Sang Freud.
Remembering two dreams I had last night several hours after I had them. This is rare. Usually I don’t even remember dreams I had mere seconds after awakening.
In the first, I was the concierge of some kind of quaint Victorian hostel, in which one of the long-term residents was an absent-minded cad, a man who had proposed marriage to three different women not necessarily because he enjoyed the feelings of power and conquest, but because he kept forgetting that he had already embarked on a relationship with the other women, because he kept forgetting that he had already proposed marriage to the others. When I pointed this situation out to the forgetful scoundrel, he seemed genuinely mortified and dismayed, and kept asking me for help to keep the three women from knowing about each other while he attempted to figure out how to get out of his mess.
The man either was, or was portrayed by for purposes of the dream, onetime ER actor Eriq LaSalle. One of the women was a young Asian who I did not recognize. One of the women was Phylicia Rashad. The third, who never made an appearance in the dream, was apparently my sister, although I am unsure if this meant it was my in-real-life sister, who is currently studying abroad in Ireland, or the sister of the concierge that I was portraying, and as such if my sister would have actually appeared as somebody else entirely.
* * *
In the second dream, I was sitting in a small cafe with fellow Neo-Futurist John Pierson, and at some point in the conversation, the topic of which I cannot remember, John pulled a small handgun from his jacket and shot me twice, at close range, in the left side of my chest. There was no malice in his action; indeed, there was a sort of coy playfulness in his demeanor as he shot me.
I remember not feeling the shock of impact or the pain of bullets in my chest. They seemed not to go very deep, as if the gun were of an ineffective caliber and the winter coat I was wearing more resistant to projectile weapons than had been otherwise advertised when I purchased it. I remember walking home feeling slightly dizzy, but feeling no other adverse effects of the shooting.
When I got home, I proceeded to peel my shirt off and use a pair of tweezers to remove the bullets from my chest. I recall explaining to my wife, who was for this dream portrayed by my actual wife, that I had to do this myself because our insurance didn’t cover this sort of injury.
Strangely, I also recall waking up and telling my wife about the first dream with Eriq LaSalle, but in hindsight I don’t think I related this dream at all. Meaning I actually remember three separate dreams.
I’m not into lengthy subconscious interpretation but I do think there’s some credence to the idea that dreams are an attempt by your brain to continue working on problems after you consciously stop dealing with them.
And I wonder what problems my brain seemed to believe required its attention that involved sex farce and gun violence.
Creative Control 