What Dreams May Come
Seeing as you find the workings of my subsconscious so entertaining...
Ok. No cast of stars (no, Matt, no Hank Azaria; no, Sheri, no Tim Curry; no, not even a cartoon character or an infomercial has-been or wannabe).
This time I dreamed that my mother called me. I knew something was wrong, and asked her what happened to the dogs. The sound went out in my dream. She started to tell me that my dog Dudley had died; she was exercising in the living room, accidentally kicked him in the chest (then the sound went out and we had pantomime), and he had a heart attack and died.
Next thing I know I'm at my house and I have to get out because it's flooding. For some reason, this woman named Marty that I knew of from the Mark Twain House was there. She talks about us going to see her house on Bloomfield Ave. that she is trying to sell (it's one acre, but it could be more if she gets her friends to give up her garden space). My mother says it sounds like a good idea. Marty wants us to agree upon a price sight unseen. I was trying to evacuate her as well; kept getting weird things, like blankets. We get into my (old and no longer) RAV and I check if my mother has Hilde, who is now the size of, oh a guinea pig.
I was really upset that I had to leave the fish there, and realize that I didn't feed the fish before going.
Water is rushing over the roadway. Eventually, I return home and my fishtank is boiling over, but the top of it looks like the steaming broth of Ivy Noodle curry soup (but not white coconutty). The fish was hanging out at the bottom of the tank, just fine.
* * * * * * *
When I woke up, I was soaking wet with sweat. I thought the fever had come and had broken, but it keeps coming back. So I guess I'm not headed for the loony bin... yet.
Ok. No cast of stars (no, Matt, no Hank Azaria; no, Sheri, no Tim Curry; no, not even a cartoon character or an infomercial has-been or wannabe).
This time I dreamed that my mother called me. I knew something was wrong, and asked her what happened to the dogs. The sound went out in my dream. She started to tell me that my dog Dudley had died; she was exercising in the living room, accidentally kicked him in the chest (then the sound went out and we had pantomime), and he had a heart attack and died.
Next thing I know I'm at my house and I have to get out because it's flooding. For some reason, this woman named Marty that I knew of from the Mark Twain House was there. She talks about us going to see her house on Bloomfield Ave. that she is trying to sell (it's one acre, but it could be more if she gets her friends to give up her garden space). My mother says it sounds like a good idea. Marty wants us to agree upon a price sight unseen. I was trying to evacuate her as well; kept getting weird things, like blankets. We get into my (old and no longer) RAV and I check if my mother has Hilde, who is now the size of, oh a guinea pig.
I was really upset that I had to leave the fish there, and realize that I didn't feed the fish before going.
Water is rushing over the roadway. Eventually, I return home and my fishtank is boiling over, but the top of it looks like the steaming broth of Ivy Noodle curry soup (but not white coconutty). The fish was hanging out at the bottom of the tank, just fine.
* * * * * * *
When I woke up, I was soaking wet with sweat. I thought the fever had come and had broken, but it keeps coming back. So I guess I'm not headed for the loony bin... yet.
posted by Andrea Beaudin at 4/05/2006 03:56:00 PM
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