A Dream about Lunch

Morgan Freeman was in my dream last night. He was homeless in Salt Lake City. I ate lunch with him every day. We didn’t eat by ourselves, though. About 6 other strangers ate lunch with me and Morgan Freeman. We passed around buckets of chicken and ice cream while we sat on a curb somewhere near the Gateway shopping center.

It took about a week in my dream to realize that I was eating lunch with homeless Morgan Freeman in Salt Lake City. Did the others know? Did they care? Once I knew that I was eating lunch with Morgan Freeman, I wanted to ask him all sorts of questions about his acting career. But no one else seemed interested in Morgan Freeman. They just seemed to enjoy sitting together at the same time every day to share lunch.

I don’t know where the food came from. It was fried chicken and ice cream every single time. And they came in large buckets. Not fried chicken buckets, but large industrial-sized plastic buckets with a metal handle. I don’t remember tasting the food in my dream. I do remember using a large metal serving spoon to scoop melted ice cream onto a thin paper plate.

No one talked during our lunches. The dream itself might have been completely without sound. Frustrating. Why have homeless Morgan Freeman in my dream if I can’t hear his distinguished Morgan Freeman voice?

During this dream, I couldn’t wait to go home and blog about having lunch with homeless Morgan Freeman. This dream was one of those moments that felt real, that felt like I was fully conscious.

So you can imagine as I emerged from deep sleep and broke the surface of wakefulness how disappointed I was that I didn’t really eat lunch with homeless Morgan Freeman. Think of the decreasing likelihood of the combination of these factors becoming a reality:

  • Homeless Morgan Freeman
  • Homeless Morgan Freeman in Salt Lake City
  • Homeless Morgan Freeman in Salt Lake City having lunch with moi
  • Homeless Morgan Freeman and I sharing giant buckets of chicken and ice cream on a SLC curb near the Gateway Mall

Virtually possible, but otherwise impossible.

Which is why it was just a dream.

I Took A 5-hour Nap Yesterday

friend: how is my friend May?
me
: i’m sleeping a lot
friend
: hmmm
why is that?
me
: i guess i’d rather sleep sometimes than be awake
life is easier
friend
: ugh
I’ve been there
but I hate that that’s where you are right now
me
: i get up for work and class
just not much more than that
friend
: oh no
I really hate to hear that
anything in particular weighing on you, or is it just life in general feeling like a slog?
me
: just general
friend
: yeah, I hate to hear that
I mean, I understand
I wish I could help….but you know things will turn around and look brighter soon
me
: yeah
thanks
friend
: I know that’s not encouraging
me
: i don’t really expect it. you’re fine, really

I think I’m still okay. I can have fun chats with friends, and I can be social sometimes.

My dreams are crazy, though.  I told someone I dreamt that Prince died, and I spent much of last week consciously believing he was dead. And I have bizarre French dreams.

I wonder if this semester ending will help at all. There are still a few weeks left.

The sunshine should help. I hope it does.

But for now, it’s bedtime.

I Can Haz Fries Français

Hier, j’écrivais une rédaction jusqu’a 230h ce matin. Je l’ai fini, mais je n’étais pas satisfaite. Ensuite, je me suis endormi et j’ai rêvé que j’ai récrit la rédaction en français. C’était très bizarre.

Aujourd’hui, une amie et moi, nous nous sommes parlé. Cet après-midi, je l’ai parlé des mes problèmes. J’avais des peines avec mes rélations, et j’étais soucieuse de mes amitiés. Elle m’a donné un très bon conseil. J’ai pleuré beaucoup, mais je me sens mieux.

Alors, je suis fatiguée maintenant. J’ai des devoirs, donc je vais en faire.

Ces paragraphes sont très petits, parce que je n’ai pas de cerveau. Je l’ai perdu. Dans mes rêves, peut-être.

I Dreamt Last Night

A bunch of us were hanging out. Somehow, everyone knew each other. I remember specifically two benches, perpendicular to each other, forming a large, backward L. I was sitting at the end of one bench, and the person sitting to my left was the same as the person sitting on the near end of the other bench. He scoot over a bit so I could put my feet up. In the dream it didn’t occur to me those two people were the same person.

Then, there was you. I saw you standing off at times. You weren’t sitting on either of the benches, but on a couch. Your eyes were red, as if you had been crying. I didn’t go to you and ask if you were okay. I avoided eye contact with you, and I let some of our mutual friends approach you. I felt better when they did. You were waiting for comfort, but I didn’t feel it my place to give it to you. It was better that others could.

I kept talking to the guy on either side of me.

There were a lot more details to this dream, but I’m fully conscious now, and much of it has faded. Blurred. Dissolved into nothing.

It woke me up after taking two hours to get to sleep last night. If it means anything, I have a pretty strong idea.

Huh?

I had the strangest dream with Kerri Walsh and Misty May-Treanor last night. Part of it was on a tour bus or van, where we sat and I’d ask them questions. Part of it was watching them play volleyball. Not beach, but indoor. And part of it was at my childhood home in Middleburg. I mean, it started out with me and some friends (I don’t remember which ones) driving the van to the sports venue, and I didn’t know we were going to see Kerri and Misty. But one of my friends knew them and we ended up watching them play. I don’t remember if I got to play, but I feel like I did. There were tumblers there, too. Maybe I got to tumble instead. Then there was a lot of time between matches, so that’s when we all rode the van back to Middleburg. The volleyball courts were not in Middleburg, probably not even in Florida. Kerri and Misty were really cool, and they answered my questions about life on the circuit. I think we might have also passed my church along the way. They were so friendly and we ended up getting along very well. We were great friends by the end of my dream, which really wasn’t the end, just when I happened to wake up. Apparently, I still have Olympic fever.

Weird Dream

I had a weird dream last night. Part of it involved Q-tips. I have no idea.

Another part of the dream was a field trip. We went sky diving. I remember being in the plane watching the instructional video. Instead of jumping with the trained parachutist, you stepped off the plane first, in a horizontal position to maximize drag, then your expert dove after you, caught you and released the parachute. In this dream, however, there was no distinction between my watching the video and the army guy holding me in the middle of the air. I didn’t realize I was already dropping through the sky. We floated and glided and landed in the middle of the ocean. There was a lot of green algae floating at the surface. Boats picked us up and took us to a base, in the water, where an officer gave us these weird controls with numbers on the buttons and assigned us numbers. I was 8. We were still floating on the ocean; I was with a few people at my station, which was the same boat that picked me up. The officer was yelling numbers through a megaphone, and all of a sudden things were blowing up, and it occurred to me we were in a war zone. I heard “8” and I fumbled and located the button and pushed it and nothing happened. I pushed it again. A submarine passed in front of me and I got the impression that was my target. It collided with a supposed enemy station a few hundred feet in front of me, and everything exploded. The other people on my boat had somehow died, and our boat shattered, and I ended up at the front of the boat, which managed not to sink. The battle was over, and I looked for shelter. I found a larger part of another boat where a few others had gravitated. I started rummaging for a container to keep my cell phone dry. Then rescue boats came and picked us up and then we were on buses that were going to drop us off at our homes. I got out my cell phone and dialed the number of a childhood friend’s parents. Her mom picked up and I asked if my friend was home. She said no. I explained our field trip. I explained that I hadn’t seen my friend and if I heard anything I’d call the mom. My voice cracked as I spoke, and the mom sounded as if she might cry, too. I hung up. The bus turned onto State Road 218, yes, in Florida. I sat and imagined blogging about this experience when I got home, how the first line would be “I killed people today” and I’d express my utter confusion and try to sort out all the implications of war. That last scene repeated on a loop, me sitting at a computer screen, typing “I killed people today” and trying to figure out what else to write while I felt someone had punched me in the stomach and taken away most of the the air in my world because I could barely breathe.

Then the alarm went off. I woke up.

And I still feel that way.