Ever since my last temp assignment ended, I’ve been gloomy and plagued by bad dreams.
Wednesday I dreamed I was having a phone conversation with a friend whose husband is in the hospital. He’s been sick a long time, and as soon as I picked up the phone in my dream and heard her voice I became so afraid she was going to tell me he was dead or dying that I stopped dreaming and woke up.
Thursday, I once again dreamed myself into a movie sequel. I loved the move 28 Days Later, but now I probably won’t go see 28 Weeks Later because of this dream. I was holed up in a building with a bunch of other people and zombies were outside. It was like Sean of the Dead, because I wanted to get all the people and food barricaded up on the top floor of the pub or maybe hotel where we were trapped. The people in that movie failed in thier endeavor, as I remember, but I thought, this is my dream, so I can avoid their mistakes.
I was trying to scheme ways to make our position more secure because I was afraid the zombies would come through the windows or find some other way in, and I was frustrated with the other people because they kept going outside. There were some foxes outside, too, and was pretty sure they had the zombie disease because they were out in broad daylight and not afraid of people. Sure enough I went out on a porch to tell somebody to come back in and I got scratched on the hand by one of the zombie foxes. Immediately, my hand swelled up tight as a basketball. I thought, shit, now I’m going to turn on these folks just like the character Sex Machine did in From Dusk til Dawn. I resolved not to make the mistake he did – I told everybody I thought I was infected and instructed them to shoot me the minute I started to change. But nobody seemed too worried. I, however, was stressed out enough to wake up.
On Friday I did have a real conversation with the friend whose husband is in the hospital, and learned that while he did almost die, he’s doing much better now. I was so relieved. If I hadn’t chickened out on those dreams and had stuck with the whole storyline, they might have turned out okay. I’m wondering if this has a larger meaning, something that applies to my waking life.
Wednesday I dreamed I was having a phone conversation with a friend whose husband is in the hospital. He’s been sick a long time, and as soon as I picked up the phone in my dream and heard her voice I became so afraid she was going to tell me he was dead or dying that I stopped dreaming and woke up.
Thursday, I once again dreamed myself into a movie sequel. I loved the move 28 Days Later, but now I probably won’t go see 28 Weeks Later because of this dream. I was holed up in a building with a bunch of other people and zombies were outside. It was like Sean of the Dead, because I wanted to get all the people and food barricaded up on the top floor of the pub or maybe hotel where we were trapped. The people in that movie failed in thier endeavor, as I remember, but I thought, this is my dream, so I can avoid their mistakes.
I was trying to scheme ways to make our position more secure because I was afraid the zombies would come through the windows or find some other way in, and I was frustrated with the other people because they kept going outside. There were some foxes outside, too, and was pretty sure they had the zombie disease because they were out in broad daylight and not afraid of people. Sure enough I went out on a porch to tell somebody to come back in and I got scratched on the hand by one of the zombie foxes. Immediately, my hand swelled up tight as a basketball. I thought, shit, now I’m going to turn on these folks just like the character Sex Machine did in From Dusk til Dawn. I resolved not to make the mistake he did – I told everybody I thought I was infected and instructed them to shoot me the minute I started to change. But nobody seemed too worried. I, however, was stressed out enough to wake up.
On Friday I did have a real conversation with the friend whose husband is in the hospital, and learned that while he did almost die, he’s doing much better now. I was so relieved. If I hadn’t chickened out on those dreams and had stuck with the whole storyline, they might have turned out okay. I’m wondering if this has a larger meaning, something that applies to my waking life.
If I can choose to wake up because I'm so upset by what's happening in dreams, why can't I just dream a happy ending?
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I took the above photo at Esalen when I was there a few years ago. I've run out of recent, local pictures, but I hope to stock up this week.
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