Part Two: Random violence and other things
While my last post was about dreams in the metaphorical sense (as in “I have a dream…” as in, I have a dream that one day I will own as many designer outfits as Carrie Bradshaw), this post is about dreams in the literal sense (as in, someone help me, please!)
Lately, my dreams have been a little on the disturbing side – what with people dying, getting severely injured, or being slowly stabbed to death. I know, nasty piece of work, my internal psyche.
Anyway, the first dream I can remember being like this occurred a couple of weeks ago. In it, I met (and made out with) Andrew, a barrista whom I’d had a friendly customer-to-customer-serviceman relationship with (in real life) before he transferred cafes several months ago. The first thing that was strange about this dream was the kiss. Normally, if I kiss someone in a dream, I can feel it. Wet, warm, whatever… it’s all there. This time, no such thing. As for what it looked like, I could only see that from outside the situation, as if it didn’t really include me at all. A few minutes (in dream time) later (and this is the really weird part), Andrew suddenly has a stake through his head. As in, a giant nail. He’s lying on the ground, and I have no idea what to do. He seems to be dead already. I looked it up on Wikipedia, and apparently “In folklore and mythology, a wooden stake have special powers to kill certain monsters via impalement. See vampyre” (Just so you know, I am aware that the quote says “stake have,” but this is Wikipedia, after all.) As far as I know, Andrew is not now, nor do I think is likely to have ever been, a vampire (or vampyre.) So really, he’s dead for no reason. And I know this is crazy, but every time I think about that dream, I feel as though I killed him! I feel awful. He didn’t deserve to die, he’s just a poor, unsuspecting victim of my (apparently) tormented subconscious.
In the second dream, I am lost on a twisting staircase. It’s Labyrinth-esque, it’s cold and it’s stony, so I know what this one means. Easy. However, this dream is even more violence-ridden than the next, and a whole lot more graphic to boot. There is one man lying on what I can only describe as his death-bed, and there is another man right next to him. I’m not sure, but I think they’re supposed to be father and son (the father being the older, dying one). All of a sudden, the younger one is being stabbed through the middle by the older one – and with an almost clear, long, curved sword with no handle (which looks almost exactly like a giant fish bone!) Luckily, I don’t seem to know either of these men, so I’m not too scarred by it. Although the (horrifyingly) graceful back-and-forth motion of the sword from within it’s victim has left a lasting impression.
The third, and thankfully last, installment of these dreams is both considerably less shocking and simultaneously more disconcerting. My friend Paul (whom I was once secretly in love with) was visiting my house (aka my parents’ house) and somehow sustained a mildly serious head-wound. I’m not sure how, or why (though I’m almost certain I saw it happen), but he was immediately proclaimed a temporary invalid and sent straight to the couch. I inevitably had the urge to go and kiss his forehead (although I would not have kissed the wound, because it was disgusting), but in the end I stood my ground. Because if there’s one thing people hate, it’s awkward tension between friends. Even in dreams. Apparently.
Also, in a non-violence-induced tangent, The Co-worker appeared for the first time in one of my dreams last night. Nothing tragic, nothing dirty (sorry) … he was just passing through, very considerately minding his own business. This will be because he inadvertently rejected me last week, and I’ve been attempting to get over him (read: stop thinking about him) ever since. I expected the dreams to come. Still, it’s always irritating when they do.
Okay, so now I’ve told you ALL my weirdo dreams from the past few weeks, feel free to begin diagnosing/dissecting my mind… NOW! Whatever you’ve got, I can handle it… I’m pretty sure it will be better than Suzee-Q’s interpretation, which was “Well, maybe Andrew is dead.” Really Suze? Thanks for that. So helpful.