I have been having some CRA-ZY dreams lately. Sometimes dreams seem to form from little nuggets of information you've noticed, discussed, or experienced throughout the day, but these dreams...these dreams have no basis in reality. Literally no connection to anything except most do seem to feature people I know, though often those people aren't ones I've talked to, seen, or even Facebook stalked in years.
Here are a few gems...
A few of my work friends (though which ones exactly are unclear because everyone is blurry, apparently I am ready for competition and am only concentrating on my own preparation for the battle to come) are gathered in a large version of my own bathroom. We are preparing for a hair drying contest. The first person to completely dry their hair wins. There seem to be no concerns that contestants' hair be of equal length or thickness, but it does seem to be a coveted title as we are all very ready for the starter pistol to sound. (And yes, there's a stripe-shirted ref holding one by the bathroom door.)
I walk into a cafe at lunchtime in the Chicago suburbs near where I work and see a guy I dated briefly in high school sitting with his parents. We chat like it's normal to run into each other over eight hours away from where he lives in real life. No mention is made as to why we are running into each other here; in fact, neither of us seems to find it strange at all. His father, my middle school math teacher for two years, is very pleased that my career involves math. His mother, my high school art teacher, asks if I'm painting. Walls, I say. She nods and says something about painting not really being my strength as an artist. I agree. But I do happen to have my sculpture of the Winged Victory (one of my high school art projects) in my purse that I pull out and show her. (What a relief that I could prove that I still have it.) The friend and I catch up about his vegetable garden as I eat a very tiny pie.
I am lying in the dirt; it is a very dusty, black-colored dirt. I am making dirt angels. I look across this barren stretch of dirt and there are at least 50 dirt angels that seem to have been created by me earlier. I am covered, from head to foot, in the powdery dirt. I somehow know that my teeth and eyes look startling in my face because I am so covered with this dirt. I am very happy lying in the dirt, my arms and legs drifting slowly back and forth, though this particular angel is frustrating because there is a hard packed section of dirt that won't hold the pattern. I spend a minute or two looking for a tool to use to scrape the ground so the angel will be clear.
And there are so many more that I simply can't remember anymore. The weirdness has been ongoing for the last month at least, on an almost nightly basis....SO ODD.
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| Crazy Dreams by mzpinkie91 |
Here are a few gems...
A few of my work friends (though which ones exactly are unclear because everyone is blurry, apparently I am ready for competition and am only concentrating on my own preparation for the battle to come) are gathered in a large version of my own bathroom. We are preparing for a hair drying contest. The first person to completely dry their hair wins. There seem to be no concerns that contestants' hair be of equal length or thickness, but it does seem to be a coveted title as we are all very ready for the starter pistol to sound. (And yes, there's a stripe-shirted ref holding one by the bathroom door.)
I walk into a cafe at lunchtime in the Chicago suburbs near where I work and see a guy I dated briefly in high school sitting with his parents. We chat like it's normal to run into each other over eight hours away from where he lives in real life. No mention is made as to why we are running into each other here; in fact, neither of us seems to find it strange at all. His father, my middle school math teacher for two years, is very pleased that my career involves math. His mother, my high school art teacher, asks if I'm painting. Walls, I say. She nods and says something about painting not really being my strength as an artist. I agree. But I do happen to have my sculpture of the Winged Victory (one of my high school art projects) in my purse that I pull out and show her. (What a relief that I could prove that I still have it.) The friend and I catch up about his vegetable garden as I eat a very tiny pie.
I am lying in the dirt; it is a very dusty, black-colored dirt. I am making dirt angels. I look across this barren stretch of dirt and there are at least 50 dirt angels that seem to have been created by me earlier. I am covered, from head to foot, in the powdery dirt. I somehow know that my teeth and eyes look startling in my face because I am so covered with this dirt. I am very happy lying in the dirt, my arms and legs drifting slowly back and forth, though this particular angel is frustrating because there is a hard packed section of dirt that won't hold the pattern. I spend a minute or two looking for a tool to use to scrape the ground so the angel will be clear.
And there are so many more that I simply can't remember anymore. The weirdness has been ongoing for the last month at least, on an almost nightly basis....SO ODD.
