Dream Log: November 22, 2001

Last night I had a really weird dream. I was in a heavy suit of armour. It was hard to move around, but I could cover large distances with a each stride. The suit was cold where it touched my body, and I realised that I was wearing only three pairs of socks inside. (I don't know how I knew that I had three pairs of socks on, I just knew.)

Anyway..
I suddenly saw through the slits in my visor an enormous Cat with which, for some reason, I had to do battle. It actually reminded me a little bit of my landlady's cat, which is kind of tatty, and in need of a good bath. It also had the same evil look in its eye, except that the eye was huge and at least 15 foot above me. The visor restricted my vision, and made it hard to see all of my enormous moggy opponent without madly turning my head around all the time. When the giant cat started to strike - although I was wearing thick armour - I could feel each scratch the cat made on my chest and arms. Trying to fight it off was making me panic. It's fishy breath was condensing on the inside of my suit of armour. That made me feel even less secure.

All at once, it threw me from the horse that I realised I'd been riding, and put one foot on my chest. It's purr shook the whole world.

The inside of the visor was acting something like a screen: a sort of heads up display. With X-Ray vision I could see the cat had a fish bone stuck in its throat. This proved to be the puss's downfall. I was moving faster, and with a swift arm movement I jabbed the correct part of the cat's neck - pushing the bone further into the tender flesh...

It didn't even seem to notice!

But then... just as the cat was about to bring it's paw down to kill me, I saw that on the underside of it's paw was written these words:

"Though a million have tried, more have failed, with every fight, I grow stronger."

Suddenly, I realised that I could apply that to me, rather than to the cat, and the collossal cat was suddenly as small and hairless as a small baby rat. I tied a red bow around it's tail, and put in my pile of Christmas presents, thinking "another one taken care of". This one was going to be given to my landlady.

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My dad is on a game show of some sort with eight other contestants competing for a trip to France. The title of the episode was "Give Me France or Give Me Death." Incidentally, if you didn't win, you were gassed to death.

My dad didn't really communicate with me so I didn't know whether I was in his will or not and my concerns were with my money for college.

I had about eight siblings and each one got a present from my dad before he left. They looked like the kids on The Cosby Show One girl got a needlepoint kit and a boy got a hockey stick. Before I could get my present, I realized I had to go to pick Ben up for school.

So I run out the door and get into the car. I arrive at his house (not like his house at all) and he is standing in the driveway with his lip trembling. My eyes veer over to his yard and I see several articles of junk thrown across the yard. He climbs into the car and I ask him what's wrong. He doesn't want to tell me. I look over at him and I notice he is holding a bottle of Ritalin but I assume this is something new about him that he has just not told me yet and let it go.

He urges me not to go to school, so we instead drive down to a junkyard. As we are approaching the junkyard, I get a bad feeling and decide we should turn around. When I return to his house, I have the feeling that his parents are in the yard waiting for us--and they're angry. I get out of the car and there they are standing, yelling at me and blaming me for the mess in the front yard. I look to Ben for help but he is getting out his Ritalin bottle and swallowing about 15 pills. His body is shaking all over. He is nervous. He is silent.

We get back into the car and we drive to the television studio where my dad is going to be filmed. When I walk inside, I find two men dragging an attractive 30-something male in a gas mask through double doors. I try to warn my dad, but I can't find him anywhere. The show is starting. We take our seats and I find out that my dad and the only other remaining guy are going to split the prize. Everyone applauds. I am still confused about how you can split a trip to France. But before that can be answered, I wake up.

Whenever my life is about to change, I dream of tornadoes. I rarely remember the dreams I have at night, but if I take a nap, I tend to remember very vividly. Another good reason for naps... Anyway, I've never seen a tornado in real life... having lived in Kansas since I was four or so, I've retreated to my basement countless times, but have never seen the real thing. My prophetic dreams are dreamt years ahead of time like snapshots that tip off a deju-vu that's a conglomeration of words, what I see through my eyes, the smell and how I feel. They're always strong and keep me from speaking for a bit, but they're never that illuminating, I just remember that I dreamt being just so, looking at this, talking of that...

Now these tornado dreams are very particular. I'm always in my house, which is never actually my house, but one that I know is mine. Occasionally I'll dream of my mother's house. Sometimes I go outside, and sometimes I stay in, peeking through the windows at the tempest outside. It comes raging in, and always misses my house... it goes around, gets sucked back up, jumps over... so much so that now in my tornado dreams I am cognizant of the fact that it won't hit and that I'm not in danger, though they make me very unsettled.

A couple of days ago, it was the same kind of dream, but now, instead of the tornado twisting in, my house started moving. Like a ship. This time it really was my house, and I was in my bedroom, which is up over the garage. I was just watching my neighborhood move past my window, rising and falling slightly. My house was moving away from the storm, and carrying me with it. This feeling of impending doom was gone, I was just curiously watching it, and wondering where it would settle down. Then my two year old burst into my bedroom demanding to speak to Oobie (my fingers as a puppet) and it was over.