Saturday, February 8th, 2014

Another dream to write down before it fades away in the events of the day. It seems this time I moved to Los Angeles. Why my mind chose that location is a mystery. Maybe it’s because of my online friend who lives there, even though I never saw her in the dream. There certainly hasn’t been a time I’ve wanted to go there. Sorry, Angelenos, I know many Ohioans romanticize about your city. Maybe it’s to your relief I never caught the bug? There’s at least two sides to every story. I’d probably be regarded as a tourist.

Anyway, I had the impression I was only staying for a couple of weeks but realized I had moved everything I owned on to a moving van. The first day was quite a sublime chaos, adventure at its most accessible. However, coming to grips with the permanent nature of such was a little terrifying. The house hunting. Finding employment. The roommates. Not knowing who to call for help. My scant few resources didn’t allow for an easy renege on such a hasty decision. My parents, old and tired, couldn’t send much in the way of anything. I was on my own.

I ended up in an apartment with two roommates. They both looked the same: thin, Caucasian, brown hair, blue eyes, fade cut with horn rimmed glasses, red and white flannel shirts and blue jeans. The one I greeted and shook his hand in typical fashion, but the other was different. He was quite polite, but wouldn’t shake my hand. After the declination he said, “maybe at a later date.” As he said this, he held up his hand which was emaciated and gnarled. This was all done in such polished manner, I got the impression he was embarrassed about it. It didn’t have anything to do with me.

My alarm woke me up before I could go much further, but dreams like this are so distinct that I’d like to believe there’s more to what my mind is trying to express (not forecast, mind you). It’s as if there’s something troubling it, and was talking it out through my sleep. I’ll have to come back to this post later on and see if I can make more sense of it.

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Dreams

Often I find myself trying to cement the dreams I have for future analysis. They dissipate rather quickly, of course, and I either write them down or drop them when they become too incoherent. Most nights I don’t dream, but when I do, they’re frequently nightmares. Maybe I wouldn’t call them all nightmares in as much as night irritations.

Regardless, I woke from a dream Saturday morning which I know I had years ago. Not only was it familiar to me, it was like a continuation. That’s what I find highly strange about it. Why would I pick up an old dream and run with it years later? That doesn’t make sense.

The most noteworthy change was the time frame. It was only a few days later.  In the dream I had a house on the plot of land my first boss lives currently. It wasn’t his house, but the neighborhood was the same. The property was similar to the old dream, but there were a few changes:

– the house was a mess

– I possessed other people’s cars

– I was thoroughly disappointed about something (undefined)

– I almost got hit by a careless motorist walking across the small lane which separated the house from the extra lot

– There was snow in my back yard, and I was upset I couldn’t trim it until it thawed

How do I remember all of this? It was years ago. I didn’t even realize my car wasn’t there until moments before I woke. Nothing felt out of place until then. How did I remember that my sister mowed my extra lot in the last dream? I can’t even remember what I had for lunch last Wednesday.

Some people like to make sense of their dreams, and I try every now and then. There are some beyond my comprehension and seem like random nonsense. I write what I can down anyway. I figure it make come in handy for story fodder down the road. There’s a dream I had about a year ago I would love to tie into a story one of these days. I suppose that means I’ll have to write more often, instead of cleaning up the house. So much to do with so little time.

Do You Like to Watch?

I’m very peculiar about plays. When I’m in the mood to experience theatre, often I find myself rummaging through the Google video section with a less than satisfied attitude about the whole ordeal. My recent problem with missing Hamlet in Buffalo, NY on my way back from Niagara Falls prompted me to pause my perpetual reading of Don Quixote. I’m not sure if I’ll ever finish that book at this rate.

On the other hand, I am still reading other works and being productive in the meantime. I’ve fit many stories into the reading breaks of that novel. I’m not usually a “several irons in the fire” type person, but with reading I can be. Slow and steady will win this race. I also think not having anyone else to talk about it slows up the progress, too. Why bother, when the majority of your neighbors stopped reading after high school, right?

There is a Royal Shakespeare Company production of Hamlet starring Patrick Stewart and David Tennant. These actors are well known to me through other shows, namely Star Trek: The Next Generation and Dr. Who, but I’ve come to realize it was modernized. I get really weird with modernization, as it often feels out of place. It’s like putting drywall over plaster, when the plaster is what needed to be reconditioned.  Is that being a “purist”? I have no idea. It simply feels better that way. 

I also find reading a play gives me more enjoyment than watching it on stage or screen. What’s better about it is I can control the delivery of each character as I would want to see it. Sometimes actors and actresses don’t play a part in an interpretation I find plausible and just reading the script allows me to bypass that problem. Is that being a control freak, or having a certain preference?

How about you? Would you rather watch a play or read a play?