Only God Knows Why


Talk to me Harry Zidler, tell me all about it!

This is not one of my better posts.  Apparently there’s nothing more boring than hearing about other people’s dreams.  So, that means that reading about them can’t POSSIBLY be THE MOST boring thing ever! ….Right? 

Alright, alright.  If you know you’re one of those people who really couldn’t care less, feel free to skip this post with my blessings.

I have to say though, just before you leave, that my most interesting dream involved Oprah announcing a fictional politically influential couple’s secret orgies with soldiers they named “The Donut Angels.” Oprah then went crazy and dressed up as Napoleon and audience couldn’t stop applauding.  HAH! Got you hooked now, don’t I! 

 If you’d like to hear more about that dream though, I gave quite the retelling in the 2nd episode of my podcast at http://www.insaneramblings.net/episode2.html back when I was just a baby at podcasting!

Today’s post is about more recent, confusingly meaningless dreams and not cheap Oprah gimmicks! 

To get back on track, I’ve just come back from seeing a movie with my absolutely fantastic good friends Ben and Natasha.  Both of whom sound vaguely Russian, but neither of whom are ACTUALLY Russian.  Also, neither of them are spies.

Honestly.

And I remembered in the kitchen as I was talking to them, the dream that I’d had last night.  It’s one of those dreams that really stuck with me. 

I’ve never been very good at sleeping.  I can’t do one thing for several hours, physically restricted, without a break.  I find it very difficult to be in a situation where I’m only allowed to do one thing, and I’m physically restrained.  

 Things like watching a movie in a cinema can be torture to me because things come up that I’d like to process, talk and think about, but the story moves on.  So while I can study easily for 8 hours straight, that usually involves taking loads of regular breaks to talk to someone or just jump about.  I guess it’s hard to imagine if you don’t know me, but if you do, you’ll be able to remember several times where I’ve leapt up from whatever I’ve been doing with false urgency to get a drink or dance on the spot or talk to you about something irrelevant.  In fact, in the time I’ve been writing this post, I’ve gotten up to walk around a bit twice and hopped on one leg to the kitchen to see what my brother was up to.

On the other hand, if I can keep myself occupied by doing two things at once, being physically contained isn’t so bad.  For example, lectures are okay because I can listen and take notes at the same time.  Savvy?

So anyway, the point is this whole convoluted introduction is to say that, at times, I find it hard to keep my mind in the moment.  So in times when I’m feeling stressed out, I often find myself waking up every two or three hours or so and have to either get up and do something or tell myself to chill the fuck out, it’s 6am.

For this reason, I tend to remember a fair few of the dreams that I have at some periods in my life.  And this dream, in particular, is amazingly vivid.  It struck me as really…something.  (Be MORE vague).  It was just weird, and not even sad.  Just quite odd.

For starters, it was strange because I dreamt that I was laying on my bed, half asleep.  Usually when you dream about ‘your house’ you’re actually in some other weird structure but somehow you just KNOW it’s where you’re living in this scenario.  But in this dream, I was actually in my own real-life room, half asleep on my very own white four poster bed, on top of the flowery duvet I woke up under when the dream was done.

So in the dream, when I opened my eyes slowly, there was a beautiful, cheerful, singing bird flying around the room.  It was a bluebird, like the kind that features in old school sailors’ tattoos.  I’ve always said that if I was to get a tattoo, it would be a retro-swallow on the arch of my foot because it would be exquisitely painful to get and because it symbolizes safe passage for those who travel across the sea.  Apparently if you die at sea, the bluebirds come down and lift you out of the murky depths and take you to heaven.

So anyway, this bluebird was flying around my room and he was trapped.  It was really, really sad in that way.  He couldn’t leave my room. 

Except, he wasn’t like a bird you usually imagine trapped in a room.  He was really calm.  He wasn’t flying into anything, he was just flew in these really organised little circles around the room, above me.  He seemed quite content in a way.

And basically, the reason why he couldn’t leave my room was because he was in love with me.

But following him around, on his path, were a moth and a blowfly.  AND THEY WERE FUCKING EVIL!! They didn’t DO anything evil, in fact, they just followed him like smoke behind a skywriter, but I was really, really fucking frightened of them and I knew they were up to something awful.

But the worst thing is, I was really in love with the bird too.

Even though he was a bluebird, and I was a person.  Get it?

So anyway, I was really fucking afraid of this evil blowfly and evil moth, so I had to open all the doors in my house in order to get the bird to fly out so that they would leave too.

BECAUSE THEY WERE FUCKING EVIL!  I certainly hope you don’t underestimate how malevolent this blowfly and moth were.  They were very, very evil.  You don’t want them in your house.  I was really, really afraid that they would touch me or something.  I just wanted them OUT of my room.

And so, since I’d opened it, the bird flew out my front door.  I was standing there, watching the bird fly out with the blowfly and moth in tow and I thought to myself,

“I really, really hope that he comes back.”  But I couldn’t tell this stupid fucking bird that I was in love with him too, because I thought that everyone would think it was really strange that I was in love with a bird, since I was a person.  And also, I wanted him to go so I could get rid of the blowfly and the moth.

So I went and sat on the couch in my living room, and my dog started biting me lightly on the nose to try and cheer me up.  God knows why – but I guess that’s what makes it a dream.  Nasal-savaging isn’t usually something that gets a smile back on my dial.

When he saw it wasn’t working, he went behind our heater and started pulling out what I knew was his best friend.  At first, I thought that it was going to be something really cute and furry, but the more he tried to pull his best friend out, the more I realised that whatever it was, it was really disgusting and foul and I didn’t want to see it.   I became more and more frightened that he would pull it out before I had a chance to get away, and I’d have to look at it.

But fortunately, my father told me that I should go next door to see my friends and he would wait until my dog had finished pulling his best friend out from behind the heater and make sure they went outside.

So I went next door, and my friends poured me a cup of tea.  But all the saucers and teacups were chipped so that the edges were all really jagged.

So we were all trying to drink from them, and their hands and faces were getting all cut and bloodied, and the cup was really hurting me too.  So I kept trying to stop drinking from it, but they kept drinking theirs and acting like nothing ever happened. Every time I tried to stop drinking the tea, they’d start asking me what was going on, and encouraging me to keep drinking.  But it was seriously cutting my face to shreds, blood was pouring down my lips and hands. So I said to them, “Don’t you realise, these cups are all broken!  They’re cutting us to shreds!”  But they just acted like I wasn’t even there.

 Then I woke up.

How weird is that!?

It reminds me a bit of this other dream I had, when I was staying with a boy I loved very much. 

So, in this dream, I lived 1000 lives.  Not end to end, but kind of, all at once.  Like, if you imagine a timeline, each life’s line would run exactly underneath each other. And in each life, I would remember that it was really important, though I didn’t know why, that I write down one word.  And it took my entire life to figure out what it should be.  So anyway, at the end of the 1000 lives, I had a 1000 word letter, and I gave it to this boy.  

I felt like I’d really accomplished something.  And I said, “This is what I wanted to say to you.”  And he read it and said, “I’m so sorry, I don’t understand.”  And I suddenly felt really fucking tired, having lived 1000 wasted lives and all.

So I woke up next to this guy, and I told him about the dream I’d just had, where I’d taken 1000 lives to write him this letter, and he was like, “What? What the hell are you talking about?”

Only one other time did I know with certainty that someone wasn’t ever going to understand me at all.  And that time was when I sent an SMS to a guy I was seeing saying, “Ah fuck, I’m really sorry!  I think I’m going to be late – I can’t find my motherfucking shirt.  Actually, that’s an abusive misnomer, I don’t think this shirt has ever fucked my mother.”

And he wrote back, “Huh?”

Huh, indeed.

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2 Comments so far
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Oh dear Vicki… your dreams sound… interesting… lol. But I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. Your awake self is so energetic and colourful, so it makes sense that your sleep-self is even more energetic! I sleep in a four-poster bed too! Snap! And I too, must get up and dance/hop on one foot/walk around when I’m studying or writing. I can’t focus if I just do one monotonous thing. That’s why I’m always eating when I study… I trick my brain that I’m doing two things at once – eating and studying, lol.

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Comment by Kerry

Ah, it’s good to know that Im not the only restless one! I blame Facebook.

Just quietly, how good are four poster beds!

I still really unsatisfied with this post, but thankyou for the comment!

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Comment by Vix




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