Hijacked By Dreams

Looking at the date today, I’m not quite sure what happened in the last three days. I recall going to the day hospital to finish up some of my crafts pieces yesterday, where T and E where friendly familiar faces who have since followed me here to blogland (you are most welcome of course). I’ve helped my friend M narrow down the selection from the hundreds of shots we took last Friday (and was reassured to see how naturally that part of art directing still comes to me. Some things really are like riding a bicycle). I remember eating jam and cheddar toast with Earl Grey tea, which is a no-brainer since I like to start off my days with that combo lately. There was an early yoga session with J and a evening of wrestling with M on Tuesday which has left every muscle in my body screaming ever since. There wasn’t so much writing for NaNoWriMo since I felt both mentally and physically exhausted.

This morning was slated to begin with an early yoga session again, but my body would not cooperate. Then the doorbell rang at 10:30 and I was so engrossed in my many confusing dreams that I couldn’t understand how it was possible for my mother to come ringing at my door like that when just the day before she had still been writing me from France. Of course, by the time I actually made it to the door it wasn’t my mother at all, but an accountant I had made an appointment with who was coming to collect papers to finally get my taxes done as agreed. But I was so out of it that, after apologizing profusely, I sent him back saying I was coming down with something and couldn’t possibly get on with our meeting today. He didn’t protest too much. These days, with H1N1 seemingly looming in every corner people will pretty much leave you alone if you imply you might be getting a bout of the flu.

Many hours and many more dreams later, my friend M put his head through my bedroom door to see how I was doing. It was well past three and I had been sleeping all day, lost in one series of dreams after another. There was lots of traveling, there was lots of flying (which apparently I’m getting more and more proficient at), there was a cyclone and a stay at a posh and deserted hotel waiting for the weather to calm down (five suites with four rooms each to share among a couple of hundred people with limited food supplies to distribute fairly, and somehow people were looking to me to make major decisions. I think they figured if I could fly, I was probably also good at survival skills in general). There was a pregnancy which lead to birthing hundreds of tiny little animals; cats of course and tiny elephants and giraffes and snakes and lions and horses and countless other creatures. I was meant to feed them but they were eaten first by the many predators who were surrounding us and not having the resources to fend them off, they got to most of my brood and only a few of them were able to survive for a while and grow a little bigger. There was a serial killer who sent his victims beautiful picture postcards before striking and I was hired to foil him somehow, being an image specialist and all. We finally managed to arrest him because of some violation with Canada post he had apparently repeatedly committed. There was a job for domestic defence involving putting a sign up in front of a juvenile prison parking lot warning would-be escapees that the stealing of cars would be severely punished, then a road trip across North America tied up to the top of a truck to avoid being seen by various affiliated gang leaders who apparently wanted to exact revenge on me for helping prevent an all-out bloodbath at the juvenile detention centre. Then a late-night TV show starring me as a tall blonde in my late 40’s who didn’t look like me at all, throwing around a basketball in a modified game where the hoops were three times as high as usual and the all-girl team wore uniforms composed of leggings and flowery tunics—very pretty but kinda silly. Somehow this was very important gig for me because it could lead to more career opportunities in late-night tv programming, even at my advanced age.

I’ve been up for almost four hours now, and two cups of tea (with jam and cheese toast, of course) later I still can’t seem to shake off the dreams. My main consolation is that this sort of thing where my waking life is overtaken by the dreams is happening less frequently these days, because there have been periods fairly recently where this state of affairs was the norm. On the upside, I guess this is the right headspace to be working on my NaNoWriMo novel right now, since I’m running behind on my word-count and this business of not being all there sure is conducive to automatic writing. Of course it could lead to even more unexpected occurrences for my characters and chances are it won’t help make my already convoluted story lines any more decipherable, but as it happens, that isn’t a consideration I need concern myself with at this time, so may as well just go with it.


2 thoughts on “Hijacked By Dreams

  1. I'm still in the period where the dream hijacking is dominant.. I even feel like I am losing my grip on reality when sometimes you realize you have been living more in dreams than reality. Love the post, it may inspire me to attempt to recount some of my more interesting dreams as well. xox-T

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