Well, despite having a few followers, I mostly still feel like this is a glorified diary and record of dreams. Which, if “all” it was was a record of my dreams, it’s existence would be validated — but right now I’m going to briefly use it more as a diary for a moment.
My wife and I are having difficulties. In as far as it is up to me, I would like to reconcile and work on them, however it isn’t really up to me. This is my second marriage, so in the daytime, I am morbidly worried and saddened. For the last week, I’ve had to take sleep aid and melatonin to get any rest. The stress levels, added with the supplements I’m taking to sleep, have caused me some strange dream side-effects.
The first dream I can remember having after being informed of my wife’s grievances, involved my meeting Jack Nicholson. It was in a small restaurant (possibly a pizza joint) with small/medium tables. We were both drinking beers and having small talk. I kept telling myself to play it cool and not spoke him as a fan, and he was totally chill. I wanted some kind of proof for friends later, however, but didn’t want to snap photos of him with my phone. The only thing I could come up with was saving his beer bottle after we were done, which in retrospect doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, unless I was going to get a DNA swab later on. As we got up, Jack paid for our drinks and offered me the change.
Later that night, I remember waking up and falling back to sleep. The dreams I had then were much more upsetting, where I was conscious of my situation and crying within my dreams.
Then a night or two ago, I became aware that I was dreaming, with little to no trigger or reality checks. I wondered the strange, angular dark city within my dream with a nonchalance that came with deep down knowing my real life was going badly. I flew up sides of black and grey buildings, across a shadowy beach that crashed against the coast of the city. I even had trouble maintaining flight, but was in the least bit anxious about falling from the sky into the ocean. I just let it envelope me, which transferred me into another dream.
In that dream, I was still lucid, and still wondering this city. But now there were people. Not overly angry or sadistic, I engaged a few street thugs to blow off a bit of steam and to experience something a bit more tactile. After that, I moved on wishing the dream would never end.
Then later than night, I dreamt that my brother was driving me on the back of a motorcycle to my ex-wife’s. I really didn’t want to have to go there, and kept wondering how I pass the time when I do visit (in reality, I haven’t spoken with my ex-wife in eight years, let alone visited “her place”). She had an overly excitable basset hound in the dream, and I “remembered” that playing with the stupid, fat dog was about all I did when I came by. Interestingly, this dream triggered the memory that my wife (then girlfriend) did in fact own a basset hound when we first met (21 years ago) and for many years later. I had not consciously thought about that dog (Patches) in what feels like at least a decade. She, and later we, had cats — and the fact that she had this dog had completely slipped my memory.
When I say down and entertained the dog, I noticed everyone had left and it was just my ex and I. There was a giant television set, playing a strange Japanese cultural event I didn’t understand. It was a bit like some extreme cake-making show, meets a morbid effigy pageant. An enormous cake/life model of a fat man was being parading out. Crowds began cutting into “him” and pulling out sausages and containers with fluids, tossing them to and fro. Soon I began to realize that the room we were in was becoming a mess from the vivisection of this giant cake man, and frosting and cake, amongst other more nasty things, were being toss about the large open room. My ex wife and I were embarrassed, because we had realized that we had partaken in this slaughter, and even were enjoying ourselves, together, and that once people came back home, they would see what we had done, together, and judge us. We laid, partially holding each other, chuckling nervously about our situation.
I got up and walked outside for a second to see if people were coming home, and to prepare how I was going to tell them that my ex-wife and I had made this mess and yes, enjoyed it. I went back inside, resolute that we had turned some sort of emotional page, but upon reentering, I saw that the mess was miraculously cleaned up and that there was no need to explain anything to anyone. I very saddened and disappointed by this.