long dream, or a long telling of a short dream
If any of this sounds familiar to anyone, let me know. I'm so sure that some of this is based on real memories, but it's probably all pretty skewed.
It didn’t really seem to start at my parent’s place, but some other new place they were. Maybe they sold the house or something. I was wearing what I wore today: my Chicago shirt and black jeans. As I was walking out the door, Dad asked me if I had gotten the painting done today, I said “what? what paint?” he said I had something on my shirt, and I remembered and said I did it, and was bummed about getting paint all over the right shoulder of my shirt. He kept talking, but I was walking past the next house already, so I said, “yeah, it’s a bummer!” and kept walking. There was no door, and I was half way down the block without ever noticing leaving the house, like I just went down the hall and it segued into the backyard, into the sidewalk on the other side of the block. It was a weird kind of light outside, not like street-lamp light, but light out, just not quite light enough.
I walked down Gunson or Hagadorn for what seemed like too long. I couldn’t sleep at my parents’ that night because something had changed, so I had to find my other friend’s place I used to go crash at with Chad. It was a really long walk, getting stuck on overgrown bushes over the sidewalk, and even a strange fence with 3 doorways through it (I took the one way that had a chain half covering it, a chain that I completely failed to jump, step or fly over gracefully, so the alarm went off and I had to run for a bit). As I got closer to their place, there was the familiar dog barking every time I walked down that block of Gunson, but the gas station on the corner (which I don’t remember actually being there) closed when gas was 1.71, which seemed really low. It was getting dark, and I was almost there, dragging my down blanket along. Or rather, I noticed I had somehow lost my blanket and extra t-shirt along the way… probably in the fence debacle. I found the house, and remembered the crazy sort of front lawn they had, with circular stone discs like lily pads, layering up and up until you got to the doorway. Or rather, there were two ways to get to the door, and I remembered the lameos in highschool, at cast parties, how half of them went the simple way, a well lit stone sidewalk to the side-garage door, and the other was a staircase to the front door. It was a really sweet staircase, lots of circles.
I kept climbing, remembering how it was based on or related to this art piece, or artist that my friend, or Ryan Johnson, liked a lot. It was a difficult climb, and as I got closer to the top, I noticed that I was already inside in their livingroom, so I was getting up to this strange wall instead of the front door now. The main stepping thing was now gel-y and I was too heavy now, not like when I was younger, so it kept tipping back, but it swung upright again each time, like I remembered it would. I got to the top and found two stacks, one of bowls and the other of spiky little balls. I couldn’t remember what you had to do with these, and I tripped anyway and knocked them both over, which woke my friend’s sister up.
She said, “Oh, hi Nate. I’m going to make some hot chocolate. Want some?” “Totally!”
And I tried to find where the pile of stuff had fallen. Most of the bowls fell into being the top halves of these faces in the wall, and the balls all fell onto the platform up where I was just a moment ago, so I climbed back up. I was putting the balls into these sort of teethed bowls (like venus flytraps) when the mom got home.
She said hi to me and wouldn’t give me any hint of which friend it was whose house I was trying to crash at (I still couldn’t remember) but told me stories about what had happened to the rest of the family. “Joe and somebody went to California” somebody else went to school and somebody died, it seemed. There was a divorce/custody battle after the dad beat the kids (the one kid who didn’t get beat ended up falling and hitting his head anyway, and was the only one with lasting physical damage, ironically) so everybody was gone except the mom and the younger sister.
All the while I was trying to remember who it was of my friends that lived in this house. I think it was even a real house, but I’m not sure anymore. I used to hang out there with this one person and Chad (who at this point in the dream was there, didn’t say hi, and didn’t look at me, but was standing next to me as the mom was telling me all this) hanging out in the basement, playing this game system that doesn’t exist anymore, going down these really specific short wide staircase to get to a room with a second underground garage on the left while an empty playroom extended on into the distance straight ahead. I never did remember who the friend was.
It ended standing in their upstairs living room and finally turning around, surveying the rest of the place, trying to take it all in. It was a sort of brown/grey-white, like a hotel, but homier and bigger and nicer. I don’t remember what the whole room really looked like, because I wasn’t really looking out, and the camera was mostly on me. I woke up really slowly holding that image in my head, and the young red-head sister never came with the hot chocolate. I didn’t really see her face, but I did see and talk to the mom, and it was definitely one of my less-close friends’ moms, but she may be made up too. Who was the sister?
I felt a lot more comfortable in this dream, and the transition between it and slowly remembering what I had to do later today after I wake up was a really unfortunate one. The dream felt a lot more like me, much more real, not like what I am now. What is different?
It didn’t really seem to start at my parent’s place, but some other new place they were. Maybe they sold the house or something. I was wearing what I wore today: my Chicago shirt and black jeans. As I was walking out the door, Dad asked me if I had gotten the painting done today, I said “what? what paint?” he said I had something on my shirt, and I remembered and said I did it, and was bummed about getting paint all over the right shoulder of my shirt. He kept talking, but I was walking past the next house already, so I said, “yeah, it’s a bummer!” and kept walking. There was no door, and I was half way down the block without ever noticing leaving the house, like I just went down the hall and it segued into the backyard, into the sidewalk on the other side of the block. It was a weird kind of light outside, not like street-lamp light, but light out, just not quite light enough.
I walked down Gunson or Hagadorn for what seemed like too long. I couldn’t sleep at my parents’ that night because something had changed, so I had to find my other friend’s place I used to go crash at with Chad. It was a really long walk, getting stuck on overgrown bushes over the sidewalk, and even a strange fence with 3 doorways through it (I took the one way that had a chain half covering it, a chain that I completely failed to jump, step or fly over gracefully, so the alarm went off and I had to run for a bit). As I got closer to their place, there was the familiar dog barking every time I walked down that block of Gunson, but the gas station on the corner (which I don’t remember actually being there) closed when gas was 1.71, which seemed really low. It was getting dark, and I was almost there, dragging my down blanket along. Or rather, I noticed I had somehow lost my blanket and extra t-shirt along the way… probably in the fence debacle. I found the house, and remembered the crazy sort of front lawn they had, with circular stone discs like lily pads, layering up and up until you got to the doorway. Or rather, there were two ways to get to the door, and I remembered the lameos in highschool, at cast parties, how half of them went the simple way, a well lit stone sidewalk to the side-garage door, and the other was a staircase to the front door. It was a really sweet staircase, lots of circles.
I kept climbing, remembering how it was based on or related to this art piece, or artist that my friend, or Ryan Johnson, liked a lot. It was a difficult climb, and as I got closer to the top, I noticed that I was already inside in their livingroom, so I was getting up to this strange wall instead of the front door now. The main stepping thing was now gel-y and I was too heavy now, not like when I was younger, so it kept tipping back, but it swung upright again each time, like I remembered it would. I got to the top and found two stacks, one of bowls and the other of spiky little balls. I couldn’t remember what you had to do with these, and I tripped anyway and knocked them both over, which woke my friend’s sister up.
She said, “Oh, hi Nate. I’m going to make some hot chocolate. Want some?” “Totally!”
And I tried to find where the pile of stuff had fallen. Most of the bowls fell into being the top halves of these faces in the wall, and the balls all fell onto the platform up where I was just a moment ago, so I climbed back up. I was putting the balls into these sort of teethed bowls (like venus flytraps) when the mom got home.
She said hi to me and wouldn’t give me any hint of which friend it was whose house I was trying to crash at (I still couldn’t remember) but told me stories about what had happened to the rest of the family. “Joe and somebody went to California” somebody else went to school and somebody died, it seemed. There was a divorce/custody battle after the dad beat the kids (the one kid who didn’t get beat ended up falling and hitting his head anyway, and was the only one with lasting physical damage, ironically) so everybody was gone except the mom and the younger sister.
All the while I was trying to remember who it was of my friends that lived in this house. I think it was even a real house, but I’m not sure anymore. I used to hang out there with this one person and Chad (who at this point in the dream was there, didn’t say hi, and didn’t look at me, but was standing next to me as the mom was telling me all this) hanging out in the basement, playing this game system that doesn’t exist anymore, going down these really specific short wide staircase to get to a room with a second underground garage on the left while an empty playroom extended on into the distance straight ahead. I never did remember who the friend was.
It ended standing in their upstairs living room and finally turning around, surveying the rest of the place, trying to take it all in. It was a sort of brown/grey-white, like a hotel, but homier and bigger and nicer. I don’t remember what the whole room really looked like, because I wasn’t really looking out, and the camera was mostly on me. I woke up really slowly holding that image in my head, and the young red-head sister never came with the hot chocolate. I didn’t really see her face, but I did see and talk to the mom, and it was definitely one of my less-close friends’ moms, but she may be made up too. Who was the sister?
I felt a lot more comfortable in this dream, and the transition between it and slowly remembering what I had to do later today after I wake up was a really unfortunate one. The dream felt a lot more like me, much more real, not like what I am now. What is different?