Saturday, February 11, 2006


I had two dreams last night, which I can only minimally remember.

First dream: My sisters and I (they were really little in my dream, maybe 4 or 5) were living in this straw hut with the whole inside of the floor covered in mud, and she was treating us like servants but I think she was supposed to have been our adopted mother. She always invited these sleazy guys over to see us like she was trying to sell us off to get money, and I got really fed up with it and hatched a plan to run away (which was basically us just... you know... running away). So we run away but it's really slow going because the streets are so muddy, and the woman realizes we're gone and she and one of the sleazy guys chase after us and we end up in this big church with a group of other runaway kids. The church is broken down and there's this big tree growing up through the middle of it with ladders and platforms that the kids have built. The woman and sleazy guy come chasing after us, so we climb up the ladders and the platforms until we're on the very last one, with the woman climbing up after us.

At that point I guess I must have gotten bored of that dream because it stopped and went into this other dream.

Second dream: I'm at my parent's house and one of my friends from when I was really little (who turned psycho and egged our house and spraypainted my dad's car, btw, after he tried to climb on our roof and see me naked) drives by on his bike with a bag of candy. I guess it's Halloween. He asks if I want to go someplace with him (I don't remember where), but then looks at me and says, "Oh, you should get some candy first." Strangely, I don't go trick or treating or anything to get the candy, instead I walk down the road into this woody part of my neighborhood which isn't really there and into a Corner Store which isn't there either. It's pretty ritzy inside, full of books and wine and cheese, and I can't find the candy or this specific magazine (which for some reason I want). Finally I find the candy and magazines, but the one I want isn't there, so I ask for help from the (attractive, romance-novel-cover-esque) manager guy, who pulls me into a little room that looks like a sauna, unbuttons his shirt and takes down his hair, and proceeds to tell me the sad, sad story of his lost love. By way of reply I say, "Uhmm... so you don't have 'Chanel' magazine?" and he kind of comes to a stop and says, "Oh... no, we don't. Sorry." "Ok, thanks... bye." And I walk out of the place.

Remind me to tell you about my Jesus in pink sweatpants dream.

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