Finally, dreams worth talking about.
Last night’s dreams (in the early morning hours, of course) were once again set at my parents’ house. It’s getting old. Yes, I’m homesick. Can you tell? We moved out of state 9 years ago, and I’ve been depressed ever since. I have no friends, and I don’t easily make friends, because I’m a weirdo with boisterous laughter and an inappropriate/sick sense of humor. And, I’m half deaf, so I talk loud, and it’s offensive to many folks. And no, I can’t get hearing aids because under our new affordable care act insurance, I can’t even afford to go to the regular doctor anymore.
I hate long paragraphs. They make me more anxious.
So, my dream involved more cleaning out of crap. My parents were organized hoarders. When my mom bought things like wrapping paper, she bought enough for 10 years. And then she bought more the following year. You get the idea.
In my dream, I found a secret cubby hole in second story ceiling behind some invisible panel, between my bedroom and the extra bedroom – which we lovingly called the sewing room. My mom had an amazing sewing machine upstairs. The sewing room also served as a storage place for extra crap, like holiday decorations, and the damn wrapping paper. I even brought some home irl when we cleaned out the house after my father passed away. Those rolls will last me 10 years – and I’ll probably buy more come next Christmas.
The secret cubby hole not only had all this hidden wrapping paper, but there was also a wad of twenty dollar bills, which wound up totaling around $400. But when we counted it, we had to call a banker in, because the amount kept changing every time. The banker happened to be Bill Pullman. I know, weird. Even more weird was when he told us the amount kept changing because the jerk down the road was making improvements on his house, so our property taxes kept fluctuating. HUH???
Bathroom break and a phone call from the school to tell me we have another calamity day, I crawl back in bed, sinking into the type of dream I was kind of aiming for. All it took was a little focusing and ‘mind travel‘ before I drifted back into dream land.
A distant friend was in town, and a bunch of people were at some party. I was bartending as music played in the background. For some reason, I had to go home and get something I forgot. When I got there, my brother was there, along with my friend. I think they were there getting more equipment for the party.
Then my cousin, who is known for his yearly party, showed up to help me finish whatever I was doing. Here’s the weird part. I asked if he was going back, and his words were “Yeah, but not without you. What’s a party without at least one dance with my cousin?” ….. EWW! Dude, I know you’re a perv, but that is beyond perv.
When my brother heard that, he threw my cousin out of the house. But then my brother was bugging me about my guitar and violin, asking what strings I needed. And that’s when I finally see my friend lurking behind him, listening to the conversation … like almost hiding? Okayyyyyyy, whatever that meant. When I said “Go back to the party without me” because I was livid by that point, I went downstairs into the living room.
All was nice and quiet, except for a squawking parakeet, which my dad (who was suddenly there) insisted it was some other kind of non-speaking bird. Other people who I didn’t know were sitting in the living room watching television – on mute. Something wasn’t working right, and we were then messing with the cable and receiver to get the correct channels and sound levels.
Meanwhile, the damn bird is on top of the television yapping at me. He looked just like my old bird which I had about 17 years ago. He kept saying something in Spanish, so I decided to teach it English, and said “Hi pretty bird!”, like I used to say to my old bird.
My dream ended with me snorting awake with laughter when the little bastard said “Hi jackass!”.
Maybe I’ll take something tonight, so I have less vivid dreams.