Dream Log: May 7, 2001

I dreamed last night that I was on my way to see a baseball game in Arlington. However, I had left my car at the elementary school I was teaching at after I had gotten in trouble for finding a secret server in the boiler room there which contained source code for many prominent pieces of software. Being a curious person, I had printed out the source and began examining it, and then I got caught. Upon returning to the school to get my ID out of my car, supposedly so I could legally drink beer at the game, someone had drawn in sidewalk chalk a path to the room that said "This way to the secret computer!" with lots of arrows, hearts and flowers. No stars though. I had to fill out a form that said what I had done and turn it into the school principal.

There was another dream as well in which I was an observer that was not part of the dream. In it, a young redhead girl decided to rebel against her parents and marry the first boy that comes along with really good weed. She met one, a nice boy with red hair as well, but not too smart. Another problem was that he lived three counties away and it took 90 minutes to go see him. Finally, she had had enough of the online romance stuff and decided to visit. She got a job as a paperboy, or should we say, girl in his part of town. She rode her bike from house to house delivering the newspaper - the dream showed the map. When she got to one house (listed as "Kelly's Parents' House" on the map), a girl in a bathrobe answered the door and said, "you poor thing, you must be cold, come inside and have breakfast," followed by some muffled protestation from the other room. She walked into the house and saw her long distance romance totally naked except for a sheet around his waist. She was very upset. The girl in the bathrobe explained what was going on between them and asked her to join in. The redhead said no and started a fight with the other girl, while the naked boy just looked on, totally bewildered. After some time at the catfight, there were some noises and the bathrobed girl says to the redhead, "Oh shit, now you've gone and woken up my parents."

And it was then I decided that things were just too weird and I woke up.

I dreamt that I was in a white room with Paul Reiser, of Mad About You fame. He was reading something about Vernon Reid, from the band Living Colour. I suspect that this is because I read an article about Living Colour before going to bed. In the dream, I kept thinking "Reid . . . Reiser . . . man, they're like right next to each other in the encyclopedia!"
Then I was in my kitchen, putting chocolate ice cream in a frying pan, which I assume is on the HI setting. The ice cream melts, covering the surface of the pan. It forms a shellac-y glaze. I put my fingers in it, and taste it. "Hmm," thought I. "It tastes like chocolate." I then get the great idea to put a piece of bread in the pan, to cover it in the chocolate glaze. I get the oat bran bread in my kitchen and plop it in the pan. I stood in front of the stove, waiting for it to get thoroughly soaked in the cocoa liquid. I flip the bread over to get the other side. After a while I pick up the bread, which has now been chocolatized. I bite into it. I am satisfied with my nighttime culinary skills.

I had this dream last night that I'm sitting in a McDonald's eating when a woman suddenly bursts into the restaurant screaming she's about to give birth. I jump into action and lay her down on a table and promptly deliver the little tyke. I give the baby to it's mother, and then try to convince her to begin breast feeding it. Somehow the mother and I become engaged in conversation and forget all about the baby.

The next thing I know, somebody had layed the baby face down in a pool of ketchup and it died.

My dreams scare me.

I was staying the night at my parents' house. In morning, I was going to take a taxi. My aunty patty was also going to my work at 6:30, so I was going to share a cab with her. I leave the house, early. It's dark out. I'll come back. I end up at Kits High, visiting. I stop by the music room. My friend Jenny is there. She must be in grade 12, I figure. We go to an assembly; it's Boris Yeltsin's funeral. Boris Yeltsin himself is presiding, walking around, greeting people and thanking them for their kind thoughts at his death. He asks us if we would grace his funeral with a song. Mr. Burger, conveniently piss drunk and thus ready for conducting, exhorts us to pull out Concerto for Four, in F, a hymn-sounding song. I, not in my high school choir, wing it, sightreading. I'm pleased - I'm a much better singer than I was when I was in the choir in grade 8 and 9. Lise, who is also somehow in the choir here (she is actually in the chalice choir at church) turns to me and says that no wonder I ditched this choir for chalice - he's crazy! Boris Yeltsin looks pleased, and, with a tear in his eye, lies down in the casket and falls asleep, presumably for good. I am about to ask Mr. Burger if I can be a ringer in the choir - what with getting out of work early, I could make the 3:30 practices. I don't; I suddenly remember that I was supposed to be at work. It is now 9:05 - oh god! I'm so late. I feel terrible. Redfaced as I arrive at work, I realize I the choir wouldn't have been so great anyhow - my friend Jenny is so not in grade 12 - she must be in third year by now. Aunty Patty is not at work, but some nice fuzzy slippers are. "These must be Ben's", I think for some reason. Sure enough, Joe (his brother and my boyfriend) calls me up. "Did we leave some slippers there last night? Ben can't get to work now." "Yes, yes, I'll put them in the mail." The stamps (it takes a number of them) are a commemorative series celebrating dead russian and soviet leaders. Yeltsin is there; the paint is still shiny on his stamp. Gorbachev is there. he's been dead for years now, I discover to my great surprise. Khrushchev looks like Stalin without his mustache; I suspect a conspiracy. As I fiddle with the postage meter (I didn't have enough stamps in the end), I hear a whispered "PSST!" from the ceiling. I look up just as one of the panels is removed. Joe pops his head out. "Those stamps won't work! They're bugged. Here, I'll take the slippers." "Okay. Have a good day at school! Don't catch a cold in the tunnels on the way out!"

I wake up with the name Vladistokya on my lips and a nervous panic as I check the clock. 5:25, not 9:05. hmm, maybe I was thinking of Vladivostok. That sounds like an interesting place to visit. Except for the rampant crime and drugs.