Speaking of dreams…

The "impossible architecture" of M.C...

Image via Wikipedia

I had a weird one last night.  I always, ALWAYS dream that I’m back in high school frantically searching for my classroom.  Last night was no different, well, Holly and Stephanie were both in my dream this time.

We were in an assembly.  The assembly was meant to prepare us for the school year (eleventh grade).  Everyone had their lockers picked out, schedules and books ready – I had nothing.

I dreamt this dream so many times that I actually wasn’t scared this time around.  Instead of being scared, I felt embarrassed for being stupid.  Holly and Stephanie were prepared and ready for their next class.  They were trying to help me get my shit together.  They were telling me I filled out the wrong forms.

Holly – “You filled out the wrong form, see?  This one is for new students to fill out, you need the existing student form.”

She held up the form and showed it to me.  I felt like an idiot and told her I was going to the office to straighten everything out.

Going to the office to pick up my schedule is always part of my school dream.  In this particular dream, I had trouble walking to the office – not that I didn’t know where the office was (I made many trips to this fictitious office), I knew where it was, but I had trouble physically walking.  Holly and Stephanie watched me walk down the hall to the office.  Just by knowing they were behind me watching me walk, made my legs wobbly.  There was a railing mounted to the wall that I had to hold onto so I could drag myself.  My legs felt like a thousand pounds of rubber.

Finally, I made it to the office and stood in line.  There was nobody in front of me so I thought I was next.

A woman came into the office and sat on the bench, then a woman who works there appears and helps the woman who came in after me.  This pissed me off because I was there first.  They sit down together for what looks to be a lengthy discussion.

Me – “Excuse me?  I just need a printout of my schedule.  Can you help me?”

She calls for her spanish assistant.  She starts speaking in spanish to him.  I understood her.  I apparently know spanish in my dreams.  She asked the spanish boy if he was busy right now.

Spanish guy – “Nada aqui”

In the dream this meant “nothing now.”  I don’t know what it means in real life.

Me – “Oh good you can help me get my schedule.”

Snooty woman who works there, “pffff….she speaks spanish.”

The nice spanish boy taken me through the office and out the door.  We were now outside the school.

Me – “I also need to find out where my locker is.  Can you do that?”

Spanish guy – “Si, si.”

We ended up in a scary ghetto.  We walked up to a building and saw The Butcher from the movie Gangs of New York standing outside with his top hat and handlebar mustache.  The spanish guy nods in his direction.  We go into the building that turns out to be another office.

The dream gets cloudy from there, but I remember crying and getting yelled at for crying by a little kid who told me he can’t be around negative people.  He said I have to pretend to have everything.  If I pretend, I will acquire it.  Something like that.

The night before this dream, I had one of my lucid dreams.  Lucid dreaming is dreaming when you know you’re dreaming.  It’s as awesome as it sounds.  I have the power to explore uncharted destinations of my imagination – to learn and be astounded by the glorious imagery and amazing people that have never existed before now.  I can do all that, but I don’t.  You want to know what I do instead?  Instead of soaring through space or discussing the meaning with Jesus and Buddha, you want to know what I do?  I have sex.  Dirty dirty sex with anyone I can find.

My sex drive is uncontrollable in lucid dreams!  And the sex is amazing!  Absolutely amazing, that is, as long as I can focus on being lucid and not having weird things pop into my brain.  Sometime’s when I concentrate on a person’s face, their face gets scraped off.  Making love to a person whose face had been scraped off is a turn off.

This one time I was having a lucid dream of being in a big green pasture.  I looked around and seen a pretty young woman standing alone.  I walked up to her and asked if it was okay to kiss her.  She said it was fine, and so I kissed her.

Normally my loins would be raging during a kiss, but nothing happened.  I kept kissing her and still I felt nothing.  It felt like I was kissing a tree.  I stopped and apologized, turned on my heel and said, “I need a man.”

I learned in lucid dreaming that you have to look for stuff – not try to cajole anything out of thin air, but to look around for it.

A car popped up in the middle of the green pasture.  I get excited and run to it.  I open the door and who do I see?  None other than George Castanza sitting in the driver’s seat looking scared and confused.

“George Castanza?  Seriously?”  He had a stain on his sweatshirt.

“Screw it.”  I pull him out of the car by the front of his shirt and start passionately kissing him.  My loins flared and I tore off his clothes.  The rest I will leave to your imagination, but I’m sure your imagination has better things to do.

This dream happened years ago but I remember it so well because I wrote it down and told my friends about it.

I’m a horny bastard in my dreams.

Advertisements

6 Comments

Filed under All about me, humor, journal, Strange & Unusual

6 responses to “Speaking of dreams…

  1. Steph

    OMG I’m crying! I love it! George Castanza! LOL I’m dying!! This might be my favorite post

  2. Holly

    I love hearing about people’s dreams especially since I never remember my dreams 🙂

  3. Pingback: 8-12-2008 Dream Fragments Super Powers, Almost Lucid, And The Over Crowded Dorm Room Experience « John Jr's WordPress Blog

  4. Pingback: 12-22-2010 Two Dream Fragments Something Wrong With The Sun? | John Jr's WordPress.com Dream Blog

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s