buckytom
Chef Extraordinaire
bok bok bok bok, ba-gawk!!!
Describe the dream you had last night
- Thread starter Timothy
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Timothy
Head Chef
What a weird dream I just had. It's still fresh in my mind.
My car broke down and I'm dressed in a full suit, jacket and tie. It's blazing hot out and I have to walk to work. Work is in this huge building that was about a mile on each side. Miles of hallways, rooms and offices inside.
I'm all nasty with dust and sweat, carrying my jacket over my shoulder and going up and down the hallways asking everyone where a bathroom with a shower in it would be. "I have to clean up for a meeting!"
I must have gone down 20 miles of hallways in that dream and never found a shower! I woke up thinking...what? Why didn't I just take off my shirt and take a "sink-bath" with some paper towels? Uh-Duh. I guess that didn't work in my dream...
The power went off in my house this morning and the heat climbed in it. While it was off, the heat in the bedroom must have triggered this dream.
My car broke down and I'm dressed in a full suit, jacket and tie. It's blazing hot out and I have to walk to work. Work is in this huge building that was about a mile on each side. Miles of hallways, rooms and offices inside.
I'm all nasty with dust and sweat, carrying my jacket over my shoulder and going up and down the hallways asking everyone where a bathroom with a shower in it would be. "I have to clean up for a meeting!"
I must have gone down 20 miles of hallways in that dream and never found a shower! I woke up thinking...what? Why didn't I just take off my shirt and take a "sink-bath" with some paper towels? Uh-Duh. I guess that didn't work in my dream...
The power went off in my house this morning and the heat climbed in it. While it was off, the heat in the bedroom must have triggered this dream.
purple.alien.giraffe
Executive Chef
What a weird dream I just had. It's still fresh in my mind.
My car broke down and I'm dressed in a full suit, jacket and tie. It's blazing hot out and I have to walk to work. Work is in this huge building that was about a mile on each side. Miles of hallways, rooms and offices inside.
I'm all nasty with dust and sweat, carrying my jacket over my shoulder and going up and down the hallways asking everyone where a bathroom with a shower in it would be. "I have to clean up for a meeting!"
I must have gone down 20 miles of hallways in that dream and never found a shower! I woke up thinking...what? Why didn't I just take off my shirt and take a "sink-bath" with some paper towels? Uh-Duh. I guess that didn't work in my dream...
The power went off in my house this morning and the heat climbed in it. While it was off, the heat in the bedroom must have triggered this dream.
I hate the days when it feels like I need a shower before bed and then when I wake up I'm soaked in sweat and need to shower again. Bleh.
OP
OP
Timothy
Head Chef
I hear ya! A friend called me and told me we had a huge storm last night that knocked out the power in half the city. It didn't even wake me up!
I hate getting the night sweats! Pillow all nasty and wet...
babetoo
Chef Extraordinaire
i have recently gained about ten pounds. must have been on my mind. spent most of night trying on clothes that were to small. you know the hot sweaty feeling one gets closed in a dressing room,at store? well i felt that all the time. shoes were involved and no one liked the ones i picked. in the dream i told my sister," if i were dieing on the floor and asked how you liked my shoes. you would say they did not suit me," dreams are just a mystery to me.
purple.alien.giraffe
Executive Chef
Anybody ever watch "The Lottery"? It's kinda short if I remember correctly. I had to watch it in high school. I remember everything seemed relatively normal throughout most of the movie, but there was a feeling that something was off. When we got to the end of the film and found out what was going on the full horror sank in and it was just, disturbing and well, unsettling in a way that really sticks with you. The dream I had yesterday left me with that same sort of feeling, disturbed, unsettled and just generally creeped out. I think this one is just a little worse that the trying to find a bathroom one. Honestly, I know I have weird dreams that are more pleasant but lately I only seem to be able to remember the creepy ones.
I was standing on a platform watching a dream version of myself stir a giant pot that was over an open fire. I have no idea who I was since I was watching dream me, but people kept walking up the stairs to the top of the platform and handing dream me bones that she would clean, break or crack and put into the pot. Everyone was dressed like they walked out of an episode of "Little House on the Prairie" and the surrounding town kind of looked like it could have been from that time period. Everyone also had cell phones, mp3 players, and other such modern devices that they were using.
I asked the dream me what was going on and she said that they were making a giant pot of stock to turn into soup. She said they would then freeze dry the soup and vacuum seal serving size portions of it to be sent overseas to refuges from "The War". It sounded like a nice idea and I wondered what sort of stock they were making. The bones being provided were pretty large so I figured it was probably beef but maybe, considering the people's clothing and the look of the town, it might be venison or bison, or something similar. The dream me kept accepting bones and when one was brought up that still had a bit of meat on it she vigorously cleaned the bone until there was no trace of the meat and then cracked it and threw it in.
There was a bit of commotion in the crowd and my brother (the one who is married and has kids in real life) walked up the platform to dream me. He was carrying a portable bone saw (exactly where does one get a portable bone saw?) and a pouch that was rolled up and strapped to his belt. He told dream me that he wanted to donate also.
She protested, "Oh no, you've already funded this project, I don't think there is a need for you to do any more."
"Everyone else is giving of themselves and I can do no less," was his response. He then opened up the pouch on his belt and revealed a set of surgical tools which he used to cut open his arm. He pealed back the flesh and used the bone saw to remove a small segment from one of his arm bones. He handed this to his sister (dream me) and she thanked him and started cleaning it.
I stared, completely horrified as he used a couple of screws and a metal rod to fill in the gap and stabilize the bone (I'm pretty sure this isn't medically sound. Not sure how they'd actually fix something like that, but...). He then stitched himself up, waved to the crowd and walked back down the platform. I stared at dream me and tried to speak as she tossed the piece of boned into the pot.
"Don't be so melodramatic," she scolded as she noticed my expression, "where did you think we were getting the bones from? Just think about all those poor starving children we'll be helping." I looked around the crowd again and noticed they were all on crutches or in wheel chairs or missing an arm or hand. I remembered the people, mostly children, who had delivered the bones saying things like, "Here, this is from my dad," or "My mom wanted me to donate this for her." I remembered the little boy who walked up with bone splinters and a cast on his arm and said it was all his mom would let him give because he was too young to give more. I felt sick.
"Wake up," I started telling myself, "You know this is a dream now so wake up. If you know it's a dream you can wake up. Wake up! Wake up wake up wake up!"
Dream me looked at me with extreme annoyance. "Stop making such a fuss! You're agitating our volunteers." A little boy walked up the stairs carrying two sets of lower leg bones with the feat still attached at the end. He watched me nervously as he approached dream me.
"These are from my dad," he said in a shy, quiet voice. "He couldn't make it up the stairs." I looked down the stairs and saw a man in a wheel chair at the bottom. When I worked as a nurse's aide on the med/surg unit of our local hospital I took care of a man who's lower leg had just been amputated above the knee. The skin at the end of his leg had been pulled around and stitched up in a manner that reminded me of the whip stitch used on rustic leather and suede jackets; the kind were the ends were left rough and exposed instead of neatly hemmed. I saw a lot of stuff as a nurse's aide that would knock out a lot of people. This was the only thing that ever made me feel woozy. The man at the bottom of the stairs had the ends of both legs sewn together in this manner. I started to pass out and as I did I was overwhelmingly grateful because I knew it would wake me up. Everything went black and I opened my eyes, safe in bed and positive I wouldn't fall back to sleep after that.
The worst part, my first thought when I woke up was "If I turn this into a story I can call it 'An Arm and a Leg". My second thought was a self scolding about how that title was horrible not only because it was cliche but also because it would be too obvious and reveal too much about the story early on. Sometimes, I wonder what's wrong with my brain.
I was standing on a platform watching a dream version of myself stir a giant pot that was over an open fire. I have no idea who I was since I was watching dream me, but people kept walking up the stairs to the top of the platform and handing dream me bones that she would clean, break or crack and put into the pot. Everyone was dressed like they walked out of an episode of "Little House on the Prairie" and the surrounding town kind of looked like it could have been from that time period. Everyone also had cell phones, mp3 players, and other such modern devices that they were using.
I asked the dream me what was going on and she said that they were making a giant pot of stock to turn into soup. She said they would then freeze dry the soup and vacuum seal serving size portions of it to be sent overseas to refuges from "The War". It sounded like a nice idea and I wondered what sort of stock they were making. The bones being provided were pretty large so I figured it was probably beef but maybe, considering the people's clothing and the look of the town, it might be venison or bison, or something similar. The dream me kept accepting bones and when one was brought up that still had a bit of meat on it she vigorously cleaned the bone until there was no trace of the meat and then cracked it and threw it in.
There was a bit of commotion in the crowd and my brother (the one who is married and has kids in real life) walked up the platform to dream me. He was carrying a portable bone saw (exactly where does one get a portable bone saw?) and a pouch that was rolled up and strapped to his belt. He told dream me that he wanted to donate also.
She protested, "Oh no, you've already funded this project, I don't think there is a need for you to do any more."
"Everyone else is giving of themselves and I can do no less," was his response. He then opened up the pouch on his belt and revealed a set of surgical tools which he used to cut open his arm. He pealed back the flesh and used the bone saw to remove a small segment from one of his arm bones. He handed this to his sister (dream me) and she thanked him and started cleaning it.
I stared, completely horrified as he used a couple of screws and a metal rod to fill in the gap and stabilize the bone (I'm pretty sure this isn't medically sound. Not sure how they'd actually fix something like that, but...). He then stitched himself up, waved to the crowd and walked back down the platform. I stared at dream me and tried to speak as she tossed the piece of boned into the pot.
"Don't be so melodramatic," she scolded as she noticed my expression, "where did you think we were getting the bones from? Just think about all those poor starving children we'll be helping." I looked around the crowd again and noticed they were all on crutches or in wheel chairs or missing an arm or hand. I remembered the people, mostly children, who had delivered the bones saying things like, "Here, this is from my dad," or "My mom wanted me to donate this for her." I remembered the little boy who walked up with bone splinters and a cast on his arm and said it was all his mom would let him give because he was too young to give more. I felt sick.
"Wake up," I started telling myself, "You know this is a dream now so wake up. If you know it's a dream you can wake up. Wake up! Wake up wake up wake up!"
Dream me looked at me with extreme annoyance. "Stop making such a fuss! You're agitating our volunteers." A little boy walked up the stairs carrying two sets of lower leg bones with the feat still attached at the end. He watched me nervously as he approached dream me.
"These are from my dad," he said in a shy, quiet voice. "He couldn't make it up the stairs." I looked down the stairs and saw a man in a wheel chair at the bottom. When I worked as a nurse's aide on the med/surg unit of our local hospital I took care of a man who's lower leg had just been amputated above the knee. The skin at the end of his leg had been pulled around and stitched up in a manner that reminded me of the whip stitch used on rustic leather and suede jackets; the kind were the ends were left rough and exposed instead of neatly hemmed. I saw a lot of stuff as a nurse's aide that would knock out a lot of people. This was the only thing that ever made me feel woozy. The man at the bottom of the stairs had the ends of both legs sewn together in this manner. I started to pass out and as I did I was overwhelmingly grateful because I knew it would wake me up. Everything went black and I opened my eyes, safe in bed and positive I wouldn't fall back to sleep after that.
The worst part, my first thought when I woke up was "If I turn this into a story I can call it 'An Arm and a Leg". My second thought was a self scolding about how that title was horrible not only because it was cliche but also because it would be too obvious and reveal too much about the story early on. Sometimes, I wonder what's wrong with my brain.
This I would be submitting to an SF magazine...
purple.alien.giraffe
Executive Chef
PrincessFiona60 said:
The trick with this one would be how to tell it so the reader is a part of it. Seriously, that was the freakiest part of the dream, that there was a dream version of me but I wasn't inhabiting her and that my brother was in the dream. I'm not sure how I'd convey that same sort of feeling. I probably should start submitting stuff though. The hubby has even started pestering me to do so (dad's been pestering me for years).
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Timothy
Head Chef
buckytom
Chef Extraordinaire
last week i kept having nightmares about being stuck in a wigwam.
then i was trapped in a teepee.
wigwams and teepees. wigwams and teepes. that's all i could think about.
so today, i had a doctor's appointment and i asked the doc what it could mean.
he said, "zats zimple. you're two tense."
then i was trapped in a teepee.
wigwams and teepees. wigwams and teepes. that's all i could think about.
so today, i had a doctor's appointment and i asked the doc what it could mean.
he said, "zats zimple. you're two tense."
OP
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Timothy
Head Chef
vitauta
Executive Chef
pag, the willing suspension of disbelief, as you likely already know, is a handy device utilized by writers, film artists and others, to help them unfold their vision, their personal truth, to us, their (hopefully) receptive audience. your taking on the dual identities of yourself/narrator and your dream self, is truly a simple matter in the case of a dream setting. we accept conditions and situations at face value without explanation in our dreams--apriori. there is no need or requirement to understand the fluid, often improbable aspects of our dreams--they simply ARE. you can be yourself, your dream self, your third grade teacher acting as dictator of brazil, all tied into one in your present dream. no one will bat an eye.... 
broaden your audience, pag, you have a gift for descriptive writing and a fertile mind....
broaden your audience, pag, you have a gift for descriptive writing and a fertile mind....
Dawgluver
Chef Extraordinaire
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A millenium ago, Alfred Hitchcock published a monthly magazine with short stories by various people. I remember one about a man who had a fancy Zippo lighter, who took on a bet with another guy as to how well it would light. If the lighter worked, the owner would get money. If it didn't, the other guy would get a piece of a finger. The other guy's wife showed up, dressed to the nines, jewelry, fur, etc. As she lit up a cigarette, the Zippo owner noticed she was missing a bunch of fingers. Sure creeped me out. As did your dream, Pag!
I know, I have one or two excellent stories that I don't know how to write. I'm one of those people who research a topic to death until everything is so huge there is no place to start.
vitauta
Executive Chef
i remember that zippo lighter story too. vividly. hitchcock's mastery of suspense and mystery in his day was unsurpassed. another of his mystery tales that i'll never forget is the one where the homicide investigators are having dinner with the murderer at his home. they are feasting on a leg of lamb, lamenting their lack of progress in the case. one of them makes the remark that "the evidence could be right under our noses." of course, the murder weapon turns out to be a frozen leg of lamb, that the murderer roasted, and is now serving as dinner to them, the clueless homicide detectives of the case.
Dawgluver
Chef Extraordinaire
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vitauta said:i remember that zippo lighter story too. vividly. hitchcock's mastery of suspense and mystery in his day was unsurpassed. another of his mystery tales that i'll never forget is the one where the homicide investigators are having dinner with the murderer at his home. they are feasting on a leg of lamb, lamenting their lack of progress in the case. one of them makes the remark that "the evidence could be right under our noses." of course, the murder weapon turns out to be a frozen leg of lamb, that the murderer roasted, and is now serving as dinner to them, the clueless homicide detectives of the case.
Love it. A show that gave me nightmares as a kid was a weekly series called The Outer Limits. (guess this fits with the dream theme). I remember an episode called "To Serve Man". Seemingly benevolent aliens do all sorts of kindly acts on Earth, and eventually invite and herd humans on to their space ship, supposedly for a wonderful vacation. Turns out "To Serve Man" was a cookbook!
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vitauta
Executive Chef
a cookbook--what a bone-chilling revelation it was, that first time! and timothy, this "dream thread" that you initiated has been a most interesting one to follow. kudos.
Dawgluver
Chef Extraordinaire
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PrincessFiona60 said:I always loved The Outer limits, Twilight Zone, etc. Fun stories.
Me too! My mom would never let us watch them. We were able to convince the babysitter, though.
My Dad would have us sit right next to him and then grab us when it got tense or scary. There were 3 dents in the ceiling over the sofa.
