Dream blogging

1705260261

From my Tumblr dream blogging tag, this is the last one I care to share here, from May 2014:

It has something to do with the family next door. They all look like the way we did when my sisters and I were small, and maybe that’s why my parents latch onto them so much–the new family that moves in next to us, in a bright pink and yellow house that i’ve never lived next to before. There are huge trees everywhere. My brain tells me they are banana trees. When I wake up, I will google them and find that they look nothing like banana trees.

There are three little girls and an overworked father and a loud mother, and my soporific brain accepts this. My waking brain is sort of insulted that I, as a writer and someone with a BA in English can’t come up with anything less hamfisted. We have dinner. They say you can’t taste in dreams, and it’s sort of true; everything I eat tastes like goldfish crackers. But I can still taste something. We sit in their bright pink living room with walls that have huge porous holes in them. The table is gold, but gold like lame, not like the precious metal. It sort of looks like a set on Star Trek TOS. The kids are 4, 5 and 7 years old, and I know this even though nobody ever told me. It is the year difference between my sisters and I. I don’t want to speak to them, although I am not cruel or rude to them. Even in my dreams, I wasnt raised in a fucking barn, guys, come on.

I leave to get something to drink in the kitchen. The floor is brightly painted. This doesnt bother me now, but I will remember this as heinously garish.

When I return, my parents tell me that they’ve set up a babysitting gig for me with the family we are having dinner with. It’ll be a regular job, so I won’t have to worry anymore, isn’t that great? I stare at them, a wave of anxiety, indignation, and fear (always fear why is it always fear) rising up in my throat. I don’t move. The smiles of the adults, both parents and the neighbors, wane awkwardly. Then, my mother looks angry. I say that I would love to help them on occasion, and to be in touch with me about my availability. I make sure to stress the words that need to be. The family agrees, although I know they won’t call me to babysit. I don’t even think they will call us back to dinner. I don’t care.

When we get home, my parents and I round on each other. Our house is not pink. It doesn’t look like any house I have ever been in. It’s large and grey and brown. Again, when I wake, I will be insulted by the weakass color symbolism. Give me a break.

I tell them that they have no right to take ownership of my time and assume that I will do whatever they throw at me. I have to make my own decisions. I am crying, I notice with embarrassment. I wish–as I do in waking life–that I didnt cry so goddamn much. I am furious. I say, with clipped, precise words, that they have to ask me before they volunteer me for something. That this isn’t so much to ask. I call it basic human respect and I watch my mother turn white with guilt and rage.

She is also crying, which she never does, and tells me that I am being childish. How am I supposed to live without a job, she asks me. How do I expect to be anything if I keep turning down jobs that I don’t want? She tells me to buck up because I will never be happy again, but I can at least be alive and it’s selfish and ungrateful to want anything more than that. I don’t know what to say. Even in dreams, my parents don’t know about self-harm or suicidal ideation. Even in dreams, I know not to tell them.

So I am silent. Our house is filling up with water. I don’t know where it’s coming from. It’s black and doesn’t feel like anything at all. I look out the window to see the family in the pink house watching us from the second story window. They are expressionless. My mother is still crying and shouting and my father is saying something, but I can’t hear him. It sounds like he is trying to talk with a bunch of cotton in his mouth. My mother demands if I want to kill myself, and I don’t know what to say. My silence, once again, speaks for me, and she starts to wail. She cries like I am already gone, and my father shakes his head like he is disappointed. Like he is in mourning. The last thing I remember myself saying before I wake up is, “this is incredibly stressful.”

I wake up and I am still exhausted.

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1705259862

May 6, 2014:

spooky ass dreams on the dream train last night but i also dallied writing this today so let’s see if i remember everything

I have to go to this school, this boarding school, I guess, and my brain can’t seem to decide if it’s magic or not. Because sometimes I get wands and sometimes I don’t and it doesn’t bother me in-dream because I don’t notice it, but awake, I sure could have used a consistent magic system because what the fuck.

The school doesn’t look anything like Hogwarts, though. It doesn’t even look like a school. It looks more like those abandoned bunkers off the coast of San Francisco, with a very large stone complex built on top of it (another huge spooky house why do all my dreams have huge spooky houses). It’s built of grey stone and appears to be falling apart, and I can’t tell if that’s because I don’t have The Sight–whatever that means–or if it genuinely is a falling apart gigantic building and they feel like teaching magic (??) here would be appropriate.

A little ways away, on a hill, is another house. Three stories tall and very old. It looks like a really small hotel, weirdly. Nobody looks at it. When I ask about it, I am ignored.

The headmistress does not like me, although I do not know why. Maybe because I asked her about the small house. But the deputy headmistress pulls me aside and says to watch out because there is something very dangerous that exists in this place, and to especially stay away from the house on the hill. She does not elaborate. She disappears in the throng of students that are constantly coming in and out of doors and wandering around the hallways with no real place to be.

As I explore the main complex, I feel like something is following me. I turn to see the exact opposite. Suddenly, I am the only person in the courtyard. It is gloomy and dark here, like the sun never bothered coming up all the way. Dust hangs in the air. I turn to the side and look down a hallway made of stone. The arched passageway is empty, but it doesn't feel empty.

There is a hand on my shoulder and it whips me around. The headmistress stands over me, scowling. She demands to know why I am not in class, and does not wait for me to answer. She tells me I have to go to my punishment. The deputy headmistress appears at her side, takes her a few feet away, and they argue quietly. Finally, the deputy headmistress returns to me, resigned, and says she must take me to the house on the hill. I do not feel afraid yet.

When we approach the house on the hill, there are two doors, one labeled “ROOM J” and the other “J2”. She warns me to not go into room J2, and that she will come and see if I am still around in the morning. The door is opened by keycard and I, without instruction, mime swiping a keycard with an empty hand. The door swings open to reveal a small, small room, and a very large staircase spiraling straight up. It feels more like a lighthouse than an actual room. The deputy headmistress says that my room will be on the third floor, to the right. She follows me into the house, but doesn’t go up the stairs. She watches me with a concerned expression until I have gone too high, and I am out of sight.

There is a little landing on the third floor, and two doors: “J” and “J2”. I push open J and look around. Like the rest of the house, the room is dark, grey, and dusty. There are piles and piles of things–wooden boxes, small toys, pillows, sheets–and covered furniture. There is a standing mirror, covered with a sheet, in the corner that is almost as big as the whole wall. I quietly walk in, looking around curiously at all the things apparently left abandoned. As I stand in the middle of the room, kicking up dust with every step, I look to my left.

There is a door wide open, and another room on the other side. It isn’t like mine at all; this room has a couch littered with papers and pillows, and everything is uncovered. A faint mist (smoke? I can’t tell or decide) hangs over everything. I realize with a jolt that this is room J2, and that the door had been left open. I know without knowing that whatever haunts the halls of the school at the bottom of the hill lives in this room. And that I am all alone now.

A loud exhale, like a disappointed sigh, rings in my ears, and my alarm wakes me up.

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1705259604

I'm copy/pasting old dream entries from my Tumblr here bc I might as well! This is from August 3, 2014, mea culpa about the emo commentary, I was Not Well:

last night i had this dream that I was suddenly de-aged and shoved back into 8th grade (which, for those of u just tuning in, happened at a K-8 Catholic School. I knew these kids for years). And it was sort of stressful until I realized that all my classmates were also de-aged, with all the memories of being an adult. Weirdly, everyone was super chill about this, and started talking about what they were looking forward to experiencing over again. Finally, one of my old friends asked me what I was looking forward to re-living and I said, “well, it’s gonna be a while, but when I get to college, I’m gonna meet my girlfriend all over again, and that’ll be great.” And like, I was really worried about what they’d say, but they all thought that was really cute and wished me awesome luck and everything.

The rest of my dream consisted of me chilling with my old friends like we remember us being–fuckin 12 years old and super ready for anything–but still being the selves we are now. We caught up with everything and did easy-ass math and laughed about our terrible 8th grade teacher (who was terrible) and.

I don’t know, I woke up feeling really, really sad because??? dang. my brain is not being kind and would much rather just remind me of how much motivation and purpose I used to have, and now I don’t have any. I don’t have any ambition and I am afraid of everything blah blah blah find a different tune okay

but still.

i dont even miss the people i went to middle school with

but i guess i sort of miss who i thought they were

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1705259097

I had two dreams I remember last night

1-

I was with a class, and we were going to do [something?] that needed to be accomplished via travel. I was delighted to find that we were going to my old hometown, and specifically the tourist Old Town area I used to work as a teenager. I remembered Old Town being whimsical, touristy, warm, and welcoming (as it is irl), and I talked it up to my classmates.

When we arrived, however, it was dark, dirty, and full of dangerous people. We had to run and hide amongst tall, derelict buildings from people who wanted to rob us or kill us. I was immensely confused and upset about this, and I wanted to find my old work: an old fashioned themed candy store. I thought that if I could find someone I knew and trusted, I could figure out what happened, and how to get out safely, as our bus had been vandalized to the point where it did not work.

We went through a ton of danger to reach where my old store used to be, but instead of the brick building, it was a flat, sandy path that led, somehow to a beach, with a large carousel near the water. I woke up shortly after.

2-

In this dream, I had completed some series of dangerous tasks inside and around an unused city block. Whatever I did, I did well, because when I was finished, I had a bunch of cool loot. When I got home, I divvied it up with my little sisters and enjoyed a celebration with my extended family.

IRL, my dad's side of the family is huge, and everyone i could remember appeared in my dream party. Most notably, my (deceased irl) great grandma Angie gave me a beautiful black dress that fit me perfectly even tho I don't have breasts irl and in the dream. I loved it, and immediately changed into it for this party.

The party took place in this hotel, and it seemed that the whole property was rented out for the occasion. It also had a natural lake on the property that the hotel had added tile and concrete to the shore to make it look as though a regular pool was somehow turning into a lake with a dock.

Performing on the lake was a real singer whose music I like a lot but I'm too embarrassed to say who it was (you'll see why in a sec). As I was dancing and singing on the dock, a friend of mine irl appeared and accidentally pushed me into the cold water. I emerged, accepted his apology, and sat on the dock in my beautiful dress, shivering. The singer, who was in between sets, came over and offered me his jacket. I was understandably star struck by this, so when he urged me to keep it, and then left after his set, I ran to find my second cousins and told them the whole thing.

As I was gossipping lol he burst through the lobby door and jogged up to me, nervously gave me his number, and then ran away again lmao. We were understandably thrilled about all this XD I woke up by the cat shortly after.

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1703725485

Last night I had a dream I was a teenager, living in my childhood home with my family at the ages they were when I was young. We were going to walk to a festival at my old high school when I suddenly got in trouble for something I didn't do. The details weren't clear even then, but I remember feeling the same frustration and hopelessness I felt as a kid when I realized that I couldn't defend myself against an argument bc nobody was listening to me. They'd made up their mind .

In a pique of rage, I left my house without permission and walked alone down my neighborhood, which had transitioned from a standard residential site to a place that was interspersed with huge palatial houses and towers, scaled up for giants. I walked along these houses until I reached my old high school, which was full of people having fun at the festival. I went to join them, but a handful of parents I'd known as a teen were there and said that I couldn't join bc my parents told them I was a bad person. When I tried to plead my case, they laughed.

I woke up feeling frustrated and angry

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1702104067

Last night I had a dream where I finished a painting I was working on and had let fall to the wayside. So I woke up and did the next steps. It should be done tomorrow

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1700847505

OKAY SO

backstory: I went to a k-8 Catholic school from 4th thru 8th grade. Next to that school was an ill-kept white house, tall and I think a knock-off Queen Anne, surrounded by tall oak trees and a tall fence with rails between the chain link so we couldn't see most of it. So haunted. I was obsessed with it. It's not there anymore, but I still dream about it pretty regularly. And I did last night:

I dreamt that I was returning to my old school to visit and look around (as is often the setup for these dreams) and I looked where the fence was and noticed it was open and the house was being renovated. Excited and sad to see the old house go, I ran over and was met by an old woman in vintage clothes, giving a very Angela Lansbury vibe, who explains that it's been identified as a historic building so it's getting a touch up, but they're giving away old parts of the original house if I want to have something

(Backstory 2: when I go urban exploring, I take something small like a rock or a piece of plastic -- nothing identifiable except to me and nothing that counts as property legally)

I accept and I go into the house. Inside, it's very decayed, run down, and also HUGE, much bigger than the house should be. Like a giant cave, and it's full of old furniture that looks Victorian. There are old chandeliers tilted against the walls, stained furniture, cupboards full of old silverware.

I take this fire poker that's way too short and delicate to be one, painted white with guilded flowers on the end.

The docent or whoever (I know somehow that she doesn't own the house) then says "if it would make you feel better, the original house as it was is already on the other side".

Then, she leads me to the back end of the property to another entry way that looks exactly the same as the front of the house, just as if it were new. When she leads me through that door, the inside is the same but fresh and clean and original, like we stepped back in time. The room I remember the most was the lounge and bar room, which has a marble bar top, dark wood floors and liquor cabinet, and dusty rose walls and matching velvet furniture. Soft, vintage music is playing in the background.

I stay there for a while, just enjoying the ambiance. When I leave, it's nightfall and I thank her and take my little prize home.

I wake up.

What a bittersweet experience! Whenever I dream of the house these days it all kind of happens like that. It used to be more haunting like with ghosts, then it turned into a like exploration but don't get caught vibes, and now it's like a proper liminal space where time happens all at once.

To add to the "mystery", I have been looking for any property pictures or listings of the house since 2013 to no avail. The Google maps of that listing show the empty lot, and there's no like Zillow pics of the house that go back that far

So if anyone knows how to find that stuff pls hit me up. I'd love to see her again.

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1700700895

I've learned that if I'm startled out of my dreams (like with an alarm), I can't hold onto my dream memories as easily. Will report back later.

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1700297576

i keep a dream journal too, id like to see your future dream posts

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