Short Night, Short Dreams

        I had so little time to sleep last night that I didn’t expect to have any dreams. (I stayed up late, reading.) Instead, I had so many, and varied locations and styles and personas that I cannot remember them all.

        The dream house is being repaired, there is now a fully livable structure, but for the bedrooms and guest rooms. In the dream universe I don’t seem to be living in the house yet, but some of the haunts are back. The place is decorated in much brighter colors than previously. I arrived in a electric surrey. The horse was replaced by a small single wheeled engine with a low fat tire. When I left to return to the city, I’d come to oversee the installation of a tile fountain, the surrey had been replaced with a different vehicle. I don’t know what the vehicle was, just that it was different.

       

Another forest dream. I climbed out of a small tent and packed it up before making myself a little bit of breakfast. Hot tea and a crumbly biscuit with honey. I cleaned up after myself and decided to hit the trail, only, there was no trail. I could find no part of the edge of the small meadow that would allow actual entry into the forest, unless you were about the height of a possum. I couldn’t even locate where I had stumbled into the clearing the night before, exhausted to the point that I almost didn’t pitch the tent. Two shock cords and two tent stakes, so it really wasn’t much more than a red tube with a blue fly staked out at both ends.

Tiled shower stall, like at a gym. I was washing my hair when a group of women entered the showers, giggling. I could tell that they were naked, but I wasn’t wearing my glasses so there wasn’t any detail. One of them snapped me in the shoulder with her towel. After that it was all warm soapy water and rubbing bodies.

I was in the alleyway between a pair of warehouses. One was my temporary offices and home, the other had a large fleshy black and red mass growing in it like a tumor on the world. I could feel the heat and the evil coming off of it like a rolling wave of heat from a suddenly opened door.

“You are not being a very considerate neighbor,” I shouted into the warehouse, hoping to get the attention of the occupant so I could point out the hideous evil growing unchecked in their otherwise unused storage area.

I was in bed with a cat on my head, my side, my hip, a fourth stretched along my thigh, and a fifth draped across my ankles, which were swollen and in pain from the heat. A sixth was curled against my belly. I struggled away to shoo them off, but found there was only the one across my feet and the one on my belly. It wasn’t until I was awake that I knew I’d been dreaming the rest. (Or they had all taken off when I started to stir and I’d missed it.)

I was at a computer workstation with three other people, They were all talking and I was trying to get it all down, in script format. We were apparently a writing team for some sort of game show. One that was rather fully scripted, but in a way to disguise that it was scripted. I liked the people I was working with, but hated the show we were writing. That was a really odd feeling. We finished our script, then everyone else sat at their workstations. I emailed our TV script off to our producer, knowing that we were expected to stay in the writers’ room until the script came back approved or with changes to be made. I also knew that the producer wouldn’t even look at it until about an hour or so before the rehearsal call, and that we’d have about thirty minutes to make changes, and if there were a lot of them we’d be writing them through the rehearsal.

We spent the hours that we were “locked in” working on scripts for an internet game. This was a lot more interesting and challenging, and actually fun. I knew that this was more or less the pattern of our work here. We knocked out a show a week, usually in just a few hours, and then spent the time waiting for the Producer to kick it back with suggestions and changes writing on our own personal project. I think TC, SCV and SB were the other writers. We didn’t make a particularly good writing dynamic, and we knew it, but we’d found a system that seemed to work, and we were all secretly afraid that our show would get picked up for yet another season. The money was too good to pass up, and we were essentially double dipping, as the online game was paying almost as much as the TV show, and we were using the TV production facilities free. Everyone knew it, but didn’t seem to mind. Some of the talent were also more interested in the internet project than the game show. Nerds everywhere was the overwhelming feeling of that dream.

       

There were loads more, but other than gray robes and fluffy slippers I remember nothing about them.

Ad astra per technica,

FF