remember them in detail when I wake so that I can use them for stories. Is that supposed to be part of a writer’s dissatisfaction, too?

Clauds

Twice I have died in my dreams. Once on an operating table where I floated up out of my body and was looking down at myself as the surgeons tried to save me. In the blink of an eye I suddenly ‘whooshed’ back into myself and woke up. My heart was beating like a good ‘un, I can tell you. The second time, I fell off a cliff and as I hit the rocks below I woke up. It took me a good few seconds before I calmed down from that one!

….and Kirsten, as you know, I too already have your brilliant book!