Monday, 8 February 2010 12:35
preussisch_blau: (Bwuh? (Charlie--- Life))
[personal profile] preussisch_blau
I had... an interesting dream this morning.

So, I was back at my old house for whatever reason. The one I grew up in when I lived in Pennsylvania. I would hazard a guess that it was the way I vaguely recall it being when I was six or seven. Except in my dream, I was twelve again. Not that I ever saw myself in a mirror or really recall looking down at myself.

How do I know I was twelve? It was because we were packing as much of our things as we could, on a very strict deadline. Which is exactly how we were evicted from our rented home just before Easter in 2002. Except, in this case, the house looked how it did right after Granny moved out, but before my sister moved in. (Which may put it even around how it was when I was eight. I'm very hazy on those sorts of details. Moving on...)

I was in my bedroom, and we were going through the long side closet in there. I had to stand on something to reach the top shelf, and I was looking for something while Mom was telling me what to look for. I don't recall exactly what it was we were trying to find, but I remember moving old clothes and such out of the way. Rather accurate, as a lot of stuff in that closet was to be found past the old clothing stored in there. We did end up finding what it was we were looking for, so I then had to climb over to the other door to that closet and look for something on that side. Books. There were books stacked high on that shelf, but we couldn't take all of them, so Mom told me to take the ones that meant the most to me.

I interrupt here to say that all of the books stacked were ones I have read over the course of my life. Every single one. I know that on the ones I had read when I was younger, depending on how much I recall of that book the cover might not have been correct or the title might have been wrong... but there was not a book in there I had not read. The covers that I recall the best were at the front: Mercedes Lackey, Anne McCaffrey, the Redwall books, the Temeraire Series, Killer Angels, Terry Pratchett, The Dresden Files... All things I have either read recently or that I extremely enjoyed and sought out as many books in that series/by that author as I could find. Going further back were books I read for school, books I had read that didn't do much for me, and finally some of the first books I had ever read.

I wish I could say I remembered which books I took with me, but I don't. It's worth noting that Killer Angels made it into the box, but that's the only one I can specifically recall. I think that more books from the very back made it in than anything else.

Then we went over to this large, long armoire on the opposite side of the room. When I was little, it had my mother's old books stacked on top, ten deep and a great many long. (Only three-four wide, however, with how she arranged them.) In my dream, the surface had all sorts of little knick-knacks and such. Many shiny things. Pictures too. I was told we had to hurry, and that I needed to get what I could from there. So I open the first drawer and there's my perfume collection that I have now. Except it wasn't quite right, because there were bottles in there that I don't have yet, but want. So I take out my favourites (the ones that I do have, or that I have ordered).

Somehow, I know the entire column of drawers I'm opening is my perfume collection, so after taking out those bottles and packing them, I go to open the next one. Except, even though I can feel the next one opening, I can't see it opening. I'm moving and all I can see are the closed drawers. The top one opens and shuts normally, and I can see inside of it, but all the others leave me with that static feeling. Then I go to blink, but I can't seem to open my eyes again even though Mom is yelling at me that we need to hurry, we need to leave now. If you've ever been so tired that you can't keep your eyes open no matter what, that would be exactly how I felt.

At which point, I realised I was dreaming. Even then, though, I couldn't escape the dream. I was still trying to open those drawers, Mom was still telling me to hurry, and nothing was going on or progressing. Nothing. I think I was beginning to panic, because I finally managed to force my eyes open, and ended up waking with a start.

I have a feeling that I likely woke up while my brain was still signaling to my body that it should be paralysed for REM sleep, so the fact that my dream wasn't progressing was my conscious mind's way of latching on to something it understood to cope with the fact that there was something going on it didn't like (especially since I normally don't recall dreams in such detail hours after waking up). Not sure though.

Interesting dream; I'll give it that. Makes me wish I were any good at interpreting these things.
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