Starting to Dream Again

Mar 12, 2008 - 22:23 PM PST

I started this dream log a long long time ago. It first started off as hand-written and I moved into the modern world and started publishing it online, for my eyes only. I do wish to have a collection of them published one day, but here's a taste. Lately my dreams haven't been that metaphysical or socially aware like my one about the Iraq war before there was a war. Ooo, creepy, I know, but here goes... My latest entries:



January 27, 2008

Dream Log #00001:

"Chocolate"

I was at this unknown mall somewhere searching for a gift. I wasn't sure to get them. I think it was for my sister. All the stores looked exaggerated and signs overdone but falling apart. At the end of the mall was a ramp leading to a Hershey's Chocolaterie store. But when I entered, I ended up outside at what looked like a barn and farmer's market. The first stall had cows in it and hay everywhere in the courtyard behind me. Up front was fruit rotting in the sun. I was looking for chocolate under the fruit but there was nothing. There was no one there to sell the fruit. At the other side of the courtyard, was the actual Hershey's Chocolaterie. I never made it there but thought about how yummy the chocolates would've been. I imagined them being placed in a red box. I could taste them in my mouth.

Analysis: Maybe it has to do with Valentine's Day? Towards the end of the dream, it's was like I was day-dreaming within the dream. Could be a kind of observation of the decay of the Economy or Commercialism, the mall being somewhat of a Ghost town. I was the only person there and I was trying to shop there. The mall was dead and I was the only one alive besides the live stalk.

Dream Log #00002:

"Hostess"

I found myself in a dimly lit, five star restaurant. I asked someone if I could have a job and they instantly gave me one as a server. Immediately on the job, an entire family of Africans comes in. I ask nervously if they have a reservation. The main Maître d' training me, a short fat stereotypical Italian man, perks up and address the guests with the highest regard and by the father's first name______. Apparently the Africans were important rich customers. I grabbed five menus fidgeting as I directed them to a table. Nothing was open except a large banquet-sized table with a bright canary yellow table cloth and a giant reserve sign already on it. The Maître d' motions that this table would be okay and I place the menus on the table's far left end. I ask them what they want to drink but only the fatherly figure answers. He requests an Absolute Citron Martini and a Midori sour. I look to my hands and I have no notepad to write on. I tell the Maître d' what the African man wanted confusing what the names of the drinks were. The Maître d' takes care of it.

Analysis: I'm anxious about getting a new job. I know how to do it, but I'm not prepared. I'm intimidated by the big black unknown. The one that holds my money in their hands. The one who's going to allow me to make a living. My future and my career is unknown to me.