2001-02-09

One night only: dream analysis

So lately (and I'm not entirely unconvinced that the near-constant wobs of Carmex� that I've been diligently applying to the heinous cold sore on my lower lip aren't somewhat to blame) I've been having these stone-cold wack dreams.

Generally, I try to avoid telling people about my dreams, because I, personally, just don't find hearing about other people's dreams all that interesting (with the exception of Niki's, because there's something wrong with her, and I mean that in the best possible way).

I don't own any dream interpretation books, I don't analyze my dreams, and I don't keep dream journals. I see no point in continually reminding myself of the fact that my mind is a really bad neighborhood in the wee hours.

Nevertheless, for the last few nights my dreams have been almost entirely about possessions: moving them, misplacing them, and having them stolen.

For two nights in a row I kept dreaming that I was back in college, preparing to move back home, and I either didn't have a suitcase, or I didn't have enough suitcases, and everybody was just standing around watching me stuff four years' worth of my zany, Floridian salad days into a series of garbage bags.

Then the night before last I dreamed that our apartment got broken into again (we were robbed a few years ago, but thankfully our robbers were not particularly bright, so we only lost our computer, a scanner that didn't work, and a couple of cameras....meanwhile our dozen or so guitars and amplifiers went untouched), only this time everything got stolen, including my underwear drawer.

Just before I woke up this morning I had a dream that Kev rearranged our record collection, replacing everything with all of these empty, identical jackets and religious pamphlets, and when I questioned him about it, he started telling all of my friends (who'd magically appeared in the living room at that point) that even though I couldn't be bothered with dusting the back of the toilet on a regular basis, I was militantly and unreasonably anal about the record collection, and shouldn't I be scorned and ridiculed? When I woke up, he was in the kitchen feeding the cat, and for a split second I really hated him.

lisamcc at 17:49:07

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