I don't typically sleep soundly enough to dream. Or at least remember if I have. My mind is usually too busy turning over bits from the day behind me and the one ahead. This is one reason, I've been dabbling in meditation over the last few months. I hope if I quiet my mind of the static, it can find it's proper frequency. I have a friend who has the most amazing adventures in her dreams. I think if I was going to be jealous of something, that ability is on my list.
Over the last few nights I've actually dreamed and remembered.
The first dream was about my sister telling me she didn't want Sweets around her boys anymore because he was teaching them about democracy. She called him a "democracy winger." I got indignant and stormed off saying she could cut me off, too. If you know my sister, the possibility of this happening is actually feasible. So this dream was hilarious and truthful to me.
The second dream was wild. I was told I was nominated for a supporting actress award for a film I worked on. This wasn't for an Oscar or Golden Globe. It was some New York based award that my mind conjured. In any event, I knew I had been nominated but I'd never received an invitation, save the date, etc. (Does Jack Nicholson get one every year for the Oscars or does he just know to show up? Hmm. Hollywood insiders, help me out.). Suddenly a limo pulls up in front of the house and out walks Mickey Rourke. In the dream, we know each other casually. He's taken it upon himself to come fetch me when he saw I wasn't at the awards ceremony. So here it is, about 7:45 pm in NJ and I should already be at a fancy red carpet event in New York City. I rush to the closet trying to find something, anything, to wear. The choices are meager for this type of thing. I'm simply fresh out of ballgowns. I opt for my trusty Liz Claiborne cocktail dress, that has seen me through countless awards ceremonies of various press photography associations, put on some uncomfortable shoes and a vintage hat from the 30's with red feathers and a little black veil. I figured, if I'm going to get walloped in the press for my outfit, I'd try to bait them with an odd hat and pull the attention from my off the rack dress and my ample rack and booty. I call Sweets to tell him I'm off to the show with Mickey Rourke and he becomes concerned because, hey, we've seen 9 1/2 Weeks and know how freaky the dude can be. So, I hold the phone and sternly tell Mickey in the limo, "Don't try any of that 9 1/2 Weeks shit on me." He promises not to. And really, the man's had sexy scenes with Kim Bassinger and Marisa Tomei, I'm sure he can do better than my chubby, suburban fare. I don't remember anything about being at the ceremony besides being rushed in by some photographers. Mickey is good at shielding me from the press in his white suit. Next thing I know, we are in his apartment. I'm sitting by myself and start to feel uncomfortable. I realize there is a menacing entity in the room. I can feel it's presence and see a white formation of energy. When Mickey comes in and sits down next to me, I blurt out, "do you know you have a mean ghost in here?"
He looks shocked and then relieved, turning closer to me and whispering incredulously, "You see him, too?
Ghosts, glamour, celebrities, fashion, all in one dream! I guess if my brain is going to them out; this was a pretty jam packed dream.
Any dream analyzers out there? What do you think?
Any dreamers? What's your latest wild dream?
oh I love a good wacky dream! I'm glad you're experiencing them.
Posted by: lisa | Saturday, April 18, 2009 at 05:34 AM