For Dream Interpreters

I had a number of disturbing dreams over the past week that I am concerned portend some imminent crisis, or at least inconvenient period, in my life. Something of the sort is bound to happen someday.


Friday night I was reportedly thrashing about and screaming like a sissyboy in my sleep. I have no memory of this dream however and only heard about it in the morning when I woke up.


I don't remember the content of Saturday night's dream either, only that I was somehow tethered to my mother with no possibility of escape and I woke up in a kind of terrified rage where it took me a minute to realize that I was far away and in my own house where I have lived for 20 years, the existence of which life I had evidently forgotten about in the dream.


Then on Sunday night I had two vivid and bizarre dreams.


In the first dream I was going with my three younger children to the old Yankee Stadium in New York (It was doubtless the old one because, one, I am sure that is the one that exists in my subconscious, and also its walls were the cracked concrete covered with blue and red lead paint that brings to mind the decaying world of my 1970s childhood). Yankee legend Phil Rizzuto (who has been dead for about twenty years), in his Money Store-era incarnation, was waiting by one of these walls under a harsh bare bulb to greet us and take us to our seats, which were at the very top row of the stadium. Indeed to get to the top level we had to climb up a rickety ladder several of the wooden steps of which were loose, on which we were, by the third step (of about eight) also in danger of falling over a low fence all the way from the top of the stadium to the ground. Also at the top of the ladder we had to pull ourselves over another low but tricky wall to finally get into the stadium again. All of this with children of 9,7, and 3 years old (Phil Rizzuto did not accompany us on the climb). Of course not getting on the ladder was not an option. Needless to say it was very nerve-wracking, and when my little boy was struggling to get over the final wall at the top--as a stadium attendant curiously looked on without helping--was the point when I woke up. I will add that scary as it was on the ladder, it did afford a gorgeous view of New York City, probably the 1950s version of it, on a clear and not overly humid day, albeit almost certainly from a much higher vantage than the stadium actually is, because the bridges were far below where we were climbing.

I interpreted this dream as meaning either: I was about to die and something like this was a preview of my entering the afterlife; or, that I had taken on more than I could deal with of late, and was not going to be able to ascend to the relative sanctuary of the upper deck, especially bringing everyone else along with me. This seems the more likely explanation at present.

In the other dream I was hanging out at a Chili's restaurant (I was last at a Chili's restaurant sometime around 2003, I think) when a trio of girls, not notably gorgeous, but young (around 25ish), with normal body weights, long hair, and wearing distinctly feminine jackets and skirts, suddenly accosted me, and one of them, who was giggling kind of insanely, pulled me to her and kissed me aggressively on the mouth for about 15 seconds. Needless to say, I thought the lucky night I had been waiting for all my life had finally arrived, for nothing like this has ever actually happened to me. At the end of this kiss however she drew back and proceeded to regurgitate fourteen bottle caps covered in yellow goo, gave one more chortle that was more insane than wicked, and ran away again. Figuring that, exciting as that had been, it was probably the end of it, I sat back down at my table and tried to look as if I regarded such events as routine in my life. Then an older man, apparently the father of this girl who kissed me, came up to me and asked me if I had any degrees as if he were vetting me as a potential son-in-law. After hesitating for what seemed a decent amount of time and attempting to deflect the question I admitted to having gotten a B.A. "a long time ago." He observed that he expected I was some kind of intellectual type, seeing as I lacked "vascular structure" which I am sure is either impossible or a nonsense expression, though it sounds insulting enough to be told this. This guy was not exactly projecting a ton of vascular structure himself, being rather small and slight, with a bald dome and gray hair and beard rather in the style of Solzhenitsyn. However he seemed to like me well enough, and he handed me his business card, which revealed his profession to be that of an undertaker. At this point I noticed my wife and some of my children seated in a booth on the far side of the room, of course became concerned that my behavior had been observed, etc, and the whole dream fell apart.

Solzhenitsyn (1918-2008) and Rizzuto (1917-2007) were exact contemporaries who led nearly parallel long lives




I really don't know what this one means other than the obvious desire for something--anything-- interesting and exciting to ever happen in my life again. Every day now is an endless routine of chores and dealing with difficult behavior and trying not to spend money, and I can't travel and I can't really even go to any of the many interesting places within an hour or two of my house anymore if they are going to cost anything. I am not exactly unhappy, and if I have all of the underutilized cognitive ability that I believe I have I certainly have ample opportunity to demonstrate some of it in the upbringing of my family and in my workplace and in figuring out other possible ways to increase my income, and I am not able to do so, so I have to assume I am at my proper level for the most part. The inexorableness of it all gets to me sometimes though.


Once the weekend ended I was evidently so tired by the time I went to bed Monday and Tuesday that I slept so hard that I retained no memory of any dreams at all.