Tag Archives: sleep

Snap Decisions and Dressing for the Weather

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I’m walking with my partner up a grassy tractor trail on the property I grew up on. There are several other people walking in both directions. Everyone is chatting and the atmosphere is light.

We crest a small rise and see a somewhat dilapidated out building. It’s cheerfully decorated with strings of lights, banners and signs. As we get closer we see a bustling farmer’s market in progress.

Inside the building is lit with more strings of lights and we slowly work our way though the building looking at the produce, crafts and curiosities. In the far corner of the building there is large room with a counter on the back wall and a large old wood burning stove near the center of the room.  There appears to be a cooking class or product demonstration underway.

The woman leading the activity looks vaguely familiar, like maybe I have seen her profile on Linkedin or somewhere. She is working at the stove, slicing something and talking. A closer look reveals she is using a neat little gadget that attaches a cutting board to a surface, in this case the edge of the stove top, and lets you swivel it out to increase your work space. I’m impressed and approach to ask her more questions. I ask a question about the device, she responds with a description of a small island off Croatia. From her description I know the island, I have been there, and my partner and I decide on the spot that we will move there.

We are back outside, many people are now lining up to get inside. The liveliness of the crowd becomes hushed, and our attention is drawn to a couple who have joined the line. The first thing I notice is their feet. They are so pale, the girl has her very white feet clad in a little mule slippers with white soles and fluffy white faux fur trim. The man has his pearly white feet clad also in mule slippers with white soles, but instead of white faux fur, he has gold trim. His legs are pasty white as well, with a halo of of golden hair sticking out from each leg. It occurs to me that his leg hair is sticking out because he’s freezing, the couple is standing in snow, as is everyone else. Everyone else is wearing long pants, boots, and long sleeved shirts. The couple is dressed all in white, with bare legs and arms. They look incredibly out of place. I’m so curious about where they came from, and why they have chosen this place to be.

I wake up.

Work Exchange in Japan

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I arrive in Japan on a work exchange. I’m accompanied by a coworker, but it’s unclear who it is. We are taken to the apartment where we will be staying. I know I am in Japan, but nothing is as I know things to be in Japan. The journey to the apartment is unclear, but the apartment building itself is massive.

The elevator doors open, and we are opposite a bank of white doors set in a wall. The wall is uneven, with some doorways inset, and others jutting out. It reminds me of a massive row of bad teeth.

We move toward one of the doors, and I’m intently trying to notice the number on the wall beside the door. The number seems to be in gold paint, but it never quite comes into focus.  I struggle to read the number, I want to know what floor we are on, if not what apartment. I’m unable to see it accurately before we are led into the apartment.

Walking through the door I’m face to face with a wall. There are several suit bags hanging on the wall.  We squeeze into the apartment and sidle along the wall toward our left. The space opens up to a massive kitchen with a large center island. We move through it into the sleeping quarters. There are modest sized rooms with a twin bed in each. I enter the room I’m assigned and put down my bag.

I sit on the bed and consider why I’m here. I’m not sure what work I do. I’m not sure who I’m here with. I don’t know the number of the apartment I’m in.

I’m alerted to the fact that it’s time for a tour of the rest of the building. So far no one has spoken, and I have not seen anyone’s face. I’m not clear if I’m with one other person or ten. As we leave the apartment I try again to read the numbers by the doors. Again I’m not able to bring the numbers into focus.

We re-enter the elevator and I sense we go down a few floors. We exit the elevator and again I search for any clue as to what floor we might be on. The floor we are on is much more open, I can see windows to the outside opposite the elevator doors. I move toward the window. Through the window I see a large, round disc of a building. Its a deep blue color and seems to be suspended in the air. It has windows like the bridge of the Starship Enterprise. I can’t see anyone in it, and I can’t gauge how high up off the ground it is. I scan the area for more windows, and see a small one on the far wall. I cross the space and look out to a vast city scape. Again, it’s distorted and I can’t tell how high we are.

We are left to find our way back to the apartment. I don’t know what floor the apartment is on, or what floor I am on now.

We re-enter the apartment. There is a new woman with us, a blonde woman, with heavy tattoos. We squeeze through the narrow entrance way and move into the kitchen space. As we do she stops stops and removes her clothes. She has tattoos, large black bands all over her body. One of her butt cheeks is a cube, and the other juts out as triangle. She starts working in the kitchen. I move to the back of the apartment.

The hallway opens up into a large storage area lined with rows of shelving that extend up to the ceiling. The shelves are loaded with craft supplies, small toys and dolls, and little origami designs. I’m exploring the shelves when I’m alerted it’s time to get ready for work. I wonder what “work” will be.

I go back to the doorway to collect my suit bag.  I open it and survey the contents. There is a navy blue dress uniform that is void of crests, insignia, epaulettes or anything else that would yield a clue as to what might be ahead. More curiously, there is a rather elaborate set of head gear that includes a set of safety glasses that are connected to a earpiece and microphone. I wake up.

Talking Cats and Climbing the Walls

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I’m standing in my kitchen putting groceries away. It’s not a kitchen I have seen in my waking life. I’m searching for places to put the non-perishable groceries. I open cupboards and find them to be extremely ineffectively designed. Each cupboard has an inset that looks like the mailroom cubby holes at work. The inset takes up about 3/4 of the space in the cupboard, and the cubby holes are too small to put anything into. There is only a small band of space at the front of the cupboard to store anything.

As I’m puzzling over this situation, Merlin the cat walks by. I ask her if she wants to go out, and she responds “I don’t think so,” and walks toward the door. I ask again, “Are you sure?”. She says “Maybe, since I’m here already.” I open the door and she goes out. I watch her go, and she turns right and walks under the deck of the adjacent place. I hear a hissing and a shriek, and she comes running back. I step aside so she can come back in, and I take a better look at what distressed her. The grey fluffy cat from the neighbourhood emerges and struts toward the door, as usual. I tell him “not today” and close the door. I hear scratching and turn to see a massive grey paw groping around the floor, having reached through a large, jagged hole in the bottom of the door. The paw is huge, way out of proportion to the grey cat I left outside.

I arrive at work and go to my locker. The lockers are free standing towers, about 4′ tall and 8″ square, far to small to put anything in. I notice all the lockers are standing nicely, but mine is tipped over and some distance from it’s place, like it’s been thrown. I ask the guy who looks after the lockers why mine is in disarray while I move it back to it’s proper place. He says a young man comes and sits in it, and sometimes he gets angry and throws it. I ask how that is possible, and the locker is too narrow to hold my backpack, let alone a person, the guy shrugs.

I leave the area and start work. A signal sounds that indicates it’s time for staff to leave what they are doing and go climb the wall. I make my way with all the other staff back to the locker area. The locker guy stops me as I approach my locker and says, “He’s in there now.”.  Again, I can’t imagine how that is possible, as the locker is only about 8″ square, but sure enough, the door opens and a young fellow I used to play hockey with squeezes out. I say hello, and he just looks at me and walks away.

I gather my things for the wall, and start walking with my colleagues. I feel like something is making it very difficult to walk. I look down and there is a fellow from a past G Adventure tour hanging on my legs, and I am effectively dragging him along. For some reason I feel compelled to make small talk, so I ask if they have been on any other trips recently, knowing that he has, as we are friends on Facebook.

We arrive at our destination, and people set their belongings down and begin to get ready. Women are applying heavy make up, men are getting dressed in togas, kurtas, anything loose and flowing. I decide to just get the climb over with, so I approach the wall.  It’s wooden panelling, varnished with a glossy finish. I begin climbing, easily gripping the wooden panels and pulling myself up. I’m about 20′ from the ground when someone calls up to inform me I am climbing the wrong wall. I lower myself back to the ground and return to my colleagues. I wake up.

Sharks, Trolls, and Ugly Mermaids

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I’m at the hair salon. Its a small space, there are only 2 chairs, but the atmosphere is chaotic. People are bustling about, the place is a network of pipes, vents, gears, and the odd burst of steam escaping from the floor and walls. There is a youngish stylist getting ready to put some highlights in my hair. She is mixing the dye in the little black pots with brushes. I remind her I only one one purple highlight, as she is mixing several pots of dye, and they are all white. She ignores me and keeps mixing. Once she is happy with her work, she tells me I have to move to the other chair, and someone else will apply the color. I do as I’m bid.

As I’m adjusting myself in the chair, a very large woman appears in front of me. I look closer, and I’m not entirely sure she is a woman at all. She is short, and very wide. She is wearing a dress, or maybe something wrapped around her, that’s not what catches my attention. Her legs that are visible below whatever she is wearing are connected together by an enormous roll of fatty flesh, right down to the ankles. Her feet stick out below the roll, splayed out to the sides with no toes. My first thought is “I guess this is what happens when you have a job that requires many hours of standing”, my second thought is “how the hell does she move?”.

It’s an idle question, as I’m now in an inflatable life raft on the open ocean. It’s night time, the water is calm, and the moon is bright. There are several people in the raft, I can hear them, though I don’t see them. I am looking out at the water and am amazed to see thousands of shark fins visible on the surface of the water. There are small ones, large ones, ones that look more like little spires than fins, thousands of them and they are mesmerizing to watch.  As I’m gazing out at the movement and the way the wet fins catch the moonlight, I hear a voice behind me in the raft complain that we paid all this money and we haven’t seen any sharks. I hear another voice contradict him, pointing out how the water seems to be teeming with sharks.

It becomes very important that we get in the water, and it’s my turn to do so. I lay on the side of the raft, then roll into the water, still holding on to the raft. I wait until I feel something bump into my legs, then I roll back onto the raft.

It’s still night time and we are still on the ocean, but now my family and I are in a large stone turret that is rising up out of the water. Some of the walls of the turret have crumbled, and there is a secondary wall around the most exposed half of it. My brother and I are at a control panel, and we are watching the secondary wall intently. Suddenly, one by one, big, clumsy, armoured trolls start climbing over the secondary wall and into the dark watery space between the wall and the turret we are in.  My brother and I start working the control panel, launching large foam boulders at the incoming trolls. They seem to like it.  My dad is standing nearby and asks in a exasperated way if we really need to be wasting our time on this.  I wake up.

Compliant Bears, LPs and Xylophones

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A female coworker an I have been dropped off at the bottom of a gravel driveway in a rural area. The driveway is narrow and about 150 meters long, fairly steep, and veers off to the right at the top so we can’t quite see the house it leads to.

We are nearing the top when my colleague notices a large bear heading our direction. The bear is closing in on us, and there is nowhere to go, there is a bank and dense trees on either side of the driveway. We press ourselves against the bank and hope the bear will just pass. That’s when we notice there are actually several bears, many of them look like cubs and juveniles.

I step away from the bank and start directing the bears past us, starting with the mother bear. I’m waving them down the driveway as though I’m a deckhand on a ferry, or at least a traffic control person. The bears one by one pass us by and amble down the driveway. We carry on to the house.

I never arrive at the house, instead I arrive at a little shed. Inside I find my parents and my uncle sitting around a large old looking device. I ask what they are doing, and without looking up from their task they tell me they are recording jazz.

I inspect the machine they are working on more closely. It is cream coloured, sort of resembling a really large, old amplifier. On top is a record player of sorts, and there are slots for two cassettes on the front. There are records lying around everywhere, they are all different sizes and shapes, ranging from small and round to larger and more oval. Everything on the machine seems to be moving, but no sound is coming out. I watch for a while.

We are all around a large “L” shaped dinner table.  There is a small toy xylophone at each end of the table and several people, including myself, have small mallets. We randomly reach out and strike the xylophones with the mallets. As I watch, the xylophone nearest me changes from it’s rectangular shape, and the colorful keys shrink and warp into the shape of potato chips, freeing themselves from the body of the xylophone. People begin molding the newly shaped keys into the piles of silly putty that are on the table, and wondering aloud why the keys no longer make music.

Confusing Department Stores and Ineffective Drug Busts

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I’m shopping for a mattress. I’m in a poorly lit, crowded area of a department store that has a stock of mattresses. I’m looking for a particular mattress called “Olivia”. As I walk through the cluttered aisles, I’m reluctant to look too closely at any of the mattresses, as they seem dingy and dirty. I finally see one the looks crisp and new, it’s even set up on a boxspring. I sit on the edge of the mattress to test wether it is firm or soft, and am surprised to sink down several inches. The boxspring is actually a waterbed, and the mattress is floating on top. I continue on, noticing now that all the mattresses are branded “Olivia”, and that any that are set up for display are floating on a water mattress, making assessment of the firmness of the mattress impossible.

I leave the area to find some assistance and come across an assortment of people, some I know and some I don’t. I tell them I’m looking for an “Olivia” mattress, and they tell me to follow them, they know just where they are.

We return to the same area of the store, it is filled with racks of high waisted jeans and skirts. I look at one rack and see that they are in fact “Olivia” jeans. It is now lighter in the store, and I can see that one wall is large windows to the outside. The store is on a residential street, there are large suburban houses with wide driveways directly across the street.

I decide I’m in the wrong place, and once again leave to find a mattress. After walking around for a short while, I return to the area and the mattresses are back. I still can’t find a sales person, and the mattresses are still irritatingly difficult to assess. I again leave the area and encounter a crowd of shoppers, who again lead me back to the same area, now filled with jeans.

As I am inspecting a gaudy high-waisted pink and grey skirt with another shopper, our attention is drawn to a commotion outside the window, across the street in one of the driveways. There is a large truck in the driveway, doors open, with two men in the truck. Police, a lot of police have surrounded the truck, at least 30 of them all dressed in black SWAT style uniforms, complete with helmets. As we watch, the police look all over and under the truck, before moving to the cab and pulling the men out, one from each side.

They haul the men around to the back of the truck, where we can see them both. The man from the drivers side has something in his fist, which, despite the incredible number of police, is not restrained. He throws it toward the other man, who is also not adequately restrained. The second man grabs the round package, about the size of a  baseball, off the driveway and stuffs it in his mouth.

Inside the store, the shoppers are pointing and commenting on the ineffectiveness of the takedown, “He’s just put the evidence in his mouth!”, and “There’s still time, you idiots, it’s too big for him to swallow!”. The second man is almost comically trying to chew and swallow whatever he put in his mouth.

I wake up.

 

Morphing Ships, Lost Clothes, and a Hapless Jerk

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I am on a ship anchored just off-shore somewhere in Europe, through a porthole I can see the colorful houses of a coastal town.

I’m waiting for my brother to arrive, he has been traveling and is joining me me onboard this vessel. Night falls before he arrives. He comes on board carrying only a small black bag, he says that’s all he has, and all he needs.

As we walk back toward my cabin the ship changes, it begins to feel more like a floating town. There are open walkways between sections of the structure, and many of the walls have fallen away, leaving it open to the water below. This doesn’t seem alarming.

We arrive at my cabin, which is now open to outside, the hull is gone and there is a walkway or a beam about 6 feet out, paralleling my cabin. My brother chucks his bag toward a chair that is near the open area. He misses the chair and his bag falls to the water, about 30′ below. He says everything he owns is in the bag, but he doesn’t seem distressed. We wander through the vessel for some time, but his belongings are on my mind. Eventually we get back to the cabin, it’s now daylight. My brother is not really a water guy, he doesn’t swim to my knowledge. Nor do I with any sort of competence, but I convince him I should at least go take a look for his belongings. Somehow I arrive on the beam that is adjacent to my cabin. I look down at the turquoise water below and jump.

I’m wading though waist deep water on beautiful sand. There are metal structures all around, materials moving about through the water, cloth, bags, machinery, and there are people everywhere.  I see my brother’s bag drift by and I grab it. I feel it’s weight, it has several items in it. I put it over my shoulder, and find myself back in the cabin.

My brother is disinterested in the contents of the bag, and says what he really needs are the clothes that were in there, that still seem to be missing.

I jump from the beam again, but find myself walking on a metal walkway through low doorways. I pass through a doorway into the vestibule of what seems like a pub. There is an older man there with his wife. He notices me walk in starts making obnoxious comments, telling my all the off-color things he plans to do to me. His wife doesn’t take it well, grabs him and hauls him out of the pub area, past me, and onto the walk way.

I proceed into the poorly lit space and ask a few people if they have seen any clothes floating around in the water. I collect no useful information.

I leave the way I came in, along the walkway. As I exit the vestibule I see the old man that was mouthing off.  He is hanging from a metal beam by a rope that is tied around his chest.  His legs are missing, they look like they have been removed with some force at the waist. He’s still unpleasant, but much less threatening. As I stand and observe him with curiosity, he is mumbling away about getting his legs out of the rope, and is grotesquely trying to twist around his torso, as if to free it from the rope. I find it fascinating that he hasn’t noticed he could just use his hands and arms to free himself.

I wake up.

Plugged Toilets and Biting Fish

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I’m in a field, I can’t quite recall what is planted there, or who I’m with. A man and woman, each on a horse approaches. I notice they are actors, I know them by sight but don’t know their names. I crouch down so they don’t see me as they ride by.

The next thing I recall is being in a hotel room. It’s a standard room, with two queen beds. I have taken the provided robe from the cupboard and put it on when the door opens and the same man and woman enter. They don’t seem to see me as they enter the room, take off their own robes, and lay face down on each bed, as though they are preparing for a couples massage. I walk out of the main part of the room unnoticed, and decide to use the washroom before I leave. I go into the bathroom and close the door. I notice the toilet is full and possibly plugged. I flush it. Although the toilet doesn’t overflow, the room starts filling with water. It fills until it’s almost to my knees. There is toilet paper swirling around and hundreds of spiky little fish, like rockfish swimming around. I begin to feel the little fish bump into my feet and legs, then start to nibble, not a dissimilar sensation to those little fish that are in tanks for you to put your feet into to have the dead skin eaten.

The toilet finishes flushing, and I use it, my legs still in the water on the floor. As I finish, the fish start to become more aggressive, biting hard, and firmly attaching themselves where they bite. I try to brush them off, but they are spiny, and are not easily moved.

The water drains from the room when I flush the toilet for the second time, and many but not all of the fish detach and disappear. I remove the remaining ones by pinching and pulling on them. The fish pulls off, leaving behind a jelly like lump like the inside of a jelly bean. Those too eventually can be pried off the skin.

I survey the messes that are my lower legs with curiosity, and wake up.

Jacked Up Truck and Miniature Elf Babies

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It’s winter in a rural area. I’m driving a pickup truck, it’s jacked up, I’m high up off the ground. I drive into the yard of a property. There are adjacent parking lots, separated by a fences and a snowbank that comes to the top rail of the fence. Beyond that I can see a few guys working, they glance up as my truck pulls into the lot. Although there are no other vehicles in either parking area, I’m dissatisfied with my first parking choice. I back the truck up to reposition it. As I put it in gear to move forward, I give it a bit too much gas, hit an icy spot, or some combination of both, and find myself smoothly soaring over the fence into the second parking area. As I fly clear the fence in slow motion, I see a child crouched down playing in the second lot. I am airborne and cannot control the direction of the vehicle. I land gently, but the truck is so high I have no idea whether I have hit the child or not. As I jump out, I feel the glare of the men who are working just beyond the lot. I take a few steps to the front of the truck and relief floods through me as I find the child undisturbed, still engrossed in his play.

Something catches my eye under the truck, and I crouch down to take a better look. I see at least 3 tiny children/babies, the largest no more than 6″ long. They are laying in a pile under the truck. They are all dressed the same, in light blue one piece sleepers, with long light blue sleep caps that have been starched to a sharp point, they look like tiny blue elves. The caps are pulled down over their eyes, and for a moment I think they might be little dolls. I reach under the truck and pull one out. It is the smallest one, no more than 5″ long, it lays in the palm of my hand. I gently pull the sleep cap up to reveal it’s eyes, and am startled when it’s eyes pop open and it laughs. I keep it in my hand and reach for a second one. It is slightly bigger. It crosses my mind that I should not be moving them until they have been cleared for a spinal injury, but they are so small I decide to just keep them as still as possible until I know more about what they are.

I gently lay the second one alongside the first in the palm of my hand. I pull the sleep cap up on the second one and my stomach sinks as it’s eyes do not pop open, and rather as I pull the cap up to expose more of it’s tiny forehead, there is a bruise above it’s right eye.

I reach for the third, and am woken by my alarm.

Spiders, Sandwiches, and a Little Improv

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I am driving, there is a woman in the seat beside me, it might be a coworker. We come to a tree fallen across the road, it seems normal that it’s there. I park the car and we get out to proceed on foot. I pull a large deli sandwich that is on a tiny ambulance stretcher out of the back of the vehicle and start pushing it toward the tree. As I approach I notice that a huge spider has made a very dense web in the fallen tree, and the web is in the way when we try to pass under the tree.

I find a stick to start dismantling the web, the spider is hanging from a single strand of web to my left watching. I create a big enough opening for us to pass though, pushing the sandwich. As I pass directly under the tree, where there are still strands of web hanging down, the stretcher jars over a root or something, and the sandwich falls off onto the ground. I look down and note there are now 3 sandwiches, the original one, and 2 medium sized meatball and cheese sandwiches. One of them looks like if has been trampled, but the other one looks ok. I heft the original sandwich back onto the stretcher and pick off the twigs, leaves and spider web, and gather up the most intact meatball sandwich as well.  We proceed down the road.

I enter a large auditorium. There are bleachers from wall to wall, with only a narrow walkway between the lower bleachers and the wall.  The place is packed, it’s standing room only. I walk along the walkway by the bottom bleachers and am surprised to find a large old TV that is projecting grey static. I carry on to the far wall, then turn around for the return trip. As I pass by the crowd for the second time, I meet a troupe of improve performers running out from the far side of the auditorium with microphones and a few props.

I pass by them with as little disruption as possible and move up into the bleachers until I find a place I can stand. One of the performers runs up the bleachers with a microphone and begins talking to a person standing behind me. He asks a question, then there is an unintelligible mumble in response. I turn around to see who he’s talking to, and find myself staring at the navel of a behemoth of a person. From the angle I’m at, as I look up I can’t really tell much about the person, I’m looking up at their chin. I decide to look down for clues instead, and see huge puffy feet plugged into sandals that are several sizes too small.  The feet are in bad shape, save for cherry red polish on the few nails that weren’t too damaged or twisted to paint.

The next thing I know I’m in a darkened hallway, pushing the stretcher of sandwiches toward a set of double doors. I wake up.