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The Blatherings Of A Blitherer

Dreaming Is Serious Business


Last night I had a nightmare.

This is nothing new or unusual for me. I’m a very active and vivid dreamer who routinely sees in color and can taste, smell, hear, feel, etc everything that’s happening. I can feel the change in texture of a painted iron fence, from smooth paint to rough rust spot. I can feel the dry heat of the sun on my head and back and the cool lapping of lake water on my legs, complete with the feel of rounded pebbles under my feet, toes digging in and gripping them. I once had a very pleasant dream where I was just sitting in a field of tall waving grass, dry and golden, rattling seed pods, while the sun set. The sky was brilliant colors, the air cooled, the stars slowly came out. It was peaceful.

But most of my dreams are pretty awful.

They’re complex, with convoluted plot lines. I have a lot of anxiety dreams about being lost, losing something, having to find someone or something. I’m never where I need to be. Sometimes I can read in dreams, and I have read the most amazing stories and histories. Other times words and letters are a shifting jumble and I need to read them and I can’t make sense of them. I frequently have dreams about needing to call someone and being unable to work the phone, tension and anxiety mounting as various things go wrong.

On top of that, I also have nightmares. Often. Frequently. Several times a week. Sometimes several times a night.

I’m chased through dark woods by slavering beasts who want to rip me apart. I’m traveling through ruined cities, looking for supplies and evading bad guys who want to kill me. I’m hiding someplace small and dark hiding from something lurking right outside, waiting, being absolutely silent. I’m on the run from people, from things, who want to torture and kill me. There are spiders on me. There’s something under my skin. My spouse/parent/child is possessed by a ghost/demon and nobody knows but me and I have to fix the problem before it kills me. Something or someone is trying to smother me and I can’t breathe.

I live with terror.

And that terror usually involves bodily harm- protracted bodily harm.

I mentioned that I can feel things? Cool water and round stones and breezes and grass? That I can feel the soft flutter of a cotton skirt against my bare legs, or the tickle of a dry leaf falling and brushing my cheek? I can feel pain, too.

I lie with chronic insomnia. I have a hard time falling asleep and I have a hard time staying asleep. If something (or someone) wakes me up, it can literally take hours for me to get back to sleep. I’m tired all the time, I enjoy lounging in bed, but I hate sleeping. I need to sleep, but I hate it. I wake up exhausted, often no more rested than when I lay down, and frequently more emotionally drained. I realized when I was in high school that I had a lot of delaying tactics around going to sleep and wondered if it was because of my dreams, and I think that’s true. There’s 6-10 hours a night where I’m not in control and horrors come out and play, and that is very stressful.

Sometimes I realize I’m dreaming, and I try to take control and direct things. Sometimes that works and I can change things or switch to a different dream. Once, while having an anxiety dream, I got very frustrated and exclaimed that this was JUST LIKE an anxiety dream and I was OUT OF HERE and I literally walked away and into a different dream. But other times I freak out and think “Oh, this is JUST LIKE a dream” but then lose that thread.

The first time I went on Wellbutrin I started seeing results very quickly. One result was that I got tired and went to sleep and woke up feeling refreshed. I stopped taking Wellbutrin for reasons I can’t remember, but took a generic form years later that sadly did not have the same effect.

I don’t know why my brain goes into overdrive while I sleep. It’s not related to physical activity or what I eat or if I’m depressed or what I’ve been watching or reading or anything. It just… bam.


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… and the gear shift was marked “child,” “dorito,” and “lime”


For whatever reason, Niko was up and down all night which meant a night of very interrupted sleep, which for me usually means weird-as-all-fuck dreams. Most memorable of them was a 2-parter that involved 2 abandoned buildings we (where “we” was me, Nesko, my youngest brother, and some other people) had recently gotten ahold of and were trying to figure out how to rehab them and what we would use them for. There was actual talk about ripping out walls, etc. Only we were all dressed like we were at a Vampire: The Masquerade LARP in the late 90s… lots of black vinyl and fishnets and eye liner and flannel and really appalling hair.

One of the two buildings had a very large room on the second floor that was all dusty floorboards and decaying plaster and lathe walls with chunks of plaster missing and the lathe showing ominously through, a big faded oriental carpet in the middle of the floor several tones lighter than it should have been from thick dust. It was a massive room with two incredibly worn out white wing chairs, and an attached nursery and bathroom. The windows were wooden framed with wobbly glass and iron counter weights. We were debating what to do with that room, especially. It had been billed to us as the master bedroom and I wanted to keep it that way, but everyone else wanted to subdivide it into smaller rooms for some reason having to do with a threat of some sort.

The lighting and everything was kind of horror-movie ish, and there was lots of dirt and grim and it was hard to actually see anything and all the wall paper on the walls looked like it had been soaking in tea for awhile.

The dream shifted, as dreams do, and I realized that I was Jeffrey Rowland from “Over Compensating” which is not something I have ever aspired to be. Some other people and I were holed up in a barn, but it wasn’t a very good barn… the walls of it were wood slats and the wood was gappy and had bits missing so you could pretty much see inside from the outside and see the outside from inside, and it would have been pretty much impossible to actually defend. I was sitting in the passenger seat of a car in this barn that was filled with junk, and there was something about breakfast so I got out of the car and then someone else came in and I yelled at them to get away from my car, so I went over to it again.

Only it wasn’t a car, it was a table that someone had made into a car by attaching casters to the legs and an engine and gear shift to the underside of the table. Because of the location of the shifter, it was impossible to read what gear you were in, but that didn’t really matter because instead of “P,” “D,” “R” etc it said “Child,” “dorito,” “coffee cup” and “lime.” (Yes, I can read in dreams about half the time.) These weren’t really, you know, very explanatory. I think there was a steering wheel, but I don’t remember. Someone my brain identified as The Sheriff burst in and I had to peel out of there and escape. I didn’t know what gear to use though! I cycled through them all, quickly, and managed to get out of the barn and drove down a country road.

Part of the problem with the table car was that the seat didn’t have wheels (although it seemed to move ok) and wasn’t actually attached to the table. It was just a wooden dining chair. So I had to keep stopping the car and scooting back into the chair because the table was pulling me forward so I was sitting on the edge of my seat. I had my foot hooked up under something on the underside of the table to try and keep it all together.

Then I woke up.

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Because other people’s dreams are totally interesting, right?


The other night, I dreamt that I was commuting via public transit. I got off the train or a bus and happened to glance down, and saw what I thought was crumpled up dollar bills on the ground. Nobody else seemed to notice them. I zoomed over there and sure enough, it was a bunch of dirty discarded bills among a bunch of other paper litter. I picked up the money and straightened it out and was surprised to find that it was $179 in mixed bills. I shoved them in my pocket and ran to catch the next bus.

I rode to my stop, where I transferred to another bus, which would take me home. The whole time I was day dreaming about what I was going to do with this unexpected money. The dream shifted, as dreams do, and turned into something kind of freaky involve puppets and stuffed animals which were alive. I eventually woke up and thought “Oh, I need to buy X” (I forget what X was) and then smiled because I had $179 with which to do so! And then I frowned because I didn’t really have that money, it was only a dream.


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Dreams and Dreaming


I have a lot of friends online and sometimes I dream about them, which is pretty weird because most of them are acquaintances who I’ve never actually met. But we’ve talked enough that I, in general, have a pretty good idea of who they are and what they’re about, and sometimes they lodge themselves in my subconcious brain and then I dream about them.

Last night, I dreamt about Meopta, who is on my LJ F-list. She’s been on my mind lately because she had (has? do you ever really totally get rid of cancer permanently?) cancer and is still in treatment for it and she’s got little kids and I fret about her and her kids and her family because woah. This is some pretty big fucked up shit going on, and she’s really awesome, and the world needs more people like her. So she’s definitly been taking up some mental space recently. But I haven’t been, like, dwelling on her. So her showing up in my dreams? Kind of wacky.

Anyway, in the dream I was living with my parents. I don’t know how to put this… I don’t frequently dream that I live with them, and I don’t regularly dream that I live with them, but I have dreamt several times that I live with them. One thing that’s the same about the dreams is that my bed/living space is generally in a public area with no walls or door. The living-with-parents part of the dream wasn’t unpleasant, but then I went to bed and I could dimly hear a party coming from a different part of the house… or apartment building? Things were kind of fluid, the way they are in dreams. I went over to the party and it was being thrown by Meopta, who apparently threw a big shindig once a week or once a month. It was with regularity! See, she knew that it was important to celebrate life and the people you love, so she made a regular attempt to connect with people. In the dream, I resolved to do similarly, to start having game nights once a month again.

I stuck around and partied with people. There was a lot of people there, lots of dancing, loud music, lots of exuberance. Lots of drinking. As things started winding down, someone (she?) gave me a video or a dvd. Some kind of media. Told me to watch it.

It was the story of her life.

In the movie, Meopta was a young woman in the 70s who was seperating from her husband because he spent all their money on stuff. Useless stuff. She wore daisy duckes and a tank top (they lived someplace hot) and had long beautiful dark brown hair in a pony tail. Oddly, it had a heart shape cut out of it, at the bottom. She had kind of county-western hair, where it was kind of tall, and then a thick pony tail. She was very pretty and was a full time mom to her two sons and daughter (IRL she has 2 daughters). So she kicked her husband out and had to get a job and had no money. Her husband wound up keeping the house I think?

She wound up moving with her kids to Louisiana where they lived on a hill. There was a retaining wall and then a hill on top of it, and the building that was there shifted in the dream, from being one of those old long apartment buildings with a center courtyard to being a single family home. Anyway, she had a rotary lawn mower and one of her sons would mow the grass by standing on the mower and it would chrrrr down the hill until he jumped off of it, stopped it, and dragged it back up the hill. They lived in the poor part of town, but were together and she was doing ok.

At one point she and her husband get into contact again and she has difficulty saying some phrase to him (I forget what it is) and frets about that until she realizes that she can’t say it because it isn’t true (it’s like “nice to see you again” or “hope things are going well” or something positive and polite) and is all “fuck him, he’s an ass!”.

The movie kind of ended around there and I wanted to see more, but Meopta told me that this was only a pilot or test or something and all the actors were unpaid volunteers. They were really good, though. I wanted to see more of the movie, really badly.

I think there was more to the dream, but I’ve forgotten it.

Writing this makes me think of two things: one, seeing a photo of my friend Mike’s mom. I know her, she’s a nice lady, but is very very mom-like. The photo was of when he was a baby or toddler, and she was wearing short shorts and a tank top. She looked really great, fresh and young and alive, and it was weird to see her life before the life I knew. The other thing I thought of is that my mom used to (maybe still does) carry a photo of herself around in her wallet. She’s wearing pretty short shorts and a shirt and her hair is long. I asked her why she carried it around, and she answered that it was because she was thin and pretty in the photo. I’ve always thought my mom was (and still is!) very beautiful, and she’s been chasing the thin version of herself almost all her life. Her actions puzzled me at the time (I was a kid). I hadn’t thought about it in years, but now it depresses me. I guess it’s kind of weird that when I dream about a woman in short shorts, I then think about moms. Heh.


By the way, Meopta is doing a charity walk for cancer. You can donate here. Please toss a couple bucks her way.

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Dream: Alien Nation and Black Market Cheese


Matt has been recording his dreams and they are fascinating, so I thought I’d do the same.

Two things combined to make this dream a reality. One is that Nesko and I have been watching “Alien Nation,” the old Sci Fi show about Aliens settling on Earth, and the other is that my job involves me knowing about cheese so I’ve been reading cheese books and websites a lot. I mean, a whole lot. One day I read about cheese for about four hours straight. That’s a lot of reading about cheese.

Anyway, in the tv show, the New Comers (as they are called) enjoy sour/spoiled milk in the same way that humans enjoy alcohol.

In my dream, cheese was like a gourmet drug or super expensive high alcohol content thing. That’s pretty normal, right?

Except also in my dream, there were New Comers who were making Black Market name and region protected cheeses and trying to pass them off as the real thing.

I was a cop and was trying to crack this ring of cheese forgery. I kept running around, following leads, running through parking lots and recently abandoned buildings. I eventually found a wheel of Morbier with an obviously fake seal. Proof! At last!

Also there was some plot point about how one abandoned warehouse had been used as a cave to store and age the cheeses, and the floor was a stretch of carpet over dirt, so we could peel it up and find footprints under it and also take samples from people’s shoes to see if they’d walk on the dirty carpet and so connect them with the crime.

This is the second dream I’ve had about cheese. I’m coming to realize, more and more, that I don’t really like cheese that much.

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