Dream: "Deriving Order from the Chaos that is my Unconscious Self," or "Bullshitting Nonsense."

"You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one." -John Lennon

Well, imagine that. Haha. I hate quoting others, and generally only defer to them when I am not feeling creative enough to create an enticing introductory sentence on my own. And, while reading some of my college papers this afternoon, I realized that I rarely feel creative. At least for school. But, in my defense, why would one ever feel compelled to strenuously use the right side of their brain when in a mind numbingly boring Business Admin 101 class?

However, I digress. Hopefully, from my casual quote from the ultimate sunglasses wearing male artist (sorry, Bono, you are undeserving of such esteemed title, why don't you grow up and finally get a last name) you may wonder, why, why, why am I mentioning him, and that quote so specifically? And, I'm not going to bother being cryptic. This entry is about my dreams. And not my long-term goals, mind you. I'm talking about the images and dialogue that occur in my mind when I'm asleep. Whether you believe them to be random neural firings or the surfacing of the illusive and elusive Id, or neither, they are rather fascinating, aren't they? And, being the overly analytical young woman I am, I want to know what they mean; their significance. Are they poignant, foretelling, or nothing? Well, not "nothing." I won't accept that as an answer; that's too easy.

So, for the past three days, I have been keeping a dream journal. I set my alarm to wake me up at 5:30 AM, and my leather bound journal is the first thing to which my hand reaches; my left grabs the pen. I write down immediately what occured in my dream, or dreams, if I am so lucky to remember them all. Sloppily, I scribble down various phrases and images, thrust the book and pen aside, and then retreat into my sheeted nest. When I wake up (usually around noon!), I try to make sense of them. And now I'm writing them on here, because I think they are quite interesting when you really try to analyze them (sans Freud, thank you), and I encourage you all to do the same!

5/30/09. Double Helix.

Parts: Chain links over my body, swingsets, pink tiled bathtub, sore throat, bunsen burners, large academic hall, purple fox in a forest

Analysis: Actually, I don't know what the fuck this means. I wrote a poem describing it, but reading it now it really pisses me off (the pretension reeks even more than the shitty meter), so I'm going to spare you the groans. The literal link between the chains on my body and the swingset was that the links were identical. Which made me think, OK, this is representative of me feeling confined to my body, and how sad it is that I think I am really free to do whatever I want. Ambition is a swing seat, and reality is a chain that keeps it from flying off into the sky. Reality can eventually break, though. But then you don't even have a swing.

5/31/09. Sandy Vinegar Cake.

Parts: stormy beach in Nebraska, lemonade container filled with vinegar, birthday cake made of sand and vinegar, a kiss while discussing feeling uncomfortable, iron chairs.

Analysis: For the whole sandcake deal (sounds like a sandwich with icing and...cake...), the obvious interpretation is that even "sweet" things (both literal and figurative) crumble. To expound upon that, since this cake was a birthday one, I could also venture to say that (and this gets tricky, and I apologize for my excessive parantheticals, I abuse the privelege far too frequently) even age and time are worn away by age and time.

Now, to spice things up a bit. The vinegar aspect. According to my notes, the cake was delicious (in my dream, my mother told me to use only the finest Nebraska vinegar, so I caught it in a lemonade glass), so clearly it didn't make things too bitter. The saying goes that you catch more flies with honey than you do vinegar, right? And to that, I say I dislike flies and would rather be cruel and therefore fly-free.

But anyway, with what do we catch vinegar? And for that matter, I caught it with a container of something sweet. Which makes me wonder, then, is it possible that something bad can derive from something initially good? And my answer is yes, look at the Evangelicals.

6/1/09. clouds.

Parts: OK, so I hit snooze this morning. I woke up at 11 AM and all I could recall were clouds. So here is a creative little ditty that describes the death of my faith these past few years!

Little Ditty: They always looked soft from below(where I stood)below seemed harsh and dark. I lived hoping they'd be my eventual eternal pillow, along with an endless cornflower blue blanket. And then I read in a book one day that clouds are just air. Where do we sleep when we die? I don't know, I've stopped believing in the sky.




OK, so now my glands are even more swollen and I am sufficiently more miserable. I'm downing my sorrows in NyQuil and hopefully having some more colorful dreams without interruptions. Or I hope so. Those bastards who advertise it better not be lying to me.

Dream away!