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I had laryngitis in my dream. I don’t recall the situation, though. Maybe I was talking in my sleep?
I packed a huge lunch for myself (with pickles and cheese), and I walked out the door headed to high school. Unfortunately for me, my mom had decided that I must bike to school while my brothers and father took the cars. Now, that would never really happen as my school was several miles of fast-driving road away, but nonetheless.
I hadn’t anticipated this wrinkle, so I got a late start. To make things worse, I got as far as two blocks from my house when I realized I had forgotten a helmet. Helmets are the law in that state, and I wasn’t about to get pulled over. Or hit by a semi without one. It was already 8:32, on top of that, as I was an incredibly slow biker on an ancient vehicle.
I turned back. Others along the bike route did too, but they were being pursued by a gunman. Road rager or something. We ended up back at my parents’ place on foot.
I can’t remember what happens next. I do recall another dream involving the appearance of long-legged, enormous bugs. Don’t know what happened next as I woke with a gasp.
I was a last-minute substitution in a Formula One-style race crossed with track and luge. We had staggered starting positions (like a running race) and the track ahead had loops and curves (like luge . . . or maybe Hot Wheels).
My vehicle was definitely on the crappy side. It was practically made out of burlap, as I recall. I don’t remember why I was racing it, but one of my brothers was involved with getting me loaded in and started.
And I needed that help, for sure, as I nearly fell asleep lying on the track waiting for the two minutes to pass until the signal came for us to get in and get going. When I was roused, I felt too sleepy and leaden to move into the car setup so I’d be ready to start.
Incidentally, I’ve read that the reason I so often feel leaden when attempting movement in dreams is that when you go to sleep the part of your brain that controls movement somehow makes you effectively paralyzed so you won’t, you know, actually start running away when you are running in a dream. That made me feel better about all the dreams I’ve had over the years when I’m trying to run and it feels like I’m pushing through Jell-o.
Last night’s dreaming mostly involved some sort of action-adventure conspiracy story with hints of the show Lost (I’m sure so many men out there wish they could borrow my brain at night), but only two details in particular stand out in memory.
One was that at some point in the action, one of my team turned on the gas in an oven in our basement hideout/prison in hopes of triggering an explosion when the bad guys next fired their guns at (unknown to them, escaped) us. Sort of kawhoosh, like when the lighter on your stovetop doesn’t catch at first and you better back up from the burner for when it does. This plan had no success though, merely leaving us in a jam as to who would brave all that gas to go in and shut off the oven after the bad guys, having smelled the gas, hightailed it out of there.
The other was that this basement thing was also a large library, a warehouse-style store, and a depository of pizza. Much of my extended family was down there with me, where we spent part of the time looking for books and signing up for library cards, which built up an appetite. No need to cook, as, like I mentioned, there were pizza boxes stacked as far as the eye could see. Of all different varieties, too: I got not only pepperoni, but also a cream sauce pizza and a pesto-y herb pizza for my munching.
Makes me kind of hungry. No, I did not eat my pillow.
There’s a children’s book being written, about which Disney will be producing a movie or one of their TV series. They are casting for the roles of three children at the center of the story, who are writing their own book in the book. Disney has decided that they will choose either all girls or all boys.
A group of child actors has shown up for the audition, and they are upset at hearing that Disney only wants a quick tape of each one showing a few facial expressions. They argue with the casting people, especially a teenage blond girl who insists that Disney should give the actors the opportunity to show them why they have what it takes for the role. The casting directors do not agree.
The actors are herded into a classroom where they will be read the storybook. One character in the book is a man who is sensitive about being asked about the experience that made him famous, being a castaway, because he feels like that’s all that defines him anymore, but the child authors want to hear about it. The reader in the dream shifts between being that character in the beginning and being me.
The actors are unruly during the reading. Halfway through, the reader takes a break as one of the casting directors chooses to highlight and explain one bit of the story, telling the actors what they’re looking for here. Then the director realizes that the reader isn’t around — in fact, the reader has gone across the parking lot to get a drink. The director doesn’t realize this, though, figuring the reader is at the bathroom or something, and starts singing “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” to kill time. The reader somehow hears this and knows to come back. The director finishes the song, the actors mill about, and he consults with the other casting directors about where the reader went just as the reader walks in and heads straight for the front of the room again.
Now’s when the reader becomes more like a teacher disciplinarian. She yells for order, though her voice can barely be heard above the racket of chatting actors. When they do not come back to sit in a quiet and orderly way, she stops them, then demands they do it right over again, sitting as she calls them with hands folded and mouths quiet. She reminds them that the Disney people are watching and that they should be trying to impress them. Will the Disney people want to hire the actors if they see now that they can’t take direction?
The actors are a little too dramatic and self-centered performers, though, and while they might try to restrain themselves, most can’t manage it. Blond girl especially is still trying to protest through a hand in the air for a question when she should be ready to hear the reading, and one boy (reminiscent of an old students) can’t stop chatting, despite the looks of the Disney people reinforcing the reader.
After that, the dream starts to go crazy with actor kids running amok in a place reminiscent of Costco. I remember in particular one actor, the younger sister of the blond girl, using a copier on display to make hundreds of color copies of her head shot that she sent flying around the store.
I also dreamed a great deal of dangerous driving (these are the sort of frequent dreams that lead me to confuse dreams with memories and fuel my fears of car accidents stemming from difficult-to-control vehicles). There was a concert in one dream, I think featuring the Smashing Pumpkins. We left it halfway through to get drinks and snacks (maybe there was an intermission?) and had trouble getting back in — the people at the door insisted on seeing not just the tickets but also the stickers we had been given on the way in as proof that these were our tickets. I had left my sticker in the car, thinking it was unimportant, but a companion managed to come up with a second one so I could go in.
There was also some point in my dreams that involved going to a convenience store that offered a wide variety of Icees (Slurpees, to those of you who grew up in 7-Eleven territory). My little brother Zach was with me. He tried one mystery flavor, and I tried another. They were both pretty tasty, though I can’t remember now what the flavors turned out to be.
Overall, it was a seriously active night in my head.
