So, I recently started organizing my Drawer of Notes, and thought that I would start typing up some of the dreams that I had written down last year when I was writing them down almost daily, just to have something to put up here.
It's 3am and I was just woken by the first nightmare I've had in... well, fuck only knows how long. I'm not sure how fuck knows about these things, but apparently fuck does. So, anyway here goes.
I don't remember all of the lead up. I'm in my current apartment. My roommate's there, as are my parents. I'm in his room, which seems to be my parents' room. Looking out the window, I ask him if there's somebody sitting on the grass by his car, because it's a shadowy figure, and I can't tell if it's a person or the address sign. Then I realize that the parking lot is full of people, mostly because of a big pickup/Range Rover type thing, with an open top, like for safari, full of drunken college girls, including several a-dancin' and a-hollerin', and several cops on motorcycles trying to calm them down. The Girls appear to be Going Wild.
So, then; I'm going back to bed. I had been watching some television show , and was going to stay awake to watch it, but it's late, so I change my mind. Bettie Page was somehow involved with the Tv show, but I don't quite remember how.
Then I'm asleep (in the dream) and my roommate calls me on the phone, waking me up to tell me that something interesting is about to happen on The Real World, and then describes part of what was going on in the parking lot as if that was what was going on on television. I just grumble and let it go. For some reason he stays on the line. Also for some reason, he isn't my real life roommate, but this character actor who was on Firefly once and in Grosse Pointe Blank and a number of other things. This is the guy.
So. I get up out of bed and am startled by someone just outside my window. It looks like an older lady, dolled up like an older-lady-lush, smoking a cigarette. She says something that I don't remember. Then she's inside. Then she's my grandmother. I'm happy to see her for a moment, because I'm somehow aware that it's a dream, and I think I'm lucky to get to see her. Then I realize she's not quite right. She's not my grandmother, she's my faulty memory of her - she doesn't look right, her accent isn't right (it doesn't sound like a faded British accent, it sounds like an American imitating a fading British accent.) She doesn't react well to my realization. She starts writihng and denying everything. I try to hold her down and she shapeshifts through several different stages of what she looked like on her deathbed. I think that there's some kind of way that I can verify it IS her, something only she and I know, forgetting that the issue isn't whether she's Her or Someone Else, but whether she's Her or just something I've made. She continues shifting. She turns into something that in the dream I think looks like the creature from American Werewolf in London, but it looks more like a shadow/silhouette version of General Woundwort from Watership Down, in the last shot of him in the movie, as he launches himself at the Dog. Except for eight feet tall.
That's when I wake up. And can't move for five minutes. Or rather won't move. Until I get up to find liquor of some sort and turn on the happiest, sunniest music I can think of (scrolling madly upward in my winamp playlist, Aislers Set, come on Aislers Set. Although I think I'm switching to Pet Sounds now, as I go back to sleep.)
So, primal horror and way too fucking many pop culture references. Just like when I'm awake.