There is a bizarre disconnect that happens when you (apparently) remember every single dream you had over the course of one night.
Disclaimer: I don’t know if that’s actually what happened to me Tuesday evening–I don’t know how dreams work.
But by the second time I woke up exhausted and confused by the batch of dreams I’d just had and remembered, I remember thinking, Okay. That’s it. There can’t possibly be more of them.
And then I went back to sleep, and had, I swear, more.
I don’t know why I had double-digits dreams on Tuesday night, but I do know there are a few factors that might have contributed to it:
- I finally got my sleeping schedule in order that night. Went to sleep around 12am and woke up at 10am.
- I ate right before bed. I know–terrible. But I was that level of hungry where I just wouldn’t have been able to fall asleep if I didn’t have something.
- A-a-a-a-and melatonin. As a man who doesn’t even drink anymore, melatonin hits me in genuinely bizarre ways, I guess.
Somehow, all of that led to a crazy marathon that I’m going to describe . . . part of. Because, A) the idea of describing absolutely everything is really daunting, B) I did eventually forget most of it, and C) not all of what I remember was interesting. What I will say here is, combined with things I’d forgotten, I think I hit all genres–horror, comedy, mystery. It was ridiculous.
Okay. That said, let’s jump in–in the order I remember these:
The Girder Sword
I was walking into a forge in the woods, carrying half of a girder that I know I’d cut (length-wise) myself, in a previous dream that I can’t remember.
The forge was lit yellow, like a movie set–designed to convey a different tone from the sun-backed green waving through the loose slat walls.
There was an old master smith in that forge, and although I don’t remember anything about him, I know he said I could make the half-girder into a sword, and I proceeded to do so. A super difficult feat to achieve in real life, but I montaged straight through it in 10 dream-seconds.
In the end, the sword I made was a two-handed, curved blade. Oddly flat and unrealistically thin, I remember it having a strange pattern on it. Not damascus; this was more like brushed steel, crossing the blade in weird directions–like its entire profile was haphazardly ground into the edge using a power tool.
Which meant it looked really cheap and unfinished. As if my brain was like, “You better take some more melatonin and keep on dreaming you think you can make a giant sword from a girder in 10 seconds. The fuck outta here.”
Still, I was super proud, and totally ready to take it outside (I don’t know why–sharpness test on fruit?), but the old smith said I should wait. He didn’t specify why–didn’t suggest sharpening it, working on the handle, heat-treating, or anything else that might actually be good reasons to wait. He just said I should give it a day, and I was like, “. . . Okay!”
So I just walked out of the forge, gleeful and proud until I discovered there were fucking
Monsters in the Forest
I think that even in the dream, I was like, “Fuck . . . This is why I wanted to bring the sword with me!”
I don’t remember exactly how I encountered the monsters–I just knew they were there, and then, at some point, one of them slashed me, full on, in the back.
Which should’ve just killed me, because they were video game-style armored monster dudes with swords. In fact, if you’re familiar, I’m sure they were Abyss Watchers from Dark Souls III:
I didn’t get a good look because I just started running, which must’ve come directly from my experience in the gas station last week. However, I don’t want to send the wrong message that I’m still massively hung up about that, so I will say that, somehow, this was not a nightmare.
Maybe because the monsters were video game enemies, this entire part of the dream just felt like a video game; the fear maxed out at the tension of having 1 HP and trying to run past enemies to get to a checkpoint. Only a little less tense because, even in the dream, I thought, “I’ve fought the Abyss Watchers so many times. I got this.”
So this part of the dream was me running, turning around, dodging an attack at the last second, and then turning, running again. I was trying to stick to a thin, dirt path that snaked through the forest, but it was dotted with other monsters, so I kept veering off into the brush, ducking, listening for footsteps, dodging again, running. At some point, I knew the Abyss Watcher chasing me would see another monster on the road and attack them instead.
And, after I jumped into a bush and started sneaking (while muttering, “Please don’t see me, please don’t see me, please don’t see me”), the Abyss Watcher finally did just that and ran off to wail on some other monster.
The River Ruin Museum
I know for a fact that there were a bunch of dreams in between this and the forest of monsters, but all I remember is winding up in a museum.
Just a totally normal museum . . . until the side of one hallway opened up to an outdoor river, a ruin on its other side.
The ruin itself was vague dream-construction–old stone in slanted, long strips at different elevations, leading nowhere. Some of that stone was on the museum side of the river, sloping down into the green water, but most of it was on the other bank, flanking a giant goddess statue, cross-legged, arms out, hair big.
I’m pretty sure this was just the part of my brain that misses being outside going nuts, because it was totally acceptable to just jump into the river, swim around, check out the ruin, and then return to the museum.
I don’t remember ever going back to the museum though. I just stood out there, laid back on an empty slope on the museum-side of the river, looking around at the sandstone hills rolling up and away from the goddess.
The Sea Creature Crafts Show
with a Former Supervisor of Mine
This is the last dream I remember well enough to talk about.
In a dream that happened after the River Ruin Museum and this one . . . I got a job at the River Ruin Museum.
That meant (I guess) that I would be working in the section devoted to aquatic life, which totally makes sense–I love sea creatures despite having Thalassophobia.
What made less sense is that I had to make a quilt of aquatic wildlife for a contest . . . with my coworkers . . . and all of it was being judged by one of my least favorite supervisors from my last job IRL?
And I somehow used a net . . . to make a quilt that was made out of water?
I mean . . . That just feels a little unfair to everyone else, really. Fucking water magic in a work talent show? Come on.
In typical dream speed, the preparations and the contest were all set to take place in the same location: the Aquatic Life Hall of the museum.
And, because I remember it so well, I’ll describe that Hall. All old, polished wood. Just, head-to-toe; every surface that could be rich, dark wood was. It had the kind of fittings and moldings you’d expect from the walls of an old building, only with an extra bit of weird embellishment–molds sanded into rounded waves, rolling up walls that were three stories high for reasons I don’t understand. At ground level, there were display cases with real sea creatures in them, but there were also mountings of creatures that ran up the walls, higher up than anyone could be expected to examine them (with no stairs or ladders to reach them).
And as I stood in that hall with my net, an old supervisor of mine walked in and said something that I must not have listened to because I don’t remember it at all (which is the most accurate-to-life moment in any of my dreams ever).
Without instruction, I proceeded to toss out the net, which hovered in the air (because, of course), did whatever the fuck I did to fill it with water (I think I just said, “And now . . . water!” and it was there), and then proceeded to put replicas of animals into the water.
And if you’re asking, “Wait. Why replicas? It’s real water,” well, fuck, I don’t know. I vaguely remember that, even in the dream, my supervisor came back and asked why they couldn’t be real animals, and I was like, “They need to be replicas or it won’t work.”
But then, the replica animals did start moving, but only because they were in the water. And my old supervisor was like, “Whoa! Dude, they’re alive!?” and I was like, “omfg you’re so annoying.“
I grudgingly explained that they weren’t, but, “Ha ha. Shucks–yeah, they sure do look real though, boss. Ho ho,” and then continued putting more of them into the quilt, one-by-one.
And, because my dreams are just like this, that was the end of the dream. The contest never happened, although, again, fucking water magic–I won.
After, between, and around all of those dreams, I had a bunch more that I remembered while waking up but lost minutes after. There was definitely a horror one that had something to do with a YouTuber. And another one where I had a task I needed to complete but just could not remember it. There was even a weird recurring one that acted like . . . a dream meta-game? Like, I kept coming back to a resting state where, having completed another dream, I got a point to put towards leveling up a dream skill tree? And I remember going all-fucking-in on one stat . . . which I think was Inventory Size?
Whatever. It was fucking bizarre.
And I’ve been trying to do it again every night since with no success.
I’m probably going to look up info on having vivid dreams after this.
Not only because I think I’ll find crazy story ideas in those dreams . . .
. . . but also because I just kind of love it?
I definitely wouldn’t want to do it every single night, but one night a week of vivid dreams sounds pretty cool.
And I’m sure it’ll continue being pretty cool until I have a night of horrific nightmares! : D
Thanks for joining me on this weird dream-venture.
If you’re new here, I post every Sunday, usually about things other than my dreams, although I have done that before too (the most popular by far was the time I dreamt I was Willy Wonka and there was a Game of Thrones-style plot where someone in the Wonka family was trying to steal the Chocolate Factory].
Usually though, I’m talking about writing, my life, or I’m issuing brutal takedowns of multi-million dollar budget Hollywood films that are horribly written. Feel free to pass by next week, where I think I’m finally going to muse on how story tropes manifest in different generations.
Until then, take care, stay safe, and, ya know what? It’s time. If you have the choice today . . . maybe actually pick oatmeal raisin. I know! I know! It was terrible last time, but we’re older now and, who knows? Maybe oatmeal raisin is amazing now. Some people reading this already love it. We’ll never know unless we try it.
And if you do try it, hit me up after with #oatmealraisinstillsucks.