dream journal
the dream journal is back on-line and it's about damn time. if you want
to start at the beginning and work your way up to my present day
psychoses, take a stroll through the archives:
dream
log july -november 1998
dream
log sep 96-feb 97
dream log
jan 96-sep 96
dream log oct
95-dec 95
29 June
For the duration of my contract at Will Vinton Studios I am to live on the
premises. Accomodations are comfortable, but I may not leave for the
entire nine months or so. Jon (the other asst. editor) and I are to share
a room which has only one large (very large) king-sized bed. At first I
feel a little uncomfortable about the arrangement, but then I remember
that our schedules are so different that we will almost certainly never be
going to bed at the same time and even if we were it's an enormous bed. I
explore the room and start to make myself at home. One cabinet is full of
pillows (though there are plenty of pillows on the bed already). The
medicine cabinet above the sink (which is right next to the bed) has all
the toiletries I will need already all set up for me. I need to use the
facilities so I head to the rest room, but accidentally walk into Team
Dave's living quarters. To cover my embarrassment and make it seem like I
meant to walk in there, I proceed straight to the balcony, upturn a box
and start going potty right then and there. Smooove. The view off the
balcony is of New York City, but at a really odd scale. It's almost like
looking at a bas relief map from above at about a 50:1 ratio, but the
people and buildings are only at like 3:1. I can see all of Long Island
and just as I am wondering how to get there, Bela (at full size, perhaps
larger) comes splashing through the ocean and sits in the middle of that
terminal moraine. "Bela, you're as big as Long Island!" I shout down to
him from the balcony. After my outburst folks come out to the balcony. I
try to pretend that nothing's the matter though I am actually deeply
embarrassed to be caught with my pants down on their balcony.
26 June
I am at a restaurant where the featured chef is a cartoon dinosaur named
Dinah who has her own TV cooking show (called "In the Kitchen with Dinah,"
natch). The show is being filmed while we're there - whatever we order
she will make for the show. And - added bonus! - any breakfast item is
free! So I order waffles.
Back at home, I open the door and Snuggles (Rebecca's dog) comes bounding
down the stairs at me. Did I completely forget that we were looking after
her? Have I even fed her since she's been here? She really must need to
go for a walk so we head outside. When I return I let Snuggles go and she
runs upstairs to the bedroom and hides. Just then I hear a rustling in the
fireplace and a skanky looking fellow (who at best probably just means to
burgle us) comes climbing out. I go to hide with the dog.
25 June
I'm all for the dream journal by the bedside method of recalling and
recording one's dreams. The downfall of this practice, however, is that
one's logic and writing skills immediately upon awakening often leave much
to be desired. My scribblings upon waking up are not only barely legible,
but barely logical - a problem compounded by waiting several days to
html-ize the dream here. Having said all that, I will simply transcribe
what I found written in my notes with few comments where I remember
them.
meeting john m in the grocery store/bookstore where the zines were kept in
the back.
large picture posters up front featuring Santa
john's in line i'm browsing zines in back
(from earlier) buying housewarming presents (for?). i get wine tho it is
very expensive ($59.95) - still it has a bottle cap, not cork
watch a movie starring damien echols [that's the real life "star" of
"Paradise Lost," a documentary] and i think "he's great, what else
have i seen him in?"
dumping wax into the river (TNT). 2 doz fish turn up dead
visting justin/matt. try to explain my stickers and the whole JT thing
[this is in reference to these little stickers I've been making that
feature someone who looks very similar to John Taylor of Duran Duran. I
don't think the picture is actually of John Taylor] i see a moving
image projected in loop on the wall similar to the picture of JT.
22 June
I leave the apartment in search of food or entertainment. I am walking
towards the river; I think I am thinking about going downtown. However,
right before I get to the bridge I have a sudden change of heart and make
a left turn. I am now in industrial Southeast wandering among the
warehouses. It is so dark here I can't see more than a few feet ahead of
me. I suddenly remember that serial summer rapist Pamela was telling me
about and realize that I am in his neighborhood. I start moving more
quickly, my heart racing. I stare hard into the darkness, willing my
pupils to open wider . To my surprise this kinda works. I can see
farther down the road - there a light! I start running towards it and as
I approach I see that it's a high school - mine, in fact. I am in high
school again and this is where I go to school. A safe refuge indeed, so I
burst through the fire doors and take a look around. The place is a mess
- desks overturned, chairs broken, paper everywhere. Apparently school
elections were yesterday and there's been a mass uprising in protest of
the outcome. The school is in revolution. I wonder what side I'm on as I
begin to tidy up a bit.
21 June
I have arrived, by car, in Boston, MA. I don't know if this is our
ultimate destination but we (darcy? and I? maybe Vanessa?) are staying
for awhile with friends at MIT in the dorm rooms. It suddenly occurs to
me that we are awfully close to Tirza and should go visit her and my
travel companion concurs. We will seek her out tomorrow. In the meantime
we go grocery shopping, do some sightseeing and decide to go to the school
pool for a dip. It's like a resort pool, kidney shaped with a fountain at
poolside. I dive in and swim around, but I can't exactly do laps
especially since there are so many people in the water just standing
around. Eventually I get out and go change in the bathrooms.
We're walking back to the dorms, but we have to swim across the river to
get there. We jump in but I remember that I've left some small trinkets
on the shore side. I prop myself on the concrete blocks lining the river
- they're filthy! Sticky, gooey, stinky, slimy - ugh! I wish I didn't
have to touch them but I need to retrieve my belongings so I do. The goo
comes from off-shore oil rigs in the vicinity. I stand on top of a
platform to reach the shore. I cringed at the sensation of the icky stuff
underfoot - it nearly made me ill. I got my stuff and we swam the rest of
the way.
At the dorm I decide to change my clothes (they're pretty gross now), but
as I'm doing so my brother (who's staying in an adjacent room) calls me
over. He shows me an array of cheap costume jewelry arranged on an
antique dresser. He explains that the former resident of the room (we're
now in a retirement home run by my brother, not a dormitory) left him
these pieces and he was wondering what to do with them. They're awful
-- big tacky pins with lots of cheap stones. Some of them are in the
shapes of animals with big googly eyes glued on them. "Do they at least
have some historical value," I ask. "Not a bit," he responds.
June 18
Darcy is getting married today and I'm running late for the wedding. To
expedite my travel time, I am using my new hoverbike which looks like jet
skis and is navigated by use of a foam kickboard which I hold outstretched
in front of me. Zipping through the air at truly remarkable speeds I have
to cling tenaciously to the steering board to stay on course. The
sensation is very similar to the flying dreams I used to have when I was
in high school, but different because I now seem to need machinery to help
me fly.
As I swoop in over the lovely park where the wedding will be (looks a
little the front lawn at Reed) I note a large congregation of Sith lords
on one side of the grass. They all look like Darth Maul and are standing
two abreast in what looks to me like attack formation. They look angry.
Do they mean to shoot me down? I fear that they can shoot me with the
lasers in their eyes until I remember that they don't have lasers in their
eyes and as long as I don't get too close to them they cannot hurt me. I
remember this fact just as I am flying over one of them. He jumps up and
grabs my leg and I cleverly repel his offensive by going higher. I go on
the offensive next and start to swoop down on one of them, but as I get
closer I realize it's not a Sith at all but Queen Amidala who's being held
hostage. I pull up and regain altitude at the last possible second before
I would have gotten hopelessly entangled in her headdress.
Finally landing safely on Darcy's side of the park I see that I have made
it just in time. She's just about to walk down the aisle. Once I get
there I realize that the Sith lords are there to disrupt the wedding,
hopefully capturing a sweet little 4 year old girl (maybe Darcy's
daughter, maybe Bela). The only reason they haven't attacked yet is
because they don't know if the girl is even there. I ask if she is around
and someone whispers "Under the porch." I look under the porch and see
the girl hiding there being kept company by Uncle Fester. Uncle Fester
has to hold onto her tightly because she's squirming and making a lot of
noise which will surely give her away. She is pleased to see me and wants
to come out to say hello but I tell her she must stay still. She
playfully throws her duffel bag full of clothes and toys at me. I have to
hide it before the Sith see it and identify it as he bag so I climb up in
the rafters to stash it there.
When I get down from the roof, the
ceremony is over and we are now inside of a kind of sleazy motel (a
rent-by-the-hour kind) where the reception is being held. The treats are
out and I'm enjoying these truly amazing little fruit tarts. Yum. After
the reception I am left to clean with a few other people. I mention that
I have stayed in this hotel before, but I immediately regret it because
now everyone has the wrong idea about me, but I just stayed in the hotel
by myself.
9 june 1999
a languidly indulgent dream about going to the delta cafe and taking an
agonizingly long time to decide on my side dishes. definitely getting the
crawfish etoufee for entree... but what goes with that? surely not mac n'
cheese though that was what i really wanted. certainly i'll get fried
okra, but should i get greens too? ... and so on and so on... i woke up
terribly hungry.
25 may
after spending a near-harrowing evening doingthe final mix for "earshy" i
finally made it home and to bed around 1:30. naturally i immediately
began to dream about the film, the film center and the film people. we
were in class all going about our business and slowly one by one students
were noticing that bushra and matt were makin' out. creepy. once the
room had fallen silent with curious stares bushra said that she had an
announcement to make; she and matt were getting married. aghast, i took
the opportunity to offer a diatribe against not only the institute of
marriage but a particularly vicious attack on matt (which was actually a
lot more hostile than i think i actually feel). matt left the room so as
not to hear the speech, but bushra just said "why shouldn't we get
married? he is all things to all people."
19 May 1999
My cat's front paw is bleeding. I investigate and find that one toepad and
claw have been ripped clean off. As I attempt to do some first aid, he
wiggles free and runs to the cat box. I scream in horror of the
tremendous infection that's sure to take place now.
We're at a pre-show Academy Awards party (as in a party at the
ceremony), but I seem to have gotten there late. Everyone is already in
the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion watching the presentation so all the food is
pretty picked over and the room is pretty messy. But I find some cold
food laid out on the table - hey, this is being catered by the Saucebox!
They've got those fabulous dumplings and springrolls. I start to load up
(lamenting the fact that the plates are so small) when I realize how
totally unhungry I am. I wonder how uncouth it would be to wrap up some
of this food and take it home.
17 May 1999
It hurts to breathe. My heart flutters wildly in my chest on every
breath. I am dying.
So I tell Darcy and she springs into action. She's always so good in a
crisis. She begins to make funeral arrangements and instructs me to go
finish my will and clean my room. I can tell that she's eyeing my CD
collection, but that's okay. It's not like I'm going to need them. I go
to my room and decide to write my will first, but I'm having trouble
thinking of anything I own of monetary value. Of the CDs, though, I think
"Those are a living bank account!" I get distracted from the will-writing
and start working on organizing my room for the estate sale. I wonder if
I should hide my diaries, burn them or leave them be. I hide them. I
really should call all my friends and loved ones to let them know that
I'll be dead soon. I start with Vanessa. I've been really very calm
about the whole thing but once I tell her how sick I am and how I'm going
to die soon I start sobbing uncontrollably. Vanessa is dismayed at my
fatalistic attitude. "Have you even seen a doctor?" she asks
incredulously. "I can't afford to see a doctor!" I respond between sobs.
But now that she mentions it, maybe whatever the cost of seeing a doctor
is worthwhile if it means my life. And I am starting to feel a little
better. How did I know that this pain was going to kill me anyway? It
doesn't seem so sure anymore. I hang up the phone with the resolve to
live - and go see a doctor.
16 May 1999
I've got a bomb and I'm going to use it.
With no conscious decision to do so I strap the bomb to the subway tracks
and stand back. Within moments a train comes whizzing into the station,
derails and explodes. I begin to sift through the rubble looking for
survivors, but I don't know if I'm planning to help them or hurt them.
The gravity of what I've just done rushes into my thoughts. I let go of
the piece of metal I'm trying to pry loose and quickly wipe my
fingerprints clean. I check for other prints I may have left behind and
make a hasty retreat.
When I get home Mom eyes with suspicion. The accident has already hit the
news and I notice for the first time that the front of my shirt is covered
in blood. Should I burn it, hide it, plant it on someone else? For the
meantime I just stuff it under my bed.
I am deeply disturbed by this events, especially my apparent lack of
agency in my actions. I go out for a walk and wind up wandering through
an old apartment building. I though the building was abandoned, but I run
into a lone resident. We argue violently and, much to surprise yet again,
I shoot and kill him. Aghast, I rush back home and resolve not to do
anything anymore at all.
At home (which looks like 123 Sesame Street) friends and family are
sitting on the stoop chatting. Someone has a beautiful horse. The person
who brought the horse is bragging about her strength, speed and power. I
get pretty annoyed with this pompous display and declare, "The horse isn't
that strong! I bet I could push her through that wall." I point to a
stone building directly behind the horse. I immediately regret making the
boast because now I'll have to do it. I get a running start and broadside
the horse. She goes flying into the wall and the bricks topple and
crumble like Styrofoam. She falls, upside-down, into the abyss just
beyond the wall. Apparently the wall was just a façade in front of a
deep, rocky canyon. She falls several hundred feet before being meeting
her end on the rocky slopes. Everyone freezes in shock. No one thought
I'd really do it (least of all me). No one blames me, though, because
they know how all these events transpired.
We go back into the house and they are announcing on the news that the
subway explosion was connected to the Littleton shootings and that Dylan
Klebold (still alive and in police custody) is being questioned about the
explosion. I worry that he will reveal my involvement because the events
are connected and Dylan does know that I planted the bomb. Still,
I feel pretty confident that he won't spill the beans. The real shocker on
the news comes next. The newscaster says, "Late-breaking reports announce
that items found at the scene of the crime implicate local resident
Veronica Vichit-Vadakan." Uh-oh. "A 16mm film can containing 1940s era
newsreel footage was found under the train wreckage. The film may have
originated from the Film Center, where Ms. Vadakan works. Police say it
may also contain images of WW2 era Nazis, thus further implicating Mr.
Klebold and his cronies." I try not to betray any emotion as I cling to
the desperate hope that the film does indeed contain the Nazi segments
thus shifting attention away from me. And I comfort myself with the
knowledge that even if the film is directly linked to me, it would not be
enough evidence to convict me… Unless… unless they also find out about the
other murder and the horse. They could really only get me for the horse's
death and killing a horse ain't the same as a blowing up a trainload of
people.
As all these different issues swirl through my head, my mother is watching
me and she already knows the truth. Immediately she launches into action,
collecting up "evidence" of my presence at any or all of the scenes of the
crimes. She is an unstoppable force, thinking of things I never would
have thought of. I wonder if I should call a lawyer. I also wonder why
the police haven't brought me in for questioning yet. I can't think about
all this too much more, though, because it's Monday morning and time to go
to school.
I'm in high school again and everyone stays a respectful distance away
from me, all having seen the news. Someone dares to speak to me about the
bombing, saying "So it must be tough being one of the suspects named for
that, huh?" I respond moodily "I'm the only suspect named so far."
I wonder if my acting is convincing or transparent. "I was pretty
surprised to hear that you did it." "Yeah, me too." I know he's taking it
in a different meaning, but I actually mean that I am surprised that I did
do it.
Back at home everyone is playing with a gun, an old-style double barreled
shotgun. Someone's trying to teach me how to use it, and it keeps going
off accidentally. It's just shooting hunks of lemon rind, but it could
still mess somebody up. I pull my hands into my sleeves to keep my prints
from getting on the gun - just in case.
13 May
A varation on the theme of finding little Timmy... I find Li'l Duncan!
which of course is almost the same as finding Tim.
Also in the dream (maybe connected, maybe not) I go to a reading of some
author I've never heard of. But John has asked me to go so I do. When I
get there he's stinking drunk. Apparently this author is teh great
unrequited love of his life and he's making an ass of himself. I finally
drag him out of the room and lament the fact that I'll have to bus him to
his home. He is barely able to walk and stumbles against me down to the
bus mall. Someone says "look, John has a girlfriend," and I sneer at
their misunderstanding of the situation. On the bus, John is being
totally annoying so I try to engage him in conversation to at least keep
him from bugging the other passengers directly. I ask him when his
birthday is, testing out the Virgo theory. "october 45th," he
asnwers.
"OK, October 45th so that would make you a... Hey! there is
no such date!" As soon as I have this revelation John doubles over
cackling. I'm so annoyed that I just ignore him until our stop.
3 May
Yet another dream about finding little Timmy. In my waking life I would
like to see to Tim again and I do miss him, but not to the point of total
obsession my subconscious appears to have. So what's going on? In this
variation on the theme I was working in the Film Center, tinkering with
something or other when I turn around and see Tim who is smiling
sheepishly in the doorway. "I hear you've been looking for me," he says
and I simply stand dumbfounded for a few moments before I drop whatever
I'm doing and run over to hug him. As we're hugging -- for what seems
like an inordinately long time -- I wonder if this is a dream since I've
had this dream so many times before. I decide that it must be real since
I would certainly know if it were a dream, right?
1 May
Something about tryingto barricade myself inside my apartment, but the
sliding glass door won't lock so I line up a bunch of pens along the
runner to keep the door from opening. i don't think it will hold. Also,
something about Justin and I declare that I haven't seen him in 7 years.
Julie is there too and is doing something under the table (literally,
that is).
26 April
It's the weekend of the film shoot again and we're all trekking back from
Eastern Oregon. The trip is very long and tedious and I'm cramped in the
back seat. Someone is talking about how we're travelling the same path as
the great witch hunts of the early 19th century. Apparently the East
Coast wtch hunts upstaged the smaller scale Oregonian version, but what
ours lacked in size it made up for in venomous hate. Dozens died, otehrs
fled in fear. All along this same path that we were now driving. "They
don't call it Salem for nothing," someone in the front seat offers. "Are
we in Newburg yet?" I ask.
25 April
1. It's the last night Darcy and I can legally stay in our old apartment.
It seems that even though we haven't been in the apartment for weeks we
were paid through the end of April so we decide to throw a party on this
last night. In our weeks of absence the management has already many of
the necessary repairs; there are new doors (still unfinished), the walls
painted and the carpet has been replaced with thick blue shag. The carpet
is so thick in fact that we have difficulty opening and closing the doors.
Seeing how many repairs had already been done I knew for certain we'd
never get our deposit back now.
Someone else has already begun to move
in. It's someone I know as "Betty", an elderly woman who was homeless,
but I suppose is homeless no more. Many of her things are in the living
room so I feel a little intrusive, but I know we're okay to be there. I
wonder aloud how Betty can afford the rent and the others simply shrug and
roll in the shag carpeting.
2. On a tour of agricultural hotspots, I'm on a big luxury bus with a lot
of other people. I get off the bus first and run out to the field we're
visiting. This is the place I've most anticipated seeing on the tour. I
meet up with the tour guide, a grizzled old farmer in overalls. We stand
at the wooden fence together and he tells me that nothing has grown here
for years. Indeed, the land is overrun with dying weeds as far as the eye
can see. I wonder why this was a stop on a tour of supposedly successful
agricultural lands. I notice the perfect stillness of the air and realize
that we must be here to enjoy this rare silence. The others from the tour
are beginning to bus and making a blasphemous ruckus so the farmer and I
start to stroll down the lane that cuts through the dead land to get away
from them. As we walk he confesses to me that he has a unique talent. He
can foresee events of significant bad luck in others' lives. I think that
he's trying to warn me that something bad is going to happen to me so I
push him to tell me more. He refuses to elaborate explaining that talking
about incidents of bad luck (which he calls "daisies" - I assume that this
is because of its linguistic similarity to "doozy" but with a kind of
upbeat slant) begets more bad luck. So his unusual spin on the Cassandra
complex lets him know that bad luck is coming, but prevents him from
speaking about it lest worse things happen. He tells me about the string
of "daisies" he experienced when he first discovered this power. I try to
argue that since we've already started talking about it we might as well
talk about details. As a response to my suggestion and a way to drown me
out, he begins to sing, "One daisy, two daisy, three daisy, four; five
daisy, six daisy, seven daisy, more."
21 April
We've just moved into a new house, Mom Vanessa and I. The front of the
house is set up just like my apartment, but the back extends for several
bedrooms and a kind of rec room at the very rear of the house. We're all
calling dibs on which bedrooms we want. Vanessa calls dibs on the
rearmost bedroom which is actually pretty small, but has lost of windows
with pretty flowy curtains. The other bedroom is very large indeed, but
has only one small window and no light in its private bathroom. So I
decide to share the cool little bedroom with Vanessa.
Without much effort we're already moved in. I settle into my new room in
my bed and quickly fall asleep. When I awake I really realize how small
the bedroom is and how ridiculous it is for us to share a room. I go next
door to the other bedroom which Mom has attempted to make into a sitting
room, i.e., there are a lot of chairs. The room isn't nearly as bad as I
remembered it. I'm unhappy that such a great space is being put to such
poor use. And there was a light in the bedroom after all. So despite the
extra work and the lack of windows I resolve to move into the room. But
now it's time for me to go to work and I ask Mom if I may borrow her car.
She says sure so I go out to the car, a bigass boat of an olds. As I walk
out I think, "oh this is one of those driving dreams" but quickly suppress
the thought less I disturb the verisimilitude of the dream. I realize I
don't have the key. As I turn around to go back into the house I notice a
figure moving in the shadows of the trees. He ducks and scurries his way
into the house looking very disturbingly mysterious. As he enters I
scream, "Hey! Get out of my house," but I don't think he's heard me. I
follow after him to the rec room in the back. He's looking for something.
He's lived here before. "I have to find the evidence" he declares
emphatically and I begin to help him gather the evidence of his innocence
of whatever crime transpired here.
17 april
As a member of a travelling Vaudeville ('it's not really a circus,' I
aver) show, my fellow showmates and I travel through the country looking
for audiences. We stop off at this old abandoned mansion. The singers
were warming up so I went exploring with Little Timmy, a son of one of the
singers. In the the trapeze artists set up their equipment in the stones
of the old walls and ceilings. The room looks eerily like Dr.
Frankenstein's lab. Little Timmy and I go upstairs to explore some more
and I start to notice disturbing anomalies; some rooms seem to repeat
themselves and people seem to be popping in multiple places at the same
time. There are two members of our troupe for whom this seems to happen
more than most. I'm not sure what it is they do in the show, but they're
always around hovering silently. They're large guys who wear dark glasses
all the time, but they are 3-D style glasses. I try to stay clear of
them.
We've been at the old mansion for some time and the troupe is rehearsing
in the basement so Little Timmy and I are there. He says that he's got a
secret and smile mischievously. He goes over to the stairwell and presses
a particular stone in the wall. A panel slides open and he walks inside.
Through the hole in the wall I can see a room just like the one we're in,
only in mirror image. "Timmy, don't!" I shout, "it's a parallel
universe!" But it's too late. Little Timmy has already gone through and
the door slides shut. Parallel universes are dangerous so I fear going in
after him, but I know I must. As soon as I slide the door open I see
Timmy being held up by his ankle and dropped into a well. He's been
assimilated into the parallel universe. I don't know if there's any
chance to save him, but I have to try.
I lose track of Timmy after the well so I search the parallel universe's
version of the mansion. Luckily I am already familiar with the layout of
the house. I soon encounter the two brusque, silent men from the show.
They are actually agents of the parallel universe out to kidnap residents
of the other universe. Because our universe is a place of light and
theirs is one of darkness, they must wear the 3-D glasses in order to see.
Conversely, I wonder if I'll not be able to see Little Timmy in this world
without 3-D glasses so I swipe some that I find and scan around, but I
realize that just a random search isn't going to be very useful. Figuring
that the two agents will likely lead me to Timmy, I begin following them.
One of them catches me and pins me against the wall, venting spleen.
Other residents of the parallel universe gather nearby. They are unaware
of the space-time warp we were arguing about and watch us with curiosity.
At my first opportunity, I sneer at him, "They're watching so you'd better
let me go, Daryl." Using his name from my universe catches him
off-guard and his grip loosens. There is a stir in the crowd. "Why did
she call you Daryl?" He tries to laugh it off. Smiling I say, "Oh,
that's just his name in the parallel universe!" A mini riot begins to
breakout and in the hubbub I make my escape.
Another agent catches up to me and begins to chase me down the stairs but
I have a pretty good lead on her. I get to the bottom floor, pry open the
elevator doors, hang on to the bottom of the car and start going up. at
each floor I push open the doors and scan for agents - or Little Timmy,
then duck below the car again and go up another floor. On the fourth
floor an agent is standing at the elevator, sees me and says "No wonder
Little Timmy ran away" but leaves me be. I get out of the elevator and
the agent is there again and the chase is on. As I am running down the
stairs, I feel a gun in the small of back but keep running anyway. When I
get to the bottom floor I run outside hide in a bush. The door to the
house closes behind me. "Now I'll never find Little Timmy" I think to
myself.
28 march
i'm working at the guild (which looks nothing like the guild) and i'm
standing hanging over a balcony railing. martha is down below. she holds
up my wallet and says, "veronica, is this yours?" "yes," i say and start
to
reach out for it as i curse myself for being so forgetful. she pulls it
out of reach and says, "it's not yours anymore." i realize that she's not
playing around and i get very upset. "martha, that's not like you at
all!" she shrugs it off. "well, at least give me my ID back. you have
no use for that, right?" she agrees and hands it to me and leaves. i
realize that i should have asked for more things back, like my library
card and social security card. i regret that there's a significant amount
of cash in my wallet. and my bank card! i'm worried about it now and
while i don't think she's stupid enough to try to use it, i determine i
should get to a phone asap to cancel the card. but every phone in the
place is disconnected. was this part of her plan? i *really* need to
cancel the card now. and i start out on a search for a phone.
20 march
no surprise that while in the middle of nowhere, eastern oregon on locatin
for our films, i should have a paralyzing anxiety dream about just that.
in the dream we were out on location on Hwy 216 when i suddenly realize
that i've left everything at the motel and we're not heading back. so i
start panicking about finding a ride back to the motel and still get back
to the shoot in time. big stress
7 march
i'm going to france and as i arrive i can see from the plane that vincent
is waiting for me at the airport. we greet and chat, but we have to hurry
like mad to catch a train which will take us to another airport where i am
catching my connecting flight. i wonder if it wasn't really worth the few
bucks i saved to do all this hurrying. i have no idea where my connecting
flight is going, but i think it might have been somewhere else in france
other than paris. we get to the metro and find that we just missed the
train. "well," vince suggests, "you can either try to catch the bus to
the airport or you can give up on getting the flight today and spend the
night in paris with me tonight." "or," i say, "i could fly back home now
and try again tomorrow." he concedes that that's a good idea, but we
decide to try to catch the bus first. i run out to the stop just in tim
eto see the bus pull away. i'd given up when i see a swarm of people
encircle the bus and it stops. 'what luck!' i think. i approach the bus
but just then the people start to scatter and the bus starts backing up
and driving forward in an erratic and frightening matter. people are
hiding from the manic bus, but i'm still desperate to get on it so i jump
in front and it stops. the driver emerges ranting about something or
other. obviously a very disgruntled employee. i run up to him and say
"what's going on?" but suddenly remember that i'm in france so rephrase
with "qu'est-ce-qui se passe?" he responds with nonsensical gibberish. i
try to talk him down,
but he cannot be calmed. he produces from his pocket a small metallic
object which i understand is a detonator for a bomb strapped to him under
his clothes. he starts to press it and i shout to everyone nearby to duck
and cover. he pushes the button but nothing happens. he can't detonate
the bomb himself, someone else must do it. so he hands me the detonator
and as i am pressing the button i notice too late that v is standing next
to him. "run!" i shout. v takes a step away just in time and the bomb
"explodes" -- actually it was more like an implosion. the guy just
crumbled.
since i obviously wasn't going to make it to the flight after vince and i
agree that i should just go home and try to catch the flight tomorrow
morning. since i'm flying around so much anyway, i decide to go to the
sundance festival (which was going on conveniently) and check out the
scene. i seem to have to come to the festival with scott jackman and i'm
sitting in katie's car waiting for scott to come out of the theatre.
there's some guy there, too, the wunderkind of the fest who'd just
screened his first feature. i was eating sunchips ("tortilla style") and
the guy kept snitching them from me. he was only all right looking (why
did i dream about some average looking dull-ish guy?) but we were flirting
pretty intently anyway. he decided to move the car and started driving
around which made me a little uncomfortable since this was scotts car and
when he got out of the theatre he'd be worried about the car if it were
missing. i kept
debating whether or not i should pursue anything with this guy since he
was hardly my ideal and i had to be up very early the next morning to go
to france. adding to my nervousness was the sudden knowledge taht i was
very scantily clad.
as i slowly awoke, i felt relief in finding this
was a dream for one thing at a time. first i thought, "oh that france
thing was just
a dream i dont have to worry about being up early in the morning and rush
around." then i thought, "this guy is a dream too so i don't ahve to make
any decisions about whether or not i like him." and finally " and i
don't
have to worry about the car either because that's a dream, too."
22 feb
trying desperately to get dressed to go to school (high school, i think.
iw as in my mother's house). it was taking a really long time for me to
find anything and make a decision. i knew i wanted to wear a short skirt,
but i could find none of my thousands of skirts. the clock on the wall
was running at what felt like real time (unusual for dreams -- time is
either stopped or speeded up) and i was wasting a lot of time. i was
going to be very late to school. people were shouting at me to hurry up.
i finally put on a long wrap skirt and a terribly ill fitting pink angora
sweater. i went out and everyone laughed at me (mom said, "you look like
you're retired!" --i.e., you're dressed like an old person) so i went back
in and tried to start all over again.
20 feb
will try to find time to elaborate later...
1. alien invasion of earth. it was the x-files conspiracy theory come to
life, as seen through hg wells' eyes. i was in a very high highrise and
everyone was watching the bombing from the massive windows. as the bombs
got closer everyone cheered every little earth victory and booed every
alien wallop. it was clear our asses were gettin kicked. no one seemed
too concerned that the bombs were getting closer. i lookd for a place to
hide. there were this little stuffed animal hedgehogs everyone. i asked
someone about the hedgehogs and they told me that the bombs we were using
on the aliens were nicknamed hedgehogs so these little stuffed ones were
kind of like war souvenirs.
2. we were trying to hide and dispose of a dead womens body. it was in
the trunk of our car and someone handed me a can of spray paint and said
'hide her!' before running away. i looked at the can -- it was cake icing
in a spray can. i understood. i was supposed to cover her entire body in
icing to make her look like a giant birthday sheet cake. as i sprayed the
icing on , it came out in diferent colors and patterns the longer you
sprayed. i became completely enthralled by the groovy product and was
no
longer thinking about the gruesome task at hand.
3. i was in georgia. pop and i needed to get to the west coast. decided
to horse back ride the whole way there. wondered about teh logistics of
where to keep one's horse, how long it would take, where we would sleep.
it took five minutes to go from georgia to new mexico. we'd forgotten
something on the east coast, but i said "aw, i dont want to go all the way
back!"
3 februray
we're walking along in the canyon, along reed lake. there is a giant
salmon "beached" on the side of the river. it's the size of a small
whale, about 20-30 feet long. it's been gutted and sliced into "steaks"
-- half of the fish (lengthwise, that is) is gone -- but it's still in a
very recognizable fish form, expecially since the skeleton is still
intact. i think about trying to lug home some of the rest of the fish
because i'd hate to see it go to waste. i figure i can smoke or cure it
in some way since i wouldnt be able to eat that quantity of fish quickly
enough. someone points out that the fish is already 3 days dead and
unrefrigerated it probably isnt still good. i give up on the idea, but at
least i'm happy that half of the fish got used. but someone else notes
that they didnt eat the fish, just threw it away and i'm tremendously
sad.
13 january
very fragmented. don't remember much at all except that it was kind of
stressful. don't know if all these bits are connected or not.
crazy mexican restaurant where there had once been a pizza place and they
hadn't bothered to change the sign outside causing some confusion but
their burritos were so good no one cared. i was excited to find a "san
francisco style" taqueria in portland.
some kind of party going on at someone's house (tho the house looked
guests one by one. we were simultaneously trying to identify the killer
(was it one of us? or some crazed stranger hiding in our midst?) and
continue to enjoy the party. very challenging.
celeste (in a gorgeous vintage evening gown - blue floral, sleeveless,
collared) comes to the party has one drink and passes out cold. i drag
her by the arms to a place out of the way in the hallway. i am worried
that she is now particularly susceptible to the killer.
the doorbell rings and it's matt severin, but with lots of hair. very
confusing not only because of the hair, but because matt is already at the
party. obviously one of these matt severins is the killer, but which one?
a wrong choice could be deadly.
someone (my dad? vincent? some male figure with whom i am close) is
going outside with matt severin II. suddenly i know that he is the killer
and i must save pop/v/?? and i say "don't go with him! he's the killer!"
matt II says, "no, he's the killer! watch out, veronica! he's going to
kill you!" doubt rises in me. could it be? how sure was i that matt II
was the one? (i don't remember how this resolved)
i have to sort a pile of killer bees (dead) and tiny hives (just slightly
bigger that the bees themselves). they're laid out on playing cards. i
have to be exceedingly careful in handling the killer bees because (unlike
actual killer bees) the slightest bit of their venom could mean instant
death so i must steer clear of the stingers.
18 January
So I had this complicated, long-winded, narrative dream last night and
when I woke it was still fully formed in my mind. I did the responsible
thing and took some notes, but now, sadly, the notes have little meaning
to me, though I do still remember some of it. Reprinted here for you is
a (more legible) copy of my notes with additional [bracketed] comments.
Mom's disappearance [I was at a mall - Hilltop Mall, I think - with
someone else, maybe Vanessa, maybe Darcy. Mom had been there, too, when
she was abruptly no longer with us. For some reason foul or somewhat foul
play was immediately suspected.]
Sitting in the Karmann Ghia [The other person and I decide to wait for Mom
in the car - a Karmann Ghia just like Robert's.]
Hedgehog - no, a badger - under the floorboards of the car. [For some
reason I was keeping a pet badger under the floormat of the passenger side
of the car. The badger seemed perfectly happy down there, but I was
afraid it would bite my feet.]
She's ultra-Catholic of the "witchcraft" variety. [This was my
terminology in the dream, What it means is that my Mom apparently was a
practitioner of the Santeria/Vodun style Catholicism that relies heavily
on the magical/mystical intervention of the entire pantheon of the Saints.
This was somehow connected either to her disappearance or to the methods
we would employ to get her back.]
Some guy kills himself because he can't get the graph right on his
computer. [The guy shot himself in the head. Don't remember much more
than that.]
Vanessa buries herself alive after failing to write a website about the
Mall.
Accordion heater. [Ummm... Don't know how this related at all except I can
see the heater in my mind's eye still. It's just what it sounds like; a
portable space heater which looks like an accordion and can be stretched
and manipulated to accommodate a wide variety of spaces.]
Recording company. [I wish I remembered more about this part. I think it
was interesting, but I don't really remember anything about it at
all.]
21 January
The good news is that I remember most of the dream I was having right
before I woke up. The bad (and sad) news is that I've lost most of the
dream I had had earlier in the night because I dreamt that I wrote
down the dream, but I didn't really at all. My damn tricky subconscious.
It'll do anything to keep me asleep. The only thing I do remember,
though, is that it ended with me singing the Schoolhouse Rock song "My
Hero, Zero" by the Lemonheads. In fact, when I woke up, that song was
still stuck in my head.
Here's Part 2… I'm in Mom's house. I've just gotten engaged (like, to be
married) to Dave. A little contrary to my character and my frequent
exhortations against the peculiar institution, I'm overjoyed. But then
again, it is Dave. Putting a damper on my good mood, however, is the fact
that I have to meet Dave's family. They're all sitting in the living room
scrutinizing me. I desperately want them to love me and welcome them into
their family. I want to be this Pollyanna-type figure who blows into
their lives and makes them feel great about life. I want to be charming,
lovable, charismatic and gregarious. I want all these things, but
instead, I'm introverted, twitchy, evasive and generally freaky. They
don't like me. And they don't have any reason to, either. I try to make
light conversation, but choking on my words, they just stoically stare at
me. Exacerbating the situation is the fact that I'm terribly embarrassed
to have them in Mom's house, witnessing the rampant chaos firsthand. I
can see the disdain in their eyes. Mom is, of course, taking a very long
time to get ready. We're all supposed to go to lunch together and then
head out to - what? the wedding? some kind of event, anyway. Later it
becomes Thesis Parade.
Noticeable missing is Dave himself. I wish he were there to share the
burden of entertaining his family. But now that I think about it, I
haven't seen him since he proposed several months ago. Huh. I wonder
what happened to him.
Bummblebutte is there and is walking all over them and me, making a
general nuisance of himself. As I'm petting him on my lap, he suddenly
starts vomiting and shitting uncontrollably. Even more embarrassing than
anything else that's happened thus far. We all stare in disbelief as he
continues to foul everything he nears.
Finally, after more excruciating discomfiture, I decide to go upstairs,
get cleaned up, and hurry Mom along. I excuse myself and hie out of there
as quickly as possible. Mom is still a long way from being ready. I
clean myself up, and try to pick a new outfit. Going through my wardrobe,
I'm overcome with anxiety. I've got to come up with the perfect outfit.
I begin to become acutely aware of how long I've left Dave's family alone
downstairs and how being a poor hostess probably reflects very badly on
me, but I'm too scared to face them alone again. I notice that it's 3:00.
3:00! We have to be at Thesis Parade at 4! And we still haven't gone to
lunch. It's Merideth's parade, so there's no way I'm going to miss it.
We were going to go to Chinatown for lunch, but there is certainly not
enough time. I force Mom down the stairs in whatever state of readiness
she is and we all begin to discuss our options. In my brief absence from
the living room, it has turned into a fast food restaurant. As we
struggle with finding a compromise lunch place, I finally say, "Let's just
eat here." They look around disapprovingly, but agree realizing that it
really is the only way to get to everything on time. I let them order
first. I realize they really only have meaty things, so I order fries and
'poppers' - those deep fried jalapeno things, which I get just because
the name makes me laugh.
As I am waiting for my food, it occurs to me again to wonder what became
of Dave. I am suddenly overcome with doubt. Why did he ask me to marry
him? It came right out of the blue, but it was so welcome that I accepted
without question. But now that I'm thinking about it, he didn't even seem
all that excited about or interested in my answer to his question. In
fact, he was rather distant that day. And where's he been for all these
months, anyway? I'm beginning to think that this isn't going to happen.
And what am I doing getting married anyway? Do I really want to be
married? I've never wanted to get married before, but then again, no
one's ever asked before. I finally allay my fears by consoling myself
with the thought that if it doesn't work out it's easy enough to get a
divorce.
12 january
i am staying at a swanky hotel somewhere far from town (don't know where
exactly). just hanging out in my room watching the entertainment news
that always seems to be on hotel televisions, i see coverage of an
independent filmmakers convention. the perky on-air reporters are
interviewing the people running the booths. all sorts of indie luminaries
are presnt from todd solndz to guy maddin to woody allen (who was
emcee-ing). i think that it looks awfully cool and that i'd love to go
when suddenly i realize that it's taking place in this hotel and
furthermore, this conference is the reason i'm here. i hurry into the
lobby/conference to see for myself. maybe it's because i've gotten to the
party late or because i'm in the wrong conference room, but there isn't
much here. all of the booths are for crappy small-scale video
distributors all so desperate that they're giving out stacks of their
videos for free.
11 january
at mom's house. she's moving and taking very little with her. it's her
latest attempt to clean up her life and start new, and tidier, living. we
all know that like with the last time it's doomed to fail, but we're all
there to help anyway. there seems to be some kind of hurry involved in
getting the "keepers" and getting out of the house -- maybe it's being
demolished, burned down after we leave. i ask and in fact new people are
mobving in, taking the house and all teh crap as a package deal i'm a
little embarassed becaus ei know that i wont get every little personal
thing out and i dont really want strangers pawing through all this, but
i'll just have to deal. i am going throughb some of mystuff and i find
some tiny little vials of nail polish which i keep. i suddenly realize i
need to egt my clothes an dstart frantically throwing clothes in my bag at
semi-random grappling with the decision of what to keep and what to leave
behind forever.
10 january
so i'm walking around downtown and suddenly i'm starving and the
only place around is mcdonald's. i relent and go inside mcdonalds - my
first time visiting one of these restaurants in years. i figure i'll get
some fries and maybe a coke or something. i get in line and for some
reason it seems to be taking a very long time to get any service. they're
calling the name of someone whose order is up. in fact, they've been
calling the name for about ten minutes now. the guy working behind the
counter looks frustrated and peeved. he really wants someone to come pick
up this order. finally a young woman walks up to the counter and says,
"you know, he's not coming. it was a prank and he gave you a fake
name."
the counter person looks terribly peeved. "well, what the hell am i
supposed to do with 50 cups of TEA now?" i look
at the tray he's been carrying and there are several cups of tea lined up
neatly in a row, each with a different tea bag.
"i don't know," she says, "but can i have the earl grey?" he gives it to
her and then looks up at me. i consider asking for the english breakfast
but i don't want him to think that i am in cahoots with the prankster so i
just ask for the fries.
9 january
it's been a long time. i know, but i've not really been sleeping much
lately so i've not had any dreams -- none really worth remembering anyway.
it's tough to keep dreams in my head when i am jolted awake every morning
by the incessant beeping of my alarm clock at a time when i've not even
achieved stage 4 sleep yet.
but having said all that, i did get to sleep in this morning and this is
what i remember.
i am on the phone chatting with darcy and flipping through a
travel/leisure magazine. i open to an advert feturing a large luxury
hotel on a white sand beach. the hotel has emblazoned on it these words :
iraq-london. it's a superfancy resort-style hotel on teh exclusive shores
of teh persian gulf. it looks positivly enticing. before i have time to
think abou it, i am suddenly outside the baghdad airport waiting for a
subway train to the coast. i get to the beach and teh hotel is just as
fabulous as teh picturein the magazine seemed to suggest. i imaging
spending a long vactaion there, waking up late in the day and spending my
days playing in the ocean. idyllic. suddenly, and a bit tardily, i
become worried about my safety. if bombings start again, will i be
injured? will i be able to leave? how will i afford to leave? how
did i afford to get here? how will i afford to stay? are there
eurostyle hostels in baghdad? will i be jailed, abused, killed because i
am an american? i comfort myself with the thought that at least i dont
look too terribly american and i may go unnoticed or at leats unharrased.
it's late in the day and i know taht the last flight out of the airport
has already left so i decide to check into the hotel for tonight and try
to catch a plane out tomorrow morning.
i go upstairs to my room and darcy is there. i'm surprised, but not too
terribly since we were on the phone together when the though to come here
first hit me. but i am worried about her because she's so obviously
american. we have to return home -- and soon.