I meant to write about this nightmare of a dream during the month of September, but never got around to it. I think it’s one of those sleep paralysis dreams.
I’m lying on my back and open my eyes. From the ceiling a large, black, hairy spider slowly bobs down on a silk thread until it is about a foot from my face. I try to move, but I can’t. I can’t get out from under the spider. I can’t swat it away with my hand. I just lie there, terrified.
Eventually, I wake up and realize the spider was a dream but the dread and fear and feeling of helplessness sticks around for a while.
I like spiders, at least ones not in my dreams, so this recurring dream surprises me.
Scrambling for a last dream post I searched “dream” on my CCL blog and found one in which I was violent to a family member. In the comments I mention my dreams about having killed someone in the past. I’ve had a few of those lately and they are very disturbing, only partly because I am about to get caught.
I need to pee and walk into a room containing toilets. Sometimes the toilets are in stalls without doors, but often they are just sitting in the middle of a public place like a department store with people milling around. Other people use the exposed toilets so I do too. I must have this dream at least once a month.
Retirement is currently my greatest life-dream. Not that I am wishing away three of the remaining years I have left on Earth, but I no longer love what I do for a living and I don’t feel like changing careers at 62. I look forward to the day when using a computer is something I do for pleasure and not work.
In my late teens and early twenties I told anyone who would listen that my dream house was a cabin in the woods with chickens for eggs and a cow for milk. I’d grow my own vegetables near the house. It never occurred to me that a wooded lot would be too shady for vegetables. I ended up in suburbia.
I can get lost in daydreams if I am not careful so when I feel a daydream coming on when I need to be thinking about something else, I stop and file it away to think about at night when I cannot sleep. I am remarkably good at this, although my daydreams are becoming rarer as I age, which sucks.
I have trouble with numbers, I always have; dialing a phone number makes me nervous. That problem has wormed itself into my dreams: I’m desperately trying to dial a phone, but can’t punch in the numbers and I panic. In a relatively recent dream I shouted “Alexa, dial 911” and she unhelpfully replied, “Hmm, I don’t know how to do that.”
Much of my work is repetitive: Check the code, check the links, check the tags, check the images, check the properties, report my findings, rinse and repeat; so it comes as no surprise that my dreams are frequently repetitive and tiring. I often awake thinking I need to go back to sleep to finish whatever repetitive task I’ve just escaped.
After becoming connected to the World Wide Web I began having hyperlink dreams. I’d be in a dream, then touch some object in the dream and be transported to a new dream where I could touch something there and move to another dream. It was a result of “surfing the web”. I don’t “surf” anymore, so those dreams are gone.
Although bedridden, Mom arose and went to a window, stood on her tiptoes and looked out, repeating this several times, more excited with each. I reached for her and held her tight. When a zing of electricity entered my body I let her go. She dissolved into sparkles that flew out the windows.
Pastor Keith told it better. No word-limit.
The night Dad died I dreamed he lifted me from one bed and carried me to another. It began as a being-pulled-from-the-bed dream, but I felt his presence doing what he’d done countless times in the past after he’d worked late in his garage. I’d fall asleep next to Mom and he’d carry me down the hallway to my bed.
Friday night I dreamed I met Frank Sinatra. I believe it was the double vesper I drank before dinner and the wine for dinner that brought him to my bed. We had a fine chat and I admitted I didn’t really like his music. Later, telling people I’d met him, they all asked why I didn’t mention his daughter Nancy.
I’m in bed, asleep, and I feel as if I’m being pulled off the bed. Sometimes I feel a presence in the room, sometimes I just feel the tugging on my clothes. I fought this feeling the first few times I had this dream but now I just let it happen because in the dream I know it’s a dream.
I suddenly discover we’ve sold our house and own another house usually far away, sometimes on the same street. I’m excited at the newness and walk from room to room, exploring. The houses are usually a labyrinth of rooms and hallways, often full of former owner’s items. I never finish touring the house and awake disappointed I didn’t see everything.
My fourth-grade teacher had her class put on a minstrel show every year. Yes, you read that right, blackface and all. We had to audition for a part. She suggested I sing Beautiful Dreamer, so in front of the entire class I tried my best to hit the notes. She told me that I sang terribly and to sit down.
I have not flown in my sleep in decades and I could only fly in my childhood backyard because I needed the back screen door handle to boost me up. I’d hold on to it and kick my legs backward until I was floating, let go of the door handle and swim through the air.
Flight enabling door in background
I have not had one in a while but I vividly recall the sick feeling of guilt and dread that even lasted into the next morning when I dreamed I was signed up for a college class and it was near the end of the semester but I’d never gone to class.
The online word counter lied to me. Sixty.