Ooops, I accidentally wrote a letter to a stranger before I wrote a letter to my dreams. How dare I, really? I wonder if I am supposed to write a letter to my dreams (my hopes and aspirations) or to my dreams (those things that happen while I sleep). I am not feeling too serious, so I will go ahead and write a letter to my nocturnal musings. Really...I am skirting the issue...I will write a post about dreams.
There was a short period of time when I wanted to be one of those people who interprets dreams. I was fascinated by them. Then, there was this old guy, Robert, who had some connection (I have no idea what) to my dorm in college. He would show up from time to time, wearing his big, black shoes and his too-thin tie, and this man could spin a tale about dreams that I had never witnessed before. He had books and history and psychology mumbo-jumbo attached to all of his analysis. I thought he was just a little bit crazy, but I loved him. I don't remember the names of most of the people on my floor in college, but I remember Robert, the dream-chaser.
I hate how dreams drift away. The details become fuzzy, and unless you have someone to share them with almost immediately, they inevitably disappear, if you remembered them in the first place. I have always wondered how much dreams mean. Like, why do some seem so real? Why do some seem so deranged? Why do some repeat themselves? Why do the visuals often not match up to the presumed reality of the characters? Why am I in the dream sometimes and watching myself sometimes? Color? Black and white? People I know? People I have never seen? It's all a little wacky, really.
I remember a vivid dream I had in elementary school. I was re-telling it to a friend, and right after I got to the part where the person (another friend) apologized for being cruel in the dream, the other friend came up and apologized for being cruel in real life. I almost wet my pants.
Speaking of wetting my pants, I remember one time (in...seventh grade...), I dreamed about a new holiday: National Pee Day. And everyone had the freedom to pee wherever they wanted all day long. I woke up to a pee-soaked bed.
I remember I used to dream about driving a car (before I drove cars) that got larger and larger as the dream progressed. And it would drive on the walls (yes, walls) of the interstate, and I couldn't see anything. It was terrifying. I had this dream a lot.
I remember I dreamed that I screamed at my students because they wouldn't stop laughing at me. I was trying to teach class, and they just laughed and laughed. I was incensed. Like, rip your hair out, total loss of control. Really, it was just my alarm clock that was set with a laughing ringtone. (A similar situation has happened on MANY occasions...almost always dealing with students...isn't that weird? It is as if they are trying to get me to wake up or something.)
There are more, but I will stop.
I definitely think there are aspects of life that we will never understand, maybe we aren't meant to understand. Deja vu (no idea how to spell and punctuate that correctly), middle school, the grief process, people's capacity for evil, dreams, etc. It seems impossible that symbols mean the same thing in one person's dream as another. I just can't believe that our sub-consciences work out issues with the same symbolism and imagery. Maybe our dreams are a chance for our brains to imagine without our self-editing tools kicking in. I wonder if the dreams of children are less vivid because their imaginations are turned on so much more during waking hours. Who knows? I don't think about this often, but I was told to write a letter to my dreams.
Love Always,
Jacqui
PS. Hopes and dreams, umm...I want a room wallpapered with postcards. I want to go to Africa and Greece. I want to build/have/make a photography studio and learn how to take pictures better. Ehhh, I want so much. Namely, right now, I want fair food, so I will be driving to Lafayette and enjoying pulled pork, corn on the cob, and a funnel cake tonight.
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