Once you think about your dreams, you start to remember them more and more.
That’s been my experience of logging my dreams. Shit’s crazy too since, for the month of February, the notes and editorializing of my dreams came to five thousand words. I can’t believe that: all these words from when I was not awake. Wild, right? Not every night was a stunning situation (as you’ll see below) but there is apparently way too much to prattle on about.
Anyway, following last month’s sharing of dreams, here’s the best dream entries from February as to not have to edit or have anyone read thousands of words about my dream life. I recommend everyone keep a dream diary, even if only a note on your phone.
Thursday, 2.1, Los Angeles, CA –
I have to catch a flight to Europe but I am very late. I’m taking something called Philippine Air, a budget airlines I know nothing about. I’m running through the airport, thirty minutes before takeoff, to make the flight and have to get to Gate 50 to depart. I’m tired of running and my legs – physically, outside of the dream – are tired from this hustle. I get to the gate and realize I don’t have my passport. I freak out and almost cry but realize, in my out-of-dream mind, that I couldn’t have gotten to this point in the airport without my passport so this is a non-issue. I enter the Gate 50 area which is like a restaurant waiting area. It seems somewhat low budget and strange and, eventually, I am taken to enter the plane and am told I made it “just in time” before boarding ended. We walk onto the plane which is literally a giant warehouse with beach chairs setup. I can’t find my chair and am really, really worried about the safety of this plane. There are Olympians headed to Korea which gives me some peace of mind but, ultimately, stresses me out more. I ask a stewardess about my seat. She takes me downstairs. The area that my seat is looks like a terminal with more beach chairs and a restaurant. There is a wall that connects to the original gate. She tells me that we’re already on our way but I can see that the plane is still connected to the airport but, looking out another window, we’re clearly moving. We’re both right and both wrong. I regret making this budget airline choice and go to my seat and stress about the validity of this plane, trip, etc.
Sunday, 2.4, Los Angeles, CA –
I’m in France. I don’t recall much else of this moment but I leave wherever I am to pick provisions with Bobby but stop at a wine store — or a vineyard’s retail store — seeking a specific bottle from when i was last in the area. I can’t find it. My friend Jessica shows up and looks for the wine too. “It should be here,” she says with her French accent.” We don’t find it. Instead, we look around the store for other wine and snacks and discovery a strange difference between American and European Little Debbie snack cakes: in Europe, they feature scrambled eggs atop of them. Theyre so gross looking and we fall into a fit of giggles. Bailey is here now too, laughing. Bobby and I move to check out and have multiple baskets of snacks and wine. We assume it will be maybe a hundred dollars but it ends up being nearly four hundred. We’re red faced, embarassed, and request to return skme items. We send back some wine.
Monday, 2.5, Los Angeles, CA –
Scooter and I are in Paris. I am running around, going to various places, up and down hills, eventually coming to a pool, which Scooter loves in non-dream life but is unphased here. We eventually go into some sort of café or Airbnb that is not-that-great but apparently was written up in Monocle – a magazine I do not read – so says the woman who runs it. The place is like a church vestibule and I want to go. I realize I have class and need to run. My friends leave for class and I tell them that I’ll meet up with them. I pick up Scooter and give him water from a sink out of a toy teacup. The woman who owns the place says, “We’re definitely not going to be in Monocle again because of this.” I run out, flying up the hill, only to realize that I forgot Scooter and my bag. I run back and grab the bag, realize how late I am, and walk very slowly to class. I get to class by the Seine and we’re discussing Molly McCully Brown’s The Virginia State Colony for Epileptics and Feebleminded. The professor notes that McCully Brown’s work is subpar and fairly underdeveloped. I protest, out of breath, until the professor is swayed. It gets dark. We’re in the country. I have to go to the bathroom but am having trouble finding a proper place to go. I am carrying Scooter.
NOTE: I actually do have a class this week, on 2.7, where we are discussing McCully Brown’s book. The professor in the dream is also one of the professors in the class.
Friday, 2.16.2018, Portland, OR —
I’m on a road trip looking for interesting bookstores. I come across this little book/video store in the mountain countryside. It’s modern and not and a woman with huge black hair works there. You can also rent yurts on the premises. I’m looking for nothing in particular but am attracted to a specific type of horror movie that I cannot recall, a type I call “changeling possession,” I think. The woman intuits this and pushes me to rent/buy this specific movie she loves. I buy it. I watch it and love it and realize she was the star of the film, which is basically a dumb B movie but a good one. I look for a handful of other movies in the horror section at other stores but keep coming back to the big black haired woman’s film. I eventually have to present the movies to others, to make my recommendations on what to watch. I’m presenting to a group of college girls who are artists and very rude. They have their own in-jokes and cliques and seemingly won’t give me the time of day. I present them four films but stress that the black haired woman’s film is a B movie classic and features a brilliant bizarre performance by the woman who owns the store I bought it from. They roll their eyes. I’m so excited to show them the movie even though the girls suck. I play it. They make excuses and leave. I return the movie, telling the big black haired woman that the movie is special but, in a way, too good.
Monday, 2.19.2018, Portland, OR —
I had too many dreams to recall. There were celebrities and casinos and I was sneaking into parties and was in a gang and crossed bridges and many strip malls and I kept feeling like I caught the cough my father has. I kept waking up to clear my throat. I awoke without a cough. I hope I don’t get that cough.
Tuesday, 2.20.2018, Los Angeles, CA –
I had a dream but I do not remember what it was. Shirley Manson was there.
Wednesday, 2.21.2018, Los Angeles, CA –
My friend Danielle and I are talking about life, at some sort of megachurch monster truck rally. We look through old photos and she points out the ones from when she was depressed. We’re in her kitchen. I tell her it’s okay to be depressed. We all get depressed.
Saturday, 2.24.2018, Los Angeles, CA –
I was too drunk to dream.