Viva La Ghash!: Dream 91

Tuesday, 6 November 2012

Dream 91

I haven't been updating my Blog for a while, because I took an (unplanned) break from my dream research (due to an interrupted, irregular sleep pattern and other things being on my mind), but last night I had a long, strange dream which I was able to recall, hence me recommencing my regular posting. I will be making renewed efforts with my dream exploration from now onwards.

The dream started with me having a conversation with my mum, who was seated in an armchair (I think this was in my nan, PC's living-room). I do not remember what we were talking about, but as I looked closely at her face I realised that she looked more like PC than my mum. I was confused about this.

I was then in a wooden lodge house in the middle of a pine forest - at night. The lights in the lodge were bright and outside, the pine trees were illuminated by lights which were strung up in the branches. It was tranquil and beautiful. There was some bubblegum pink-coloured slimy gunge in a pile on the floor some distance away and I was seated on a sofa which curved around the corners of the room. I saw the gunge, but paid no special attention to it. There were ferns in big vases beneath a large picture window opposite where I was seated. PP was there, sitting close-by and we were whispering to each other. I am not sure what we were communicating, but the mood felt secretive and I was relaxed. Someone entered the room of the lodge from a door behind us. It was one of my relatives and I was told that I had to get myself ready for a party which was taking place in Sheringham, in the Top Club, a working man's snooker club, which I used to visit at weekends with family and friends when I was a child. I appeared to have somehow got ready - I was dressed in a floral or fruit-patterned cotton dress and had joined my family at the celebration, although it was not quite clear what the party was in honour of. My granddad (now dead and previously estranged from the family) was present. He was talking to a group about the privet hedges in PC's front and back gardens and how he used them to harvest Golden Virginia tobacco. People were playing snooker and pool and the mood seemed happy/relaxed. I was standing beside my female cousins, HM and CJ. We were asked to join a darts tournament before the disco started. I noticed various local persons from my childhood, who I am aware still live in Sheringham.

I was then looking at a sheet of paper, with a poem or some other lines, handwritten. Each line was capitalised (I assumed it was a poem, because I write poetry and this was the form that the writing appeared in). I was being instructed on when it was appropriate to capitalise each new line when writing (a poem?). The disconnected voice which I could hear talking was male and unfamiliar. He told me the correct theoretical term for a piece of writing where each new line is capitalised. I could see that the handwriting on the page was not my own as it was large and childish - fairly messy. I then saw a huge clock-face - a round white wall clock, very nondescript. The time was 10.50, but the hands on the clock were moving anti-clockwise.

I was then laying in a bed in a strange bedroom with PS. He was against the wall, I was on the edge - watching a TV which was positioned against the other wall, opposite. The actress Sheridan Smith was on a TV show. I said: "She is really sexy" and PS said: "Yes, she is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen". I felt jealous and wondered if he thought I was ugly now.

I was then caught up in some strange kind of 'story' where I appeared in the third person - looking quite normal and like I do in real-life. I was with another girl, a blonde who had the same bodily measurements as myself and appeared to be very similar in many respects - long hair etc, as if she were my paler twin. We were both wearing patterned bikini tops and white Hawaiian hula skirts. However, I was not 'thinking' as myself - I was experiencing the dream as a male character called 'Dan' who was interacting with the third-person 'me' (I shall refer to this character as 'Dan' and the third-person ' female me' as 'I' or 'me' to make it easier to know to which person I am referring to - although the majority of my thoughts/interactions were filtered through the 'Dan' character). Dan had a male friend - who I cannot recall, other than we were both young adults and he was white with dark brown hair and wore a dark blue jumper and jeans (I did not see what 'Dan' looked like, as I did not look in a mirror while I was him). Dan and his friend were competing for the interests of myself and my blonde companion. There were plans to go to a beach party. Dan and his friend were fighting over two bras - one white, one black. It seemed the males had to choose one and then present it to one of the girls. Dan wanted to give the black bra to 'me', but there were arguments between the men, fighting over the bras. Dan eventually persuaded his friend that he should have the black bra, and the men then raced each other the a white apartment block in a sunny holiday resort. We ran down some balcony walkways, passing maids cleaning the rooms of the apartments, who had their cleaning trolleys parked on the balconies outside the door leading to each apartment. The mood seemed both frantic and upbeat at the same time. There was bright, hot sunshine and the holiday resort looked lush and exotic. As the far end, on a corner, there was a door which Dan reached first. He knocked on the door and it was opened by me. Dan gave me the black bra, which I happily accepted. Dan felt elated. As he walked back down what had been the walkways (a few feet up), he noticed that he was now on ground level and in Hollywood. He realised that he had been hired - alongside his male friend, myself and the blonde female companion - to star in a 1960s soap opera/reality TV show. I would be known as 'Wilma' and would have my hair in a beehive hairstyle. Dan wondered if he could get out of filming - he saw the set for the new show, which was the same one used in the 1970s show, Happy Days, which was set in the 1950s. It seemed to Dan that the set looked more like a 1950s show rather than a believable 1960s show. He started walking down a pavement, in bright summer sunshine. Dan knew this was supposed to be downtown LA. There was a tall red-brick building on the corner of a street, outside which Dan stood in cool shade. The doorway was open and from inside, the sounds of jazz music could be heard. Dan decided he wanted to join this jazz theatre group (he knew that this was who were inside the building without going in) rather than be part of the 1960s soap opera.

I was then back in Norfolk - I think it was Norwich - and experiencing the dream as myself. I was seated in a very open 'classroom' which also resembled an airport departures lounge, which metal detectors at the far end and metal clothes rails with coathangers on them, but no garments hanging there. The furniture in the room was emerald green and the style often seen in public buildings - study wooden desks and itchy chairs, in the green felt-like fabric. On one side of the room was an 'ethnic' display - of rugs, blankets, masks and other ornamental/arty collectables and musical instruments - all in green and brown earthy tones. There were two women present - seated at a desk, which I was sitting on. The two women looked like they belonged in the early 1990s from their hair/makeup/dress. One - with fluffy brown shoulder-length hair, told me: "We're just in the meeting with the social services..." I was bored and wanted the meeting to be over. I was then outside - it was afternoon and the light was dimming and it was damp, but not raining. I was in some sort of concrete area - suburban - surrounded by buildings and trees/hedgerows. A middle-aged man in a grey business suit got into a pale blue car and drove away while I stood watching. I knew it was nearly Christmas time and thought I should make my way to the bus so I could get back to Sheringam, where my family were again waiting for me. Instead, I walked and found myself in the St Benedicts area of Norwich, where I browsed a second-hand music store (which I used to visit regularly when I lived in Norfolk). In the corner, I found a vinyl record (not sure what of) which came with a fan magazine dedicated to 'Maf' ('Mafia'), the white poodle (cited as a 'poodle' but I don't believe this is the correct breed, as seen from the image below) given to Marilyn Monroe by Frank Sinatra towards the end of her life. I woke up.