Sometimes, during my sleeping hours, I experience a dream or two before I wake up. Mostly, I don’t remember my dreams. They just drift in and out of my awareness and then they are gone forever. Maybe, they are remembered in some part of my brain. I have no idea where. Done and gone…. This is an OK thing……
I often tell Mr. Dave about these kinds of dreams, especially if he was present in the dream. I like to share this kind of information with him. I’m almost certain that Mr. Dave wants to know when I dream about him…..
Mr. Dave always listens somewhat patiently when I report to him on what I dreamed about. Mr. Dave is used to dealing with my nattering away about stuff. He tries not to roll his eyes heavenwards or overly mock me about how oddly my mind works. He just accepts it. Why fight what you can’t fix?
This is my most recently remembered dream:
It started with me performing a normal morning kitchen task. I’m standing at the kitchen sink rinsing dishes and putting them into the dish washer. I’m seriously grumping about a certain relative who never ever rinses out his milk glass. Thus, I’m trying to squrch a wet, soapy sponge down into the bottom of a glass to eradicate the dried on milk ring. A spurt of soapy water hits me in the right eye and I hop around for a time, trying to wipe burning soap out of my eye while using some standard profanity defaming the milk ring perp’s parentage…….
It’s at this point in my dream state that I realize I must be dreaming. This is because the interior of our house has grown quite odd. Odd as in I am not inside our house the way our house normally looks. Odd as in our house isn’t a house any more. It has morphed into a large, round, hut with a thatched roof, wood floor, and a huge stone fireplace where the couch used to be. I don’t seem to find this change upsetting at all. I continue to sip my tea and watch Judge Judy yell at people……
One of the cats, I believe it was Walker, enters the living room, jumps onto my lap, and begins to watch Judge Judy with me. Like me, Walker enjoys watching Judge Judy scold the idiot humans……
The front door opens and in walks Mr. Dave. He’s returning from a typical day of work, or at least that’s what my dream self felt he was returning from. I don’t divert my sight from the television screen to confirm that it’s Mr. Dave entering our hut. I just know it’s him……
Walker’s exit from the scene startles me, and I turn towards the doorway intending to ask Mr. Dave if he saw what just happened. Even in my dream state, I’m completely aware that cats do not generally disappear in a poof of colored smoke…..
This is when the dream became so bizarre that I know I must have snickered in my sleep. How could I not?
Mr. Dave enters our hut, slamming the door behind him. I don’t utter a word about his rude, door slamming behavior, however, because Mr. Dave’s clothing shocks me silent…….
Mr. Dave isn’t dressed in his usual go-to-work attire. Gone are the bib overalls, baseball cap, and western shirt. Instead, there is my Mr. Dave looking like a chubby, cute Gandolf complete with pointy deep blue wizard hat scattered with gold sparkly stars and half moons, and a long, grey, woolly, too long bathrobe tied in the middle with a jump rope.
Yep, I said jump rope. The ends of the jump rope still had the cherry red wooden handles attached. The rest of his outfit consisted of his Sponge Bob Square Pants pajama bottoms and a pair of Jesus sandals………
This outfit didn’t register with me as too terribly odd for the moment. In Mr. Dave’s left hand was a tall bamboo staff. The staff was curved at the top exactly like the staff Little Bo Peep uses……
Before I can utter a word about disappearing cats, Mr. Dave reopens the door, leans out to glare in the direction of our driveway, and then straightens up and slams the door shut so forcefully that a fine mist of dusty thatchy stuff rains down on the room. I quickly cover the top of my tea mug with my hand to keep the dusty thatchy stuff from getting into my tea.
“Jeez!” I say. “Did you have to slam the door so darn hard!”
Mr. Dave ignores my words and begins grumping about our stupid neighbors parking their chariots in our driveway yet again….
“Dressed like that?” I say.
“Yep, you got a problem with what I’m wearing?” Mr. Dave asks as he leans his staff against the wall and proceeds to the hall closet to rummage through it looking for his bowling stuff.
The door bell rings just as Mr. Dave locates his bowling bag. He walks over to the front door and opens it. In walks five of his friends. They are all dwarves.
Yep, yep, yep…. Some of them look cartoonish, some of them look like extras from The Hobbit movie, and all of them were carrying bowling bags.
“Come on in fellas, Mr. Dave says to them. “I just gotta use the rest room and then we can go.”
The dwarves enter our hut and stand in the foyer waiting for Mr. Dave. They smile politely at me and nod, and I return the favor. I am polite, it seems, even in my dream state……
The sound of a flushing toilet heralds the return of Mr. Dave to the scene.
“What time will you be home?” I ask him.
“As long as it takes for the hobbits and me to bowl three games a piece,” is Mr. Dave’s response.
I am confused. Those are not hobbits huddled in a clump in the rustic foyer of our hut, they are dwarves.
“You mean dwarves,” I say. Those are dwarves, not hobbits.”
“Hell if they are,” says Mr. Dave. Those are hobbits!”
I feel myself becoming somewhere between irked and all out irritated with Mr. Dave.
“They are dwarves!” I say.
“Hobbits! He insists.
“Are you guys dwarves or hobbits?” I ask our guests.
“Now that’s just damn rude!” Mr. Dave speaks in a snotty know-it-all tone of voice that shoots my irkdome up a couple of notches towards all out miffed as a grumpy dragon. “You don’t ask folks what they are.
“What are you,” I ask them again, “Dwarves or hobbits?”
“You don’t have to answer her!” Mr. Dave tells them.
“Yes you do!” I tell them. I am now openly glaring at Mr. Dave, daring him to counter my words.
The dwarves are all looking extremely uncomfortable. They glance from Mr.Dave to me. It is obvious they don’t feel comfortable answering my question.
“Let’s just go fellas,” says Mr. Dave shooting a glare of irritation in my direction.
The dwarves all look relieved and the one who is closest to the door nob reaches for it.
“Stop right there, shorty!” I demand loudly. “No one leaves this hut until I get answers!”
The dwarves stop. The one that had his hand on the door nob pulls it off of the nob. They all look up, staring at Mr. Dave, silently begging for guidance as to what to do next….
“Oh for cripes sake, woman!” Mr. Dave grumbles. “Dwarves, hobbits, munchkins. What the hell difference does it make? I just want to go bowling!”
“It makes a difference!” I insist.
“Well, get over it!” says Mr. Dave.
Mr. Dave’s response, pushes me over the edge of polite behavior and I grab the first dwarf I can get hold of. I believe it was one of the cartoonish ones. I don’t remember for sure, however.
What I do remember is an anguished shriek of dwarfish pain which was highly pitched. I pulled that poor little guy upwards by the hair, or, it might have been by his beard. When he was eye level with me, I asked, “Dwarf or hobbit?”
“Dwarf!” the poor little mite screeched. “I’m a dwarf, you bitch!”
I released the dwarf and felt a shameful smugness when his small body hit the floor with a hard, painful sounding “THUMP!” My dream self rejoiced in committing such a violent act. I felt a rush of adrenalin zip through my mind. It felt good to be mean…..
“I cannot believe what you just did!” Mr. Dave yelled. “You probably killed him!”
“Probably, I did!” I say. “And it’s all your fault!”
“How can it be my fault?” asks Mr. Dave. “You are the one who killed him, not me! I was just going bowling with him, for cripes sake!”
“I cannot believe you,” I say to Mr. Dave. “It’s all your fault for the simple reason that you couldn’t just admit you were wrong about your little bowling buddies being dwarves and not hobbits!”
“Well, Hell,” Mr. Dave mutters, dropping his bowling bag to the floor and pulling out his cell phone. “I suppose I gotta call 911. Then, I’ll have to call a damn lawyer for you. That’s gonna cost bucks. Then I gotta call your sister; and she’s gonna want to know what in the heck was going on here. Thanks a lot for ruining my bowling day!”
“You’re welcome,” I smirk.
I look towards the doorway expecting to see a group of upset dwarves huddled over the dead body of their bowling buddy. But there is nothing there….
The dwarves have all disappeared. I don’t know where they went, but I feel relieved. I was relieved because I had obviously murdered a dwarf, but there was no evidence of it. No dead body, no splotch of smushed dwarf needing to be scraped off the floor, nothing to prove dwarves had ever been in our hut. Another burst of adrenalin zipped through my mind. I had got away with dwarf murder in my dream and it felt fabulous……..
A microsecond later I woke up. My dream was over, and it had been an odd one. Odd enough that I hoped I’d remember it so I could share it in the morning with Mr. Dave and get his thoughts on the subject……
If you, like Mr. Dave, find the interpretation of dreams interesting, there are zillions of websites available to increase your knowledge on the subject. Here are a few sites I found that deal with the topic of dream interpretation:
Dream Moods online dream interpretation dictionary.
Dreamforth, you can type in a word describing something that occurred in your dream and the search engine will bring up what that dream image may mean.
Dream Central, has everything you ever wanted to know about dream interpretation and dreaming in general.
Wikipedia has a huge amount of info on a number of dream related topics. Wikipedia never lets me down.
Wouldn’t you just guess that YouTube has a bunch of videos on dreaming and dream interpretation! Here is my favorite vlogger on dreaming,
Layne Dalfen. Layne has several videos on dream interpretation. Really interesting.
Happy dreams to you all, peoples……