So why was a 60 horsepower diesel tractor in our bedroom last night and why did I start it up (mum mum mum mum mum mum-mum low rumble), drive it through an improbably wide hall, and take out a metal and glass pole lamp with a wrought metal bird’s head at eye level, all while wearing a clingy black dress and high heels?
This, dear readers, is what makes dreams so compelling and — quite often — fun.
But dreams are evanescent. They get away from us quickly unless we consciously hold on to the disappearing image, grab a pen and write it down — or type as I’m doing right now, before my (gasp) first sip of coffee.
I had a dream a week or so ago that I meant to write down. It was so interesting. At least I staggered out of bed, found a pen, and dashed off the stream of conscious words that streamed out of my barely awake brain.
Here’s what I wrote:
a path with sand spurs
told Buck I was’t wearing the right shoes for this
people upside down in cars, blood trickles, laughed like I was the crazy one when I asked what I could do
puppies and fat children in beds
role-playing by Rotarians
lost my shoes, my phone, my camera
couldn’t find Buck
walked back — seems like I drove some odd vehicle part of the way
tried to find . . .
Okay, so even though I wrote these word scraps down, in the light of day a week or later I can’t make head nor tail of what was going on in this dream. It is just gone, baby, gone.
How about you? Do you remember your dreams? Do you even want to? Are they scary or do they make you laugh?
Daily Word Prompt: Gone