Strange Dreams

A blast from the past:

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Date: Fri, 24 Oct 2003 09:25:46 -0400 (EDT)
So this morning I woke up after having one of the most vivid dreams I've ever had -- and you lucky people are going to have to plow through the strange strange visions I had this morning. I suppose the writing could do with some kind of structure instead of being a single long run-on paragraph but it was written with my eyes shut so that I wouldn't lose my memories of the dream.

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I dreamt i was in my old house, 91 Chun Tin Road, running in late by 10 minutes for a meeting -- a _crucial meeting_ with Bloomberg. All the lights are off in the living room and there are benches everywhere with a a projector showing the new Bloomberg modelling GUI. Dave Lakshmanan is showing the GUI off and so I sit down in the crowded dark wooden benches next to someone, and promptly fall asleep. And when I'm asleep I dream that my hands are moving the mouse on the screen... and when the presentation is over, Jim Driscoll drags me to one side and says "don't you _EVER_ come for another meeting and fall asleep and talk really loudly
in your sleep. To which Rich Shriver's voice drifts in from off stage saying "I didn't need to hear that!" And then I go outside to the driveway, among the orangey tiles to change clothes into my army pants and a black Cobra T-shirt, and as I'm changing I look at the window and see that on the back side of the bookshelf placed smack up against the window, there are these land lobsters growing. Not small ones, but genuine horrors the size of your arm; and when I go back into the house to gibber at the Bloomberg cleaning staff, they ignore me until I've sat down for lunch with Kim and have finished eating -- what else -- a lobster; we get up to go upstairs to discuss something in the computer room and all of a sudden these giant lobsters emerge from hiding behind the bookshelves and converge on the leavings _finally_ prompting Bloomberg staff to come around and exterminate them all. So I escape upstairs and am busy picking out another
set of clothes and preparing to change clothes before my inevitable chewing out with Shriver when Andrea Gotelli pops his head (and just his head -- there is no body that I can see) across the window from the balcony and starts going in on one of his long rants about how life is treating him like crap, to the accompaniment of me folding clothes -- all the clothes I've ever owned somehow seem to be inside my old ceiling to floor closet, from which I'm drawing them and putting them back. The only thing I can really remember Andrea saying besides a general slagging of the Spanish, and how everyone are so stupid for loving red wine (which can't be the real Andrea) is how the only decent wines in the world come from the East Coast of France... And so as I'm folding clothes, I come across yet another fucking lobster which this time seems to want a piece of me. I run away, get the Bloomberg staff to swear they'll take care of it, then cross the hallway into the old bathroom. But when I open the door, it's not my old single tub bathroom after all -- it's this gigantic, GIGANTIC palatial room which sould have come out from Versailles, with mirror and gilding and chandeliers everywhere, and an incongruous single person bathtub that happens to be smack up against the only window in the room. Admittedly it's a very nice bathtub which has gold taps and is already drawn and waiting for an occupant so I skin down and get in (after checking for lobsters) and start a nice long soak. Only to be awoken by this annoying Upper East Side matron (not really, since the only one I know is a very very nice lady, but you know the stereotype) who walks in with who else but Yishen and Julia, showing them around the place throwing a sales pitch. It's hilarious -- the matron is saying something about how one can install a speaker next to the bath tub to page other people in the
house to which I respond what's wrong with raising the voice to which she says something like "In a 20 room apartment one can only shout so far." And so after more banter, I get up out of the bath (whch miraculously parts to let me rise up dry and clothed to talk to Yishen and Julia, trying to find out what they're doing here in what I thought was my remodeled bathroom (hey, in dreams anything may happen) to which we open one of the six doors in the room and walk out past the sole porcelain and gold inlaid sink, out into a long corridor on the side of the sides of an atrium, the column of light which is being let down stretching as far above and below as the eye can see, with occasional flickers of movement at the bottom. So we walk along the corridor, catching up (for apparently we haven't seen each other in forever) and I find that we're somewhere in the 40's in New York because Julia says it's only 70 blocks to go up to Columbia. And then we've traversed the corridor and are in a long hallway that again stretches as far as the eye can see on both sides, full of people but none of the foot traffic at _all_ affecting this thick plush white carpeting. So we enter this door offset from the hallway and apparently are in this bedroom, which is filled with boxes, but which is draped with this incredibley thick yet beauiful silk brocade, _everywhere_ on the tall 16 foot ceilings. And there's two beds, which have never been used in this room, and one other door, into which we go and there's yet _more_ draperie, which I didn't believe possible, and everything is painfully Louis XIV. And this is where I wake up.

1 1/2 hours to dream it, 20 minutes to write it, 1 full day to be freaked out about it.
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Perhaps I should have slept more and dreamt less...