I haven’t been remembering my dreams lately because of my horrid sleep patterns. Instead, here’s a link to a lovely essay by William Dean Howells. Unfortunately, “I Talk of Dreams” was written in 1896, so I know a lot of people won’t care. It’s really quite funny at times in that academic 1896 way though: “no doubt the reader will agree with me that it is much more romantic to be pursued by a statue than to be threatened by burglars.” Indeed.

I did not sleep well at all last night. I woke up about every two hours right on the nose.

My dream about the preschool program is obviously heavily influenced by the Scooby Doo Movies episode with Jerry Reed that was on Cartoon Network. So at the program, we couldn’t start because someone stole Jerry Reed’s xylophone. There were three families that wanted to sign up for Thursday afternoon preschool, and one has waiting to have a baby until they had enough money–even though the lady was already pregnant. I guess she just wouldn’t go into labor until they had more money. Mom came up to me and said, “I’m so bombed.” She had drank too much (my mom doesn’t drink often, so this is not typical, as it may be for others). As I was getting dressed for the program, I heard about reports of a flood in Hutchinson, and I thought to myself, “We could have died. We were just there.”

Randy, David, Matt, Mom, Dad, and I all moved to Japan. Mom and Dad bought a bright red 1930s car (a Pierce Arrow?) with a matching trailer. I spotted Engrish: a sign from the “Potato Meatball” Restaurant advertised “Meat Poptein,” not protein. I kept wanting to go to a bookstore, but we never found one. David worked at Benetton and I visited him in the mall where he worked. It wasn’t really a mall, but more like the basement of a fancy hotel. “Man, I used to not be able to afford this stuff, but now, it’s Japan . . . I used to think I’d get here and just totally immerse myself in art.” I told him that I thought I’d get to Japan and just watch TV all the time. The American district was signified by the picture of Queen Victoria on the Bombay Sapphire gin label.

I was at a modified zoo full of “therapy animals,” domesticated versions of wild animals that people could pet, bathe, feed, etc. They had horses with long hair (basically they looked like their manes had taken over their bodies), Siamese cats, and tigers. I massaged cold water into a polar bear’s fur.

Mom was with The Rock for some reason, and he was in an industrial looking kitchen, swinging a large, heavy object over his head.

I was on a bus trip. I sat near the back of the bus (it was a short school bus) as we drove on the highway. I’ve now forgotten most of the dream.

I had a turtle named O’Shea Jackson (Ice Cube‘s real name).

Margaret (my ex-boss, last seen in 1997) was mad at me for not telling her that there was going to be construction done in the theater, and we got into a little war. I chased after her through a festival downtown, screaming all sorts of things at her. After my throat hurt, I turned around and went back, remembering that the plans had been drawn before I even started working there, so there was no way it was my responsibility to keep her informed.

I was in New York and bored out of my skull. I was entirely alone for some reason. I only stayed within a one-block radius of where I was staying. There was a movie theater that was playing the uncut version of sex, lies, and videotape, which I didn’t really care about seeing, but it was directed by the same guy [Stephen Soderbergh] who did Kafka, so I thought about giving it a chance. Admission was $2.93. I had picked up a CD somewhere, and I abandoned it in a CD store because I was afraid they’d try to charge me for it.

I was at work. Stephanie had just wrapped up a volunteer meeting that was held in her cubicle. A woman named Mary Johnson was the last to leave. She had left me an email asking for a copy of her enrollment form that she had faxed. I tried to make a copy, but since it was faxed, the quality wasn’t excellent. Add to that our horrible copier, and I wasn’t getting anywhere. A different Mary (this one from the university) appeared and told me not to use the copier or else it would go down forever. I was tempted to ask what the good of the copier was if it was unoperable, but I didn’t.

Then I woke up, wrote down key things and went back to sleep.

So I dreamt the work dream all over again, only I told Mary (from the university) that I had just had a dream about her and wasn’t that odd since I hadn’t seen her in over a year and a half. She pointed out the enrollment numbers Stephanie had thought we should post on the cubicle wall of the copier and said we shouldn’t let people know those statistics. She also complained that they were low. I went back into my office and was hounded by people wanting to enroll in classes. Someone waiting kept turning on and off the lights, so it was very difficult to maintain a semi-professional atmosphere. They weren’t filling out enrollment forms right and didn’t know which classes they wanted. One family had about eight kids and said, “Just put them in whatever class you want. We’re unemployed, so we can get them to any class.” A group of two black boys and one white came into my office asking for a drink of water, so I showed them to the water fountain. I almost launched into a brief history lesson telling them that once upon a time, they wouldn’t have been allowed to drink out of the same fountain.

Again, I’m writing from notes scribbled in the middle of the night. This time, instead of filling up the back of a receipt, I nearly filled up a spiral notebook page.

Mom and I were going to my old high school. In the parking lot, there was an ice skater darting between cars. Mom said, “She’s talented; you should ask her–” She skated in front of our car and nearly killed all of us. We saw a parked cop car. Mom said, “I hate to ask an off-duty policeman,” but he left before she could complain. We headed towards the building. The power had gone out and as we walked in, it came back on. The library was locked, so, since we couldn’t get in there, we walked around the commons area. We kept bumping into people I knew from then. No one else’s mom was there. Zach said, “Hey, Jen,” and Mom whispered, “Follow through,” code for continue the conversation with him. I told her, “Ease,” meaning for her to stop nagging. Most people were eating. I found Amber’s credit card (Amber was a girl I went to high school with, but the Amber whose credit card I found is really the mother of one of our preschool students) and said I would return it to her, as I would see her later. I picked up two keychains. Then we walked outside. Mom said, “I forgot I had to buy you strawberries.” I told her that “I would have asked for them if I really wanted them.” Then she bought me two prescriptions, four CDs, and lunch. In the parking lot now were two white Corvettes and Howard’s car. I woke up to one of the Scooby Doo Mysteries, sleeping as always with Cartoon Network on, as they were talking about racecars.

I dreamt Grandpa had two new calves, both bulls, one had the beginnings of horns on his snout. I could the bone beginning to form under the skin like new teeth. The calf was trying to bite me. Grandpa told me that he had traded that “yappy dog” (perhaps a bleedthrough from the Scooby Doo meets Courage the Cowardly Dog commercial on Cartoon Network), one of the calves, and his “son” on a treadmill for cash. The “son,” a transient Grandpa had picked up somewhere for odd ranching jobs, said, “Oh, you’ve found another son?”

I haven’t been sleeping well lately. It’s because it’s already too damn hot, and it’s only the middle of May. August is going to be hell.

So when I woke up sometime between four and five, I grabbed a pen and a piece of scrap paper from beside my bed and scribbled notes.

There were severe foundation problems at my parents’ house in Newton. I went to take a relaxing bath, but the bathtub was breaking apart. The end with the drain had broken, and I could see earthworms crawling around, just begging me to turn on the water. I went upstairs and Craig Kilborn (I misspelled his last name in my notes–ooh, what could that symbolize? Go, Freud, go.) was leaning back in a recliner, some girl drink (perhaps a mai-tai?) in hand (umbrella and all). “Please, call me Kilby after 5. Of course, I’m not here all that often after 5.” I said, “We’ll make you a banner” announcing the rules for when the use of “Kilby” was appropriate.

I have no damn idea what “R’s cabin to 7″ means, although Lael says it sounds like a chess move. It does, but I wasn’t dreaming about chess. I guarantee that. I do vaguely remember the crowd of Native American kids (see how I’m unconsciously, or subconsciously, politically correct?) and I know I uttered “I have to get a hamburger for Lori.” But I have no idea how those connect.

Again, I have a vague recollection of the “rap wedding” and Juvenile kissing someone (not me). Perhaps Lil’ Kim got married. Who knows?

I REALLY wish I knew what “the whole serial murder thing” was, but I know that when I woke up momentarily that I thought there would be no possible way I could forget it. I did. Perhaps someone was plotting to kill Rosie O’Donnell. “I guess we need to close the door,” was said by me after I/we found the body.

I didn’t scan the two phrases I wrote on the back, but there was something about a “poor repair job.” This may be connected to the foundation problems mentioned above. The phrase “all the silver is broken” kept repeating in my head too.

I don’t know if taking notes is such a good thing, because I’ve spent all day obsessing about what “the whole serial murder thing–Rosie O’Donnell” was.

I got lost on one of Grandpa’s farms, and I had to find my way back. The farm was flooded, but the waters had been stagnant for a while. I found two cross streets, Lebanon and Lakelong, and then I made it to the barn, a metal structure with two regular doors on the front facade. Duchess, Grandpa’s dog from my childhood, was locked up in the barn. I checked on her, but left her in there, assuming Grandpa had left her there for a reason.