My Weird Dreams

Posted on June 28, 2010

1


Last week I mentioned a dream in my Twitter feed, and several friends responded strongly to it.

Before I related the dream, I should say that I sometimes have vivid dreams. I often wake up aware that I’ve had the same dream, over and over, each time slightly different. Each variation on the dream has a more robust story and more elaborate details. These dreams often have elements of games I’m playing and movies I’ve watched. It’s my understanding that the same is true for many people. Other times, I have dreams that are obviously based on something like work or some source of stress, like everyone. This dream was one of the former.

In the dream, I was in a marsh with a friend who was very big and very strong. According to the dream, he was Andre the Giant – although from what I can remember now, he didn’t actually look like the late pro-wrestler and actor. There were lots of trees in the marsh, and mud pools. We were playing some kind of board game when I heard a noise. I suddenly realized (this was a dream, remember) there were other people in the marsh – and they were after the same “thing” that Andre and I were.

So Andre and I headed to this odd house up on a hummock in the marsh. I remember that the house was yellow clapboard, with white trim and emerald green shutters. It was a Victorian home, about three stories tall, with cupolas and bay windows. Whatever we were after, it was in the house. The dream also told me that there were rumors and stories about the house, like it was cursed or haunted.

As we approached the house, something moved under the marsh. The ground humped up above whatever it was, and the hump moved around. It even forced up water when it moved under the water. Whatever it was, we were supposed to be scared of it. It moved directly to the house and disappeared.

At the foot of the steps leading up to the house was a metal container, like the gun boxes in the computer game Borderlands. Andre and I opened the box (somehow I knew just how to operate it) and took the weapons and ammunition. Our justification was that we didn’t want our pursuers to have any of it.

Then my alarm went off and I woke up. My sleeping brain didn’t have a chance to create a more elaborate story or to develop the existing plot further.

That’s what it’s like inside my brain. I tell stories even when I sleep.

Advertisements
Posted in: Self-Reference