15 November 2008

Dream On, Dreamer


This is a straight-back-atcha reply to my dear Misplaced Misfit (http://misplacedmisfit.com/), a true lady with a mission. The dream sphere has been broken; she wakes up with a warm fuzzy feeling, but knows ultimately that her interior is solving some earthly problem in a disturbingly forthright way, albeit through the misty landscape of a dream.

There is an in-between time, I mean in-between sleeping and waking up, when the whole dream is so startingly clear and right (or wrong) that when you regain proper consciousness, the four walls surrounding you could be downtown Mexico City or Alaska. With Sarah Palin brandishing an eskimo's scalp outside the frosted window. Anyway, I digress.

My Iberian dream last night was disturbing to say the least - Spain outside soon turned into a broken-up Dali-esque roadblock, perhaps a road split up by a recent earthquake, or even a Will Smith-style Madrid with weeds running along the cracks and zombies hidden in every dark corner.

Then, horror upon horror, a marriage to a female family member ensued(not a blood relative I hasten to add - although I wouldn't be surprised if dreams dabble in incest to really put you in a muck-sweat when you wake-up), involving a down-at-heel restaurant with plastic palm trees, a "Charlie Dimmock" water feature and boy(me - at least I wasn't represented as a wood nymph or worse)-on-girl snogging with said family member, who soon morphed into a girl who had once cursed me, some Spanish lass from the olive-growing region with fake boobs and a mouth like a sewer. Except, of course, in the dream she was whispering sweet nothings in my ear and feeding me grapes, or somesuch.

Luckily I am man enough to accept the sexuality part was probably not a myth-breaking motif on my non-existent love life, but it did bring up an interesting question.

Why am I dining out in tacky restaurants in my dreams? Anyone who knows me would be quite shocked at the less-than-savoury surroundings of my dreamscape. And why, since my recent uplifting experience at Jimmy and Sergio's wedding, am I destined to be married off to a girl in a post-apocalyptic Spain?

Too many post-plague films, too many cheese and biscuits before bed.

And I am re-reading Lord of the Rings.

Just wait - tonight I'll be grappling with an elf-maiden before racing up a mountain to put my "ring" in a fiery hole.

Dreams: Not something you should take to heart - but as Misfit says, sometimes it's a shame you have to wake up and grapple not with elf-maidens but with the shopping at Tescos and there are too many grease-laden crumbs near the toaster this morning, phantom night Toast-eater. Not a gripe I shall bother explaining but one any OCD-stricken flat-sharer will understand.

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