jookitcz: (l'essential)
My dreams have become disturbingly personal lately.  Last night they were fine, if a little bit cutesy--I was going on an adventure as it was plotted out in a story book, while plagued with harassment from anthropomorpicized crow people, who were actually well-drawn and sympathetic villains.  I ended up trying to make candied apples for my three little cousins, but there were tons of kids over who were supposed to be playing outside, but Aislinn let them into the basement, so everything just turned into a mess.

Also at some point a box of Legos accidently fell on my head and they all stuck to me.  I was a Lego snowball.  Prom dresses were involved, high school was involved, helping plan surprises was involved, as was honoring the hierarchy.  It was a vivid dream, but fun.  Unlike the night before last, which was just frightening.

In the normal course of things, I don't dream as myself.  I dream as a character, and think of myself as someone else who looks different, thinks differently, and likes different things.  It makes me uneasy when there is a Jessalynn Uchacz playing first person protagonist in my dreams.  Especially the realistic ones.  I woke up yesterday and didn't know what I had or hadn't said and done.  Does this change indicate a trend?  Is it part of a permanent shift?  Dream-me does and says some things that I might want to, but morally can't.  She also makes bad decisions, habitually, probably because she knows she won't have to live with the consequences, and that it'll just be me waking up to worry about the backlash from her irresponsibility.

For ten minutes or so.  Then reality asserts itself, and I feel a little better.
jookitcz: (Default)
Mm. Procrastinating my day.  I woke up earlier than usual thanks to some very strange dreams.  [profile] wooandyay ran afoul of malicious Fair Folk, and as per tradition in such stories, was turned into something like a vacuum or a lawnmower, or a combination of both.  Everyone was heartbroken, but I was the only one really surprised when he changed back into himself.  He and [profile] caitpm had this green umbrella that they found on the way, and I took it so that I could fix the broken bits by threading them with some wire (from a coathanger), but I guess I took too long and absolutely everyone was disgusted with me for 'stealing' this umbrella from them.  Nothing I could do would redeem myself.  [profile] darthozymandias was particularly harsh on me.  Decent people don't steal umbrellas from children for their own perverse joy.

Angry at the world for this maltreatment (particularly after certain heroic actions in a Thumbelina-esque storyline--entirely the Bluth version) I went to my room.  Only to find my brother and half a dozen of my (angry) friends there, and he smugly tells me I can't use my computer, because they're having a party in my room.  So I grab a book and sulk.  [profile] spence137 did pause from the party long enough to ask what was wrong, but I think I just scowled and mumbled about the umbrella.

These are the highlights.  There was more before this, and I suspect every single person in my honors class was in this dream, which was a swamp of social paranoia, self-pity, and symbolism blatant enough that I despair of my subconscious's originality.

And my dreams are like this every night!  Gah!

But I almost forgot to mention, when I was laying awake last night, there was this funny thing--the window was open, and at 12:34 exactly an entire city of frogs and crickets and night creatures started chirping, all at once.  And the perfect phrase came to mind to describe it, a collection of "syncopated creakings."  Then I made a long mental conceit about the way the sound felt around one's brain, like a burr rolling and tangling in wool.  But you see, I thought, those words don't work because they don't capture the sound of the thing.  More like the sound trickles through the crannies in your brain, or your brain tries to trickle through the chirping, like water down through a thousand odd-shaped jittering pebbles.

And at 12:41 it stopped.  A very lonely silence.

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jookitcz

July 2010

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