I have a lot of free-floating anxiety this morning, like I am forgetting to do something hugely important, but I don’t know what it is. I’ve been having nightmares the last couple days. One was about how my parents tricked me into being late for my own reading on Saturday, by taking me out to eat in LaSalle/Peru.
It’s weird. You know how… or maybe you don’t… I assume this is true for everyone, but maybe not. I have a house in my dreams that is “my old house.” And it’s based loosely on the parsonage we lived in when I was in kindergarten. It’s the last place I lived before the Butcher was born. Anyway, it’s that house, but filled with more staircases and secret passages and more stories than you can rightfully count. And it’s always attached to a church. But that church usually looks more like the church where we held my grandpa’s funeral crossed with the Aledo church than it does the church that would have belonged to the parsonage “my old house” is based on.
It doesn’t always look exactly the same–“my old house.” I think that’s part of the multiple staircases and uncountable floors. It shifts as dreams demand. But it is always recognizable as “my old house.” It is the place I used to live, according to my dreams, and I must always return there.
I bring that up because I’m starting to realize that I live in a different landscape in my dreams, too. I still live in Illinois. Everything is flat and straight and all towns are parallel or at right angles to each other. And so, LaSalle/Peru was just far enough away to make me dreadfully late for my reading, but not so far away that I couldn’t make it (though I didn’t, because I left everything I needed at K. & B.’s apartment).
I don’t really remember my nightmare last night, just that I woke up thinking, “I must remember about the couch. That’s pretty brilliant.” But what was brilliant about my couch? I can’t remember.
My dream space is anchored in early childhood spaces too. ‘Tho it’s been years since the scary staircase(way high and it moved!) house has turned up in a nightmare. A childhood grocery store turns up sometimes too.
And I hate the freefloating anxiety days. It puts me on edge the whole day.
The majority of my dreams take place in the Dallas house I lived in between ages 8-15 or in our Dallas church building. Usually the north end, not the south end. The only reason that’s important is because the south end was expanded when I was 12 and I guess my brain relies on memories made prior to that…?
I have a lot of dreams set in versions of the house I grew up in, and also in versions of a couple of apartments I have lived in. But I also have dreams set in completely invented/unknown houses, in which the space seems just as important.
I wonder what it means that my recurring dreams are always in a nearly abandoned 1980s mall. I am not a shopper and I haven’t ever been a “socialize at the mall” person; I’ve always found it curious that my version of newly discovered rooms and winding staircases is a commercial (not a domestic) space.
I have had a recurring dream since I was in elementary school that always takes place in my childhood home outside of Chicago. It looks pretty much spot-on, except there is something weird with textures. The floors, the walls, the people—something is always pliable or clay-like, and not in a good way. And there are always burn marks on things that should never be touched by a flame.
Bridgett, hmm, I would say that is strange, but who knows? There may be a ton of people who have shopping malls or libraries.
Megan, oooh, like silly putty?
YES. But really thick, shiny silly putty. Just thinking about the dream gives me goosebumps!
bridgett, perhaps you’ve seen Dawn of the Dead a few too many times? ;)
my first car (I was 15) was a ’86 Honda Prelude. I have dreams to this day where I own that car. It’s the oddest thing.
RachelW, I’ve never seen it at all. I’m a sheltered soul.