In my dreams

I typically don't dream——at least, I don't remember my dreams——but lately I have, and my long-suffering wife has had to endure several rambling recountings. Poor thing, she hasn't even got her eyes to unsquint, hasn't even had the benefit of half a cup of coffee yet, and I'm nattering on about some oddball dreamscript that piqued my interest.

So Sweetie... you have my permission to slip away and read some other blog.

Caution: subconscious at work

When I've been doing a lot of programming, I have a tendency to dream in code. C++ code, PHP code... whatever.

These are not restful nights for me, because I'm troubled by dreams where my brain is trying to work out some sort of nonsensical program logic. When this happens, I don't sleep soundly and there's enough of my conscious mind at work so that it realizes the stuff the subconscious has come up with isn't valid and tries to figure out how to fix it. But it can't because it's not enough in control to completely dismiss it as nonsense and move on to something more interesting. (Maybe something involving Eva Longoria because, frankly, if Turtle's going to keep dreaming about Vin Diesel I think I'm entitled.)

Anyway, this process often continues for some time, in an endless loop. I wake up feeling tired and disoriented. I mentioned this to a fellow programmer recently and was strangely relieved to learn that he has the same problem.

Dream house

Lately, my dreams have contained an unusual amount of detail about specific places and buildings.

A few weeks ago, it was a three-story frame house of the architectural style that was being built in the northern United States in the '40s. It's generally in good repair, but a bit worn at the heels. Its brown siding has a grimy look, as if located near a railway and patinaed by soot from passing locomotives. Inside, the rooms are mostly empty aside from the odd bit of overturned furniture abandoned by some previous resident.

One exception is a small bedroom on the third floor, which is fully furnished with a twin bed, a dresser, and a wooden chair——all of which appear to be clean and new, in contrast with the clean but worn wooden floor. It's very warm upstairs, and the walls and ceiling are lined by a sort of mosquito netting. The netting is translucent but has a reflective coating on the outward-facing surface, apparently to help keep the room cool. The netting billows slightly from a slight breeze admitted by the single window, which is open.

As I look out the window, I have a commanding view of the surrounding landscape. The house is situated on the outskirts of an urban area, near a tree-lined stream. The trees are bare, and I can see paper litter here and there along the banks, as well as an abandoned stove that someone dumped there. The drive leading up to the house and back into a wooded area is just a pair of worn dirt tracks.

There's a basement, which is accessed from outside via a pair of old-style storm doors. I don't recall details about the basement, except that the stairs lead down to a network of tunnels. I know this because I have a sense that I've been to this house previously in other dreams and probably will return in the future.

I've been malled

Last night, I dreamed I was attending a wedding reception that was held at an irrationally large restaurant in a very large mall. This isn't remarkable* in itself, but the mall is one that I've visited numerous times in dreams.

The specific store I'm patronizing varies. I've had dreams where I was shopping for sporting goods, clothes, and a diamond ring. Once, I was buying ice cream. Almost always, I'm there at closing time and have to rush from one end of the mall to the other to get to the entrance near where I parked. Sometimes I make it; sometimes I have to leave by a different door and walk around the outside, in the dark, nearly-deserted parking lot.

But that's not the end of it. I also know from past experience that a supermarket, a roller skating rink, and a smallish dive of a nightclub are neighbors of the mall. I know this because I've visited these, as well. None of these is a place I can identify from my waking life.

* Aside from the ABC commentators sitting at a small folding table in front of a large institutional refrigerator in the kitchen. They're judging a dog show, the only contestant of which appears to be a small, poofy-looking dog shivering in the arms of an elderly man wearing a Hawaiian shirt and an eye patch. One of the judges, who looks like Barbara Bush (Dubya's mom), offers me a half-eaten custard-filled doughnut as I rush past. Despite my love of custard-filled doughnuts, I don't accept it.

Now playing: Robyn Hitchcock, Queen Elvis