ladysprite: (steampunk)
Usually when I have a bizarre or complicated dream, it's some kind of hideous and/or intricate nightmare.  Last night stood out because it was precisely the opposite.  I honestly can't remember ever having a dream this detailed and simultaneously this... benign?  Positive?

This got inordinately long and rambly, and not everyone in the world actually cares about my dreams.  Read at your own risk.... )
ladysprite: (steampunk)
So, while I've never taught myself to lucid-dream, or managed to do so under any circumstances, I can occasionally recognize when I'm dreaming - the only problem is that I then wake up immediately.

The challenge is just that, while I'm in the middle of a dream, I am willing and able to believe almost anything.


For instance, a couple of nights ago I was having a back-to-work dream. Not surprising, since it was the night before my first day back to work. But I was dreaming about being in the office, along with two doctors who have never worked together, one of whom I haven't worked with in over a decade.

And in the dream I was talking to a client who had a problem with their pet. So they brought their pet in, which happened to be a human baby. And that was no big deal, and in fact I stood around chatting with the old vet while he stuck the laparoscope (which neither of us know how to use in real life) into the baby and started rummaging around and pulling out stuff at random, and the other vet talked with the ex-wife of a friend of mine (said friend, I believe, has never been divorced).

And eventually we pulled the miniature internal organ out of the baby, at which point I realized I needed to change because I was wearing a sheer shirt and had forgotten to put on a bra, so I wandered into the closet - which was a hideously spooky old wooden thing with holes and bats in the ceiling and lichen all over the floors - and changed into a more work-appropriate top, and took the baby back to its owners.

And there I was, telling them how their baby was going to be just fine, and that it should recover from the procedure with no complications, and I looked down at my feet and realized I was barefoot.

And somehow my mind suddenly seized up, and I realized that, holy cow, this is some malarkey, because I would NEVER come to work barefoot, and this couldn't be real, and I had to be dreaming.

At which point, sadly, I woke the heck up.....
ladysprite: (steampunk)
I've had nightmares all my life. I'm used to them. In particular, I have wacky, absurd, bizarre, obviously-unrealistic nightmares. I've never mastered the art of lucid dreaming - while I'm in my dreams I fully and utterly believe that they're real and true - but usually, once I'm awake, I'm able to realize after a minute or two that it was just a dream. The rest of the effects may take longer to shake off, but at least I know that a carnivorous coffee table isn't going to eat me, no one is going to cut off my face and wear it as a mask, and the X-Men are not here to arrest my hamster.

But over the past few days I've started having nightmares-of-waking-up. Dreams that will start out as a standard nightmare, but then (from my perception) I'll wake up in my own bed, with my husband and my cats next to them. Except then my husband will wake up too, and start talking to someone else about how much he hates me and wants to get rid of me. And then I'll wake up again.... in my own bed, with my husband still asleep next to me.... until I notice the wasps all over the ceiling, and they come down and start stinging me and I can't scream because after the surgery my voice still hasn't recovered.... and then I wake up again, and my poor husband wakes up because I'm curled up in a ball hoarsely whispering that there are bugs all over the ceiling trying to sting me.

Bless his heart, he actually got up and checked the whole ceiling to prove to me that there weren't any bugs there, and that I was really awake for real this time.

I'm not sure why this is happening, but it is creepy as fuck and I hope it's a short-lived trend.

Also, for some reason the color blue keeps coming up in my dreams lately, and I'm not sure why. First it was the black-and-blue butterfly tattoo; last night (before the waking-up dreams) in my nightmare it was crucially important that I dyed my hair blue. Someone is trying to tell me something. I'm open to ideas as to what....
ladysprite: (Default)
There are certain questions that I am fairly certain only ever come up in my dreams. Questions like whether being gummed on by a zombie baby would pose any actual risk of zombification. Also, whether my irresistability-to-babies-and-children would make me a particular target for zombie babies and children (my subconscious seems to feel that the answer to the latter question, at least, is yes).

Then again, only in my dreams would the primary Zombie Resistance Army be called the Sushi Ninjas. (I have no idea of how raw fish is supposed to help them fight zombies; they wouldn't tell me. They were kind of pretentious.)

I'm not sure whether this was better or worse than the nightmare where Matthew Broderick was making me turn him into my vampire blood-slave, but either way, it's been a week for bizarre dreams....
ladysprite: (WorldSoBig)
You know there's something fundamentally wrong when your dreams segue from work-related anxiety nightmares to inappropriately-naked nightmares to nightmares where you realize that everyone but 12 people in the world is just an illusion projected by the tentacled Lovecraftian horror that is toying with you, and your first thought upon waking (once you stop screaming and demanding that your husband, who is trying to hug you, prove that he is not just a projection of the tentacled horror) is faint relief that at least you managed to dream your way out of the annoying and dull work-related anxiety nightmare rut.

I do have to admit, though, it was a pretty spiffy nightmare, as such things go. I could feel my sanity cracking around the edges with every reveal, and by about halfway through all I could do was huddle in a corner, scream, and seek out the one projection of the tentacled horror that had been nice to me, in a good-cop/bad-cop way (I still knew he was part of the tentacled horror, but as long as he didn't touch me I could kind of cope with that, until he betrayed me by pretending to release me back into reality - he didn't know that by then I could see the edges of his illusions), but it still beat another round of 'You gave this kitten the wrong vaccine, and now it's dying! And why aren't you wearing a shirt?'
ladysprite: (tangy)
With all the junk going on in my life lately, I've been having nightmares again for the past few weeks. Which is a pain in the butt, but survivable - I've had chronic nightmares most of my life. Unfortunately, the ones I've been having lately have been.... well... lame. Dreams about work, or being chased by snakes, or boring crap like that. Just not up to my usual standards.

Last night, though, I dreamed that Alton Brown had his left arm bitten off at the elbow by an evil carnivorous coffee table/jacuzzi hybrid that ate his mermaid girlfriend while he was trying to make marshmallow marigolds for my graduation party.

Now that's more like it! Thank you, subconscious, no more phoning it in! If I'm going to have to put up with nightmares, the least you can do is make them so utterly bizarre that I can confuse my husband and entertain myself for the rest of the day by poking at it and trying to figure out where the hell those images came from....
ladysprite: (MoonSun)
No matter how much I get used to the nightmares, no matter how much I work on sleep habits, no matter how blase I am about dreams.... I think I will always be deeply freaked out by dreams where I dream that I'm sleeping. Especially ones where I can't wake up in the dream. It leads to a degree of recursiveness that makes me wonder how many levels of consciousness there are inside me, and which one is the actual world.....
ladysprite: (MoonSun)
I've always been fascinated by the fact that, in my dreams at least, emotions are completely dissociated from circumstances. I have no idea whether this holds true for other people and their dreams or whether it's just a quirk of my own brain chemistry, but it's always been true for me. I can have dreams about topics that are, to my waking mind, completely horrifying without being the least bit upset in the dream, and I've been known to have horrific nightmares about completely mundane items and actions - for some reason, in the dream, the emotion of terror and horror gets randomly attached to whatever's nearby or happening.

Last night's adventure into inappropriately scary nightmares involved dreaming about snakes escaping from their cages, jumping out at me, and biting me. Never mind that I'm not scared of snakes at all; I think they're beautiful and fascinating. Never mind that if it ever would have been appropriate to have anxiety dreams about snakes, it should have been last week, when I was leading up to performing with one who's been known to bite me on multiple occasions. No, just somehow suddenly out of the blue, my brain decided it was time to entertain me with horrible, jumping, flying, improbable on the level of Snakes-on-a-plane horror serpent dreams.

Sometimes I wish that I could understand my subconscious. Other times I'm fairly certain that it's much better for my overall sanity that I don't.....
ladysprite: (MoarCat)
How lazy, or overstressed, does one's subconscious need to be in order to saddle one with a dream where you are told that, sorry, your dream isn't ready on time and you'll need to wait in the lobby and read some magazines until either it's prepared or you're done sleeping for the night?

On the other hand, at least my wacky brain is still living up to expectations - the main article in the magazine I was reading included a piece on how to keep your feet warm now that it was illegal to wear otters as socks.

(And this is yet more proof that I'm *never* going to be a lucid dreamer - even when my own mind tells me that I'm asleep and dreaming, I can't figure it out and do anything about it....)
ladysprite: (Default)
Anyone can dream about totem animals. It's a standard symbol.

But it takes someone truly.... special, I guess, to dream about totem vegetables.

Noone wanted the iceberg lettuce as their totem - it's kind of the frog of the vegetable world, not as trendy and hip as the other options. I'm not sure why, though; Joe Two Spears, Broccoli Warrior doesn't sound any more prestigious. Tasty and nutritious though they may be, I'm pretty sure almost all vegetables are intrinsically uncool....
ladysprite: (Default)
Usually, I like the rain. I like the sound of it, whispering quietly against my windows, the shimmering clean look and smell of the world, the cold, alive feel of wet skin... Tonight, though, it's not like that. Outside there's a silent, harsh rain painting everything. It's the kind of rain that soaks you through as soon as you step outside, slicing through to your scalp and trickling under the neck of your coat, finding the one hole in your shoe to drench your sock, so that even once you're inside and wrapped in a warm robe, you can never quite feel dry or warm.

I can't hear the rain at all. No drumming, no whispering, just the cold streaks of water like tears or icy fingers along my window. It's like watching a best friend turn malevolent and aloof at the same time.

I don't want to sleep tonight. For so long, things were going well. It's been months since the last time I had nightmares. I've had bad dreams since then, but nothing serious. I thought maybe I was better, that they were gone for good and I was cured of whatever made them come burbling up out of the muck of my subconscious in the first place. I guess I was wrong.

Three times in the past week I've woken up crying, shaking, sick with nightmares. I'm used to my own nightmares, but they're almost never this bad. Most of the time, I can wake up, get reaquainted with reality, pet the cat or curl closer to my boyfriend, and go back to sleep. Not with these. All I can do is lie there, choking on memories and tears, sick to my stomach. I can't just shake them off. They're strong enough and terrible enough to follow me through the day, waiting for a crack in the wall of preoccupation I build, waiting for me to calm down enough for the dream to come crawling back into my mind and ruin the day I've made.

The images are the same, and that's unusual, too. My dreams are usually all different, each one a surreal, unique reality-warp. I'm not used to these recurring, mundane, horrible tales. I don't want to sleep tonight. I can't just crawl into bed and close my eyes and wait for dream-hands to touch me, dream-bodies to press against me, dream-voices to tell me it's my fault and it's not wrong, dream-killers to choke their victims while I stand by helpless.

Maybe if I could hear the rain it would be all right. But there's nothing to hear, just wet, icy streaks on my windows, reaching in to me like the dreams.

It's going to be a long night.


Nov. 21st, 2001 06:44 am
ladysprite: (Default)
Memo to myself: Never watch Buffy and Smallville back to back while extremely tired. Or if I do, distract myself for at least a few hours before going to sleep. Watch Fraggle Rock, or read something nice and mentally fluffy and soothing. Definitely not an Anita Blake novel. Otherwise I wind up with dreams like I had last night.

The part about teaching a class of arrogant, disdainful burnouts wasn't bad - the metaphor about a cell-bus and the sodium-potassium pump being a turnstile was actually kind of interesting. And the part where I summoned an invisible monster in my bathtub was handleable, too. Stupid - I remember even in the dream thinking, 'why did I do this?' and not being able to come up with a valid answer. We tried to dispel him by taking all the water out... first very carefully with a 12-cc syringe, then when we saw him starting to simultaneously manifest and disappear and the murky gate to a monster realm appeared, with large buckets. It didn't quite work, but we wound up with a kind of gaunt, ineffectual monster who had a crush on my friend and kept trying to point at her, which didn't work because he was, well, *invisible.*

But the vampire... *UGH!* Yuck, yuck, ick, eww.... I hate my subconscious. It was huge, all fat and glistening and grey and ewwww.... like a mountain of horrid flesh. If you ever read the WildCard novels, and slogged through to the ones where Bloat became a character, like that, only cold and grey and undead. He had women crawling all over him, they were his slaves, and against his huge icky body they were like tiny mice. His trachea had collapsed under all the weight, and he needed a breathing tube to breathe. I don't know why a vampire needed to breathe, it made sense at the time. And it was all because of the kryptonite that mutated him to be like that. That's what the slaves were for - rubbing the stuff into him, so he could still live. Or un-die, or whatever the word for vampires is. And for sacrificing their daughters to him; this was in ancient greece and sacrifices were in vogue. I don't know how the kryptonite wound up in ancient greece, it's a dream thing.

Anyway, this is an image that's going to linger. No amount of trying to imagine pink bunnies or sing songs is going to wipe it away until it's good and ready to go invade someone else's subconscious. I love having an active imagination and vivid dreams, but sometimes it comes back to bite me in the rear....


ladysprite: (Default)

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