Tag: girlfriend

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Dream Journal

Orbital Goth, Watercourse Lava Statue, Greasy Ferret Box

A classroom, maybe like high school. My sophomore history class, the one facing east at the of the wing. Mr. Conklin’s. Events play out, forgotten in the morning, but I end up hanging off the side of my new goth girlfriend like a monkey. Playing things back through, it becomes apparent that these events have been reenactments of orbital mechanics in the solar system. The goth girlfriend is a moon that my asteroid self is orbiting.

A video game landscape, well-designed spiral mountain with a river emerging at the top. The sides of the spiral are canted so water rushes down them at just the right speed to not overflow the sides. Water flows from there into a channel and then down a slope, then onto a beach but *on fire* — at least apparently so. There’s a trick where the water flows into a nearly concealed hole immediately before lava emeges from a hole just nearby. After I examine the holes and establish this is trick, I go down the hill and onto the beach. I trigger a short cinematic that plays, showing a god-elf-man climbing into the lava flow and turning himself into stone, creating the epic beach landmark which has stood on the shore 1000 years (or something equally venerable). I get to see the cinematic only once.

Laying on a sidewalk outside hanging out. Outside where? Don’t remember, not important. A pair of ferrets, acting like my pets but instead just very friendly, play in a smallish box of water I’m holding. They swim and play despite that there’s grease floating all in it. Meanwhile, a pair of strangers are reorganizing their supplies from a trip on the sidewalk next to me. My arms are splayed out wide, and the girl incidentally use my hand to keep a book from blowing away — intentionally but withhot really thinking. When this is noticed, they offer to have me look through the book, and it’s quite an exquisite work. It’s actually a sleeve with a kit inside, cloth gloves, a pomegranate chocolate, and a very smooth white book that I leaf through. I give it back to them, realizing I was probably meant to wear the gloves if I were to touch it. The ferrets emerge from the grease box, unformly coated with grey-black slime. They seem to be untroubled, and my efforts to squeegee them don’t seem to have an effect. I figure, well, if they like being this way I’m not going to try to change them. They got themselves into it.

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Dream Journal

Empty Apartment Rooms & Old Hostel

My dad has a very late in life baby who’s still small named Rubor. Sometimes it’s spelled with an eñe over the b, a highly unusual accent.

The two front rooms of our apartment have been emptied and I can spread out stuff on the floors, reusing the space for something totally new. The rooms seem much bigger — they *are* much bigger I think. But it’s still creepy to have everything gone, though.

I’m back to my original paid-job hostel, a flat-fronted shack (possibly made from shipping containers and roll-up doors) with graffiti covering the windows. Being here finally reminds me of a girl who loved me, who I simply forgot about. Somehow my time with her just never was revisited, her story never came up again.

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Dream Journal

Walrus Girlfriend, Walrus Skull

Departing from a short flight between San Francisco and Oakland. Other passengers are paranoid about a bad weather landing, but I’m not worried as its just a short hop.

Then, a lengthy wait for my baggage at baggage claim. I’m able to go back directly to my apartment, living with roommates where I have a single room crowded with many years of collected cool stuff; ephemera, curiosities, art. The walkway of my room has taxidermy mounted on the walls around the door — so much you have to duck around it. I keep a key hanging from a nail on the back of my door, but I realize that in all the years living here none of my roommates have even asked for it.

I see my walrus girlfriend, too. During a conversation with her I go down the hall, admiring some items in a glass-fronted curio cabinet, noticing the small tusk-less walrus skull I own locked inside. I pause and consider her reaction to learning about it, but honestly don’t have a clue.

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Dream Journal

Stranded, but with Friends, but without Sleep

dark water

While traveling between San Diego and San Francisco, I get stuck outside when service stops, at a warmly-lit pub, somewhere near a dark ocean. I have to figure out a second-fastest way to get back; it seems to be air travel. Unfortunately the airline books me with a 5-day stopover (!). I end up staying with my college girlfriend Jenna, and spend my time doing things like organizing colored markers in a cabinet.

I ask her about what it is she sleeps in, trying to get a read on whether it’s a good idea for me to sleep naked as usual. At some point (which I don’t notice until after waking), Jenna becomes my friend Mickey.

I stay with Mickey at a university. It’s getting on midnight and I want to sleep, but his bed is configured to be the size of a couch (this is similar to an actual story I just re-told yesterday). I navigate my way through stacks of books in this long hall full of students — surrounded by a focused studying energy only found in the early month of September in a school year — to an open triangular little storage room with a mirror screwed on the wall and the final 3/4 of a box spring, which will finally allow me to sleep on a full bed.

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Dream Journal

Found and Lost, The Old House that was Ours

Revisiting the old house I sort of co-own, where I stored a lot of my stuff sometime in the last few years. Uncovering newspapers reveal records carefully arranged on the table, laying out a pattern of which ones I’ve already recorded. A big book, like a newspaper log, has something to do with Dr. Hal. The speaker cables running up the walls are thick and I remember they’re painted the color orange from their previous room.

Outside, I unlock several latches of a wooden truck cabin — the topmost is the only locked. My wife helps, sitting on top of it, but I ask her not to make fun of me as I’m worried about my pets inside: a little arrangement carefully made of light bulbs, moss, and sticks, with a little spider sealed up in each one. It’s been so long that all the moss that which lived is dark green, and all that died is bleached white. One of the spiders comes out and waves, which warms my heart (but actually only proves the seal wasn’t good enough and this might not even be the same spider). I look inside a nearby bag and discover it’s full of my stuff I’d forgotten about, junk drawer items and the like. It’s been so long, I might use this stuff again.

I decide I’m going to find and buy this place. After this decision, what happens may be time travel, or it could be searching to repeat the luck of finding the place but with a similar house.

I get a hint to search near “Cold Key” creek, in southern California or Arizona. The climate isn’t what I’d want to settle down, but maybe the community I find will be a bit cooler. Peeking in through a window in the rocky canyonside, I spot my first girlfriend. I pause time by snapping my fingers; everything remains still except her — her head looks like my pet naked rat Nüdl, or an Afghan hound, although I don’t note her different appearance at the time.

Working my way down the track of the creek, I come across a run-down desert community with a few empty buildings. One beige chunky run-down Victorian seems exactly like the old place, but for some reason I pass it by (maybe I can’t follow the same timeline precisely?), looking around the rest of the dusty neighborhood. I spot what could be a futuristic mosque, emerging in rendered shapes piece-by-piece from the ground, black ovoids stacking through each other to build up something like a stepped classical colonnade.

Eventually I find a torn-up former restaurant kitchen, a little low-slung 1-story on a concrete lot, that I preternaturally perceive as correct. It’s crowded with people trying to plan things together, my friends and collaborators. I’m bustling in the middle with them, trying to squeeze through what was the kitchen service window and the hole in the structure (to it’s right) where a door was removed. There’s a cardboard box of stuff there which I recognize as mine, my first teapot from CostPlus, the white one, and an oddly shaped pitcher with a flat-top handle and beak-like pour-spout — one that has a name that I don’t recall.

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Glot

Irksome—not quite inflammatory

I tell you what, never watch a philosophical and cerebral movie with your dad right after he’s just arrived from a really long drive. Never suggest how your girfriend can improve the project she’s been working on all day. She only wants your praise and adulation. Thirdly, always test a pulgin that blocks certain content from certain people with the least irksome material you can think of. Irksome: today’s word of the day.