||[Dec. 13th, 2003|07:29 am]
Dreams and Nightmareland
Last night’s dream:
I’m going to another state for a meeting, and I’m staying overnight (like I really am on Monday). I arrive at this huge hotel. Everything is very dark, as often in my dreams, and also as often in my dreams the indoor and outdoor spaces kind of merge so it’s hard to tell if I’m inside or out sometimes.
After walking through the huge lobby, I take the elevator to the top floor, the 99th floor. I get there almost instantly, then realize I have no idea where my room is, so I go back down. In the crowded lobby I go up to the desk, which bears a striking resemblance to the information desk at one of the Borders Bookstores that I go to. I start asking about my room, but two old ladies on either side of me see each other and realize they know each other, so they rush together and start talking, one pushing against me from one side and one pushing against me from the other side as they talk around me. I somehow manage to sign in; there’s some information on some lists written in pencil, but I forget what it is.
At some point I realize that I’ve forgotten my luggage, and also my lunch. Some of the people from Monty Python’s Flying Circus are also there in some capacity, as managers or busboys or whatever.
After seeing my room and getting some vague instructions about where I have to go I go down to the parking lot, which is conveniently located inside the lobby (or right next to it with no walls between). There’s a small booth there, like a toll booth, and another person from work (nobody I know IRL) is going into it to get scanned by a blue-green laser for some reason. The person running the booth wants me to get in, but I have to park my car first.
The breaks of my car are incredibly soft. I keep ‘overshooting’ the parking space I want, then overshooting it again when I back up. I start poking around to see if I can figure out what’s wrong; now the inside of my car is filled with dirty pipes, switches, knobs, capped tanks and pipes, and so forth, right up to the tiny slit windows. I screw open one cap, and realize that’s where you check to see how much gasoline you have. I start pulling levers pretty much at random, until I find one that opens the hood. I get under the hood (I get right in there!) and the view from inside the hood looks pretty much like the view from inside the car, except there are also endless yards of brightly colored electrical wires all over. Using the incomprehensible manual, I finally find one cap that I pop open and start pouring some break fluid into, even though I’m pretty sure that it’s the clutch and not the break.
There was a lot more, but I’m forgetting it all now.
Incidentally, whereas it’s very easy to forget your dreams if you don’t try to remember them (at least for me it is), I find that the act of writing them down somehow ‘fixes’ them in my memory. Reading over old entries in my journal, I find that I can remember the dreams I’ve written about more vividly than I can remember many of the things that ‘actually’ happened to me.