It wasn’t last night, but the night before, when my dreams were clearly based on events from my consciousness. “Clearly” may be the wrong term; “likely” may be better, given the static and smudges that clouded the actions.
The fact that the real-world water heater had leaked no doubt contributed to the dream, inasmuch as I was expecting a plumber. But, in the dream, I heard the service technician tell my wife that, even if the part for the primary furnace did not work, we could just crank up the heat and we would still be warm, though perhaps not as comfortable as we would be otherwise. Hearing that, I thought to myself: Oh, no, I’ve called the wrong people to fix the water heater!
Somewhere along the line in the same dream, I found myself in the garage, wearing only my underwear, when legions of repair service trucks began arriving in the driveway. I was trying to find my clothes, but service technicians kept interrupting my search as they entered the garage from the laundry room. I found a mud-caked pair of jeans and had pulled them half-way on when my wife came into the garage from the laundry room, along with a woman who apparently was a home decorator. I stumbled past them, pulling up my jeans, saying I’d meet them in the guest room after I finished getting dressed.
Next, I found myself inside the house, in a room that does not exist in the real world, trying to find a shirt to wear from among dozens wadded in piles on the floor. Just as I pulled one on, my wife and the decorator, along with several other people, came into the room. I then noticed a large bar, as in a tavern, in the center of the room. It was ugly, painted in clashing colors and looking old and tired like it had been neglected for years. My wife asked me what I had in mind for redecorating the bar and I said, “I want something sleek and modern.” “Why?” she asked. “Because I like modern and sleek” I replied.
Just then, a team of guys put up a ladder outside the windows to the room and began washing them. I asked, “You arranged for the windows to be washed?” My wife replied. “Yes, and they’re going to clean up the vegetable garden in the lot next door in preparation for winter.” What happened after that, I don’t know; I think there was more, but I’m not sure what, nor how it’s connected.
This next recollection from the dreams of two nights ago may not be from the same dream, though it might be.
Two or three other people were in the car I was driving as I turned off of a highway onto a gravel road, heading to a restaurant for lunch. Just as I turned, I saw a Volkswagen Beetle heading toward me on my side of the road, passing another almost identical Beetle, but of a different color, then swerve back into the proper lane. I judged the passing Beetle to be reckless, so I honked, then hit the gas pedal hard to express my displeasure. Just as I rounded a curve, I saw a stampeded of hundreds of cattle and calves, the color of dirty cream. Amongst them were cowboys, ranging from young kids to old men, trying to herd them. On both sides of the road, there were large stock tanks or small lakes in which dozens of calves and a few cows and bulls were submerged. A man pulled one of the calves from the water and dragged it to the water’s edge and pushed it onto dry land. The same thing happened up and down these stretches of water, with young boys and old men pulling what appeared to be drowning cattle and calves out of the water. The people turned to look at us as we drove by; I felt that I should stop to help, but knew I would have no idea how to help. But I felt that the people looking at me figured I just didn’t care, not that I didn’t know how to help.
And then I woke up, just a bit before 5:00 a.m. I quickly recorded my recollections; i record them here so I can come back and use them as resources for something I may write one day.
