A Dream Diary #1 - February 2022

Image by TanteTati from Pixabay

I’ve always been fascinated with dreams as an expression of the unconscious mind and, after listening to a New Scientist podcast on the subject, decided to start keeping my own dream diary.

Trying to remember a dream is like trying to spoon honeycomb residue from a saucepan when you’ve been too slow to pour it out. You know it’s in there, you can reach in and feel it, but it hardens so fast that getting at it is almost impossible. Sure, you might be able to chip off a few shards as the morning goes on, but ultimately, most of it is useless and going in the bin.

Of the dreams I could remember, the thing that surprises me is the impact of culture on my sleeping mind. Almost every dream I list below is greatly influenced by the programmes, films, news stories, or games I’ve engaged with the day before – often more so than anything that has happened in my personal life, ostensibly anyway.

Could it be that dreams are simply a lot more shallow than many analysts like to think? Or is it that the conflict and drama of these media are usually much more heightened and affecting than that of our day to day lives? Or perhaps it is because any personally meaningful or psychologically significant dreams are more likely to be forgotten, because in times of high personal stress (when such dreams seem likely to occur), when we wake, we are unable to prevent other thoughts and concerns rushing in and wiping them from our mind?

Leave your own thoughts and dream samples (or your analysis of my mental pathologies!) at the bottom of the page.

1.2.22

No memories (off to a great start!)

2.2.22

I’m on a university course. No idea what course. I turn up for classes, but nothing actually happens, and I don’t remember any teacher being there. Instead I go shopping in a large shopping centre with someone from the course and Novak Djokovic. The shops are weird. We find one that discounts everything and lays each item out on a long counter. There are a lot of people browsing the items, but we manage to get straight to the front. Maybe it’s because of Novak. He wants to buy some trainers. I am looking for books, or DVDs, or games. They don’t have any, but Novak gets his trainers. We find another shop that is almost identical to the first. They also have nothing I want. We return to class. Novak sits next to me. We get our books and pens out of our bags. Nothing happens, and I am then at home, playing guitar. It is not a happy guitar. The fret board gradually starts collapsing like a Rubik’s snake, fret after fret folding in on each other. I give up and put it down. I am then playing a game with two old friends (PH & GJ). We are in rooms submerged by water. I have to collect tiny bits of meat, while they try to stop me. For a long time I get nothing, and they are constantly on my tail, diverting me from my task. I swim into another room and, before they can stop me, manage to grab up several blobs of meat from the shelves. I’m not sure if I have done enough to win, but my friends are clearly annoyed that they couldn’t prevent me getting any.

3.2.22

My friend R and I are visiting her sister. We are all much younger than we should be. I do not see much of R when we get there – I am in the lounge, where I am expected to sleep. There is a tealight candle alight in a metal tray on the sofa. I open up a bottle of essential oil, and pour it into the candle. The candle goes out. R’s sister comes in, furious, and shouts something at me. I shout back ‘Do you think I’m so stupid that I don’t know liquid will put a candle out?’ She backs off. I lie down on the floor, but it is now daytime and sunny outside. Her two dogs – strangely beige and fleshy – come in through the French doors and clamber on top of me, one of them licking my face. I pull it away. On the way home, R and I stop at a garage. Inside it is like a mini-supermarket, although when I turn around the outside is also inside. R walks urgently after a female customer, as if to ask a vital question, but when the woman turns around they just make small talk. The woman advises us which chocolates would be best to buy for the journey back. We look at the boxes and bars of chocolate on the shelves. Her suggestion seems prosaic to me – it is a bar I have often bought, and doesn’t seem as exotic as she thinks. R is pleased though – she had forgotten it existed. I am then in my Mum’s house, where I grew up, with a friend (PC). We are supposed to be playing games on his pc, but he is searching the house for somewhere to set it up. He studies the freezer, hoping it will be cold enough. He has had a problem with the fans, he explains. I discover a cupboard whose shelves are lined with birthday cards to me. I empty it. it is not my birthday any more.

4.2.22

Sheets of silver and orange foil, rippling and crinkling, over and over.

5.2.22

Nebulous scenes of characters from Angel set in the hotel. No specifics of story or action. 

(Note from real life: I recently re-watched all five seasons of Angel, as my internet connection was cut off by my ISP for two weeks ‘by mistake,’ so I only had access to DVDs. Even when the new connection was set up, I couldn’t resist watching the rest of it too!).

6.2.22

I am walking next to the river on Jesus Green in Cambridge. Ahead is a small wooden bridge I have never seen before. It doesn’t stretch across the river, but beside it. There are a couple of people ahead of me, beginning to cross. As I climb the steeply curving snow-covered planks, I realise the bridge has been built around a large rock, which reaches into the bridge itself, narrowing and deforming it. The person ahead is managing to make slow progress by clinging to the railings on either side with both hands. Stupidly, I light a cigarette, put it in my mouth and continue on, holding both railings to keep balanced. The bridge becomes narrower as I walk. I am still puffing on the cigarette and feeling short of breath. Then the railings come to an end. I cling to the rock instead, hopping over the now tiny and well-spaced planks of the bridge. Somehow, I make it to the over side and carry on walking, trying to look as nonchalant with my cigarette as possible. I arrive at a college and am charged with finding an ice hockey arena used by our college’s team. I wander around town in the snow, and find an ice hockey arena, but it is one used by our rivals, and there is a game in progress. I push open the double doors and watch for a while – there are multitudes of people skating around. None of them seem to be playing any kind of game. I grow bored and leave.

7-9.2.22

No memories.

10.2.22

I am back in secondary school, with lots of prefab huts as classrooms. I go to my lesson in one of them. The teacher says nothing, but we realise from all the strange objects and documents around the room that we are expected to solve a puzzle. It seems to be very complicated, involving many different characters and plot threads spread over the whole school. We all leave in small groups to gather more clues and try to solve it first. I am with a girl who appears to be my girlfriend. After forty minutes – our allotted time – we return to the classroom having solved very little. I am annoyed that we weren’t given more time for such a complex task. We wait for the others to arrive, kissing and cuddling to pass the time. After a while, it becomes clear that nobody else is coming back. I don’t know if we misunderstood the rules or if the others have just given up and left. In the end, we leave as well, still spotting more clues dotted around the area. We are no longer interested in solving them though.

11.2.22

I’m in the offices of Wolfram & Hart from season 5 of Angel. Wesley gives me a task to find the location of somewhere for one of his missions. It’s a lot easier nowadays – I just look it up online, hand it over, and leave for the day. I cycle in to work, or possibly college. I cross a busy junction using a cycle crossing when the lights turn red, and find myself in a room with people sitting at desks, all facing the same way. It’s very quiet - maybe an exam or some form of worship. I put my headphones in and listen to my MP3s. My girlfriend is in the seat ahead of me, so I pass her one of my earphones for her to listen too. Now I’m in a small and cluttered office. The music is still playing – a song by Marillion from a recent album – but it’s now coming from the speakers of an old stereo cassette player. I’m tidying the room and singing along when a music lecturer who no longer works there walks in with a research student. They are clearly hoping to work, so I walk over to the stereo – still tidying – to turn it off, mainly because I know he is likely to criticise my choice of music. But the music has changed now – it’s some kind of ambient track that I don’t recognise. As expected, he makes a negative comment about it anyway. I explain it’s on shuffle so I don’t know what’s going to come on, but I turn it off anyway. I walk back to the desks and find an open packet of chocolate eggs on one, with two left. I’m in a good mood, so I take them out and put one on each of the desks that the two of them are sitting at. Then I discover a third in the packet, so I pocket it for myself.

12.2.22

I’m visiting a family I don’t know. I’m not sure what I’m doing there, but think it’s supposed to be some kind of job. The father reminds me of Stanley Tucci. He seems very laid back with good humour. The mother is quite tall, and attractive, despite being quite a bit older than me. They have two teenagers, a boy and a girl. We play some kind of party game, then they get ready to go out. As they are about to leave, the mother decides not to go, leaving us alone. We do some clothes washing, and talk, then start kissing. The others come back, and the mother tells her children that she is leaving their father to live with me. This is the first I have heard of it, but I say nothing. The children seem to take it well, but they are all worried about telling the father. When they do, he seems to accept it, but is clearly holding back tears. The mother and I leave the house together. I am worried about what I have got myself into, and how she will react when she sees how small my flat is.

13.2.22

No memories

14.2.22

Fragments. Lots of fragments. Angel (again) staring constantly in the mirror because he can suddenly see himself in it. A huge, bulky suit of red and black spiky armour. A coach trip in another country, with climbs and drops like a rollercoaster; we pass a strange building, half chalet, half tower block. Then I am with my girlfriend, we’re on the run in a heavily concreted area from people that either want to kill us or, at least, detain us. Then we are inside a plush apartment, looking for clues. I find a bed and pull back the red covers. There are two people in it; one with their head on the pillows, the other halfway down the bed. I cannot tell their gender, but they are wearing heavy make-up. They are both dead, red marks on their skin. Definitely murdered. We leave the apartment and make it to a café to meet a female friend of my girlfriend. Then we are in another apartment – our own – and I start making love to my girlfriend. We only get so far before realising her friend is still there with us. She offers to join in. I am put off and give up. The friend tells us about a boy who has travelled the world covering buildings in snow. We are then on another winding, dipping coach trip, passing by these buildings, all covered in snow.

 15.2.22 & 16.2.22

No memories

 17.2.22

Norwegian comedian Atle Antonson trying to download synonyms for words to judge a task on Kongen Befaller (Taskmaster Norway).

18.2.22

The Gambler from DC’s Injustice League of America is making a podcast and trying to force me to have some input into it. I’m not clear on what, but I’m suspicious of his intentions. It doesn’t matter, because he is now just a jigsaw puzzle that I am trying to complete. I go to a charity shop. It is a single room off a large hall that seems to be part of an even larger complex that also houses a museum and various other unknown attractions. I have been to the shop before, but they were refurbishing it, so I couldn’t enter. I ask a women outside in the hall, who appears to be a member of staff, if it is ok for me to go in. She answers in a non-committal way, so I approach the entrance hesitantly. Peering in, I see a long counter with staff behind it but no other customers. I creep inside and, as nobody tells me to leave, start looking through the scant items on the counter. There are some old DVDs, (games and films), and a lot of even older cassette tapes. I see nothing I want, so return to the hall. I realise I have a bow and arrow with me – a simple wooden bow, as I have only just started learning how to use it. In the hall, a pack of animals attack (perhaps bears, wild cats or wolves). I am reluctant to hurt them, but loose an arrow at them. The other people in the hall are running away. I look again, and the animals are frozen in place like an exhibit.

 19.2.22

No memories.

20.2.22

I am at college taking part in an outdoors parkour obstacle course with a friend. I am in the lead for most of the race, hurdling the small fences and wooden boxes. Then, as I jump up to the last platform, he overtakes me to win. I am just happy it was as close as it was. Then we are sitting round a table with other people playing a word game. I am much more in my element, but can’t understand why the others don’t find it so easy.

21.2.22

No memories

22.2.22

I’m some kind of secret agent. At least, I think I am. What I actually seem to be doing is wandering round a building, like a large house, talking to a woman who appears to be my boss as I get ready for work. I’m not sure what food or clothes I need, so I keep changing them. At some point I’m in a social club, in another part of the building, with Sarah Pascoe and other people who I don’t know. We seem to get on very well, drinking and talking, and doing puzzles. Then it is time for work. I am ready to leave the large house, but my boss points out I have left my socks and coat in a pile in the bedroom, and chides me for not being as tidy as I think I am. I agree, and gather the clothes up. Then I go downstairs to a room that looks like my Mum’s lounge. My Mum and half-sister are there. I am still getting ready, trying to get food together. There is a whole cooked chicken on a small table. My Mum and half-sister have gone to the other side of the room. There is something sticky on my arm. I turn to find a very large and very neat cobweb has been built where they were standing, slanting from the wall to the floor. I tell them about it, and look for the spider. There is one sitting in the web just under the table. They come and look. I go back to the chicken to carve some, but there is a large orange spider on it – it seems to be coated in breadcrumbs, like the chicken, as if it is part of it, but it only has four legs and one large body part. Somehow, it gets onto my arm. My Mum says something about the spiders. There are lots of them now, all the same browny-orange. The chicken gets up on stumpy back legs, and a circle opens in its backside, getting larger and larger. There are teeth in it.

 23.2.22

No memories.

24.2.22

The comedian and poet Tim Key convinces me that there is a band we should see playing in a pub in a nearby village. We get in his car, a black mini cooper, and he drives us away. I am reading a map, and hear Key say “Bollocks.” I look up to find our route blocked by a river - the wooden bridge crossing it has collapsed. Key looks at me manically, revs the engine, and accelerates us into the water. I think we are going to drown, but the car chugs through the river and makes it safely to the other side.

We come to a village. Key brings the car to a stop below a large nest of scaffolding between two buildings. I get out of the car and try to find an ATM that I thought I saw on the way in. I wander the streets for a while, but cannot find it. I return to the alley, but both the car and Key have disappeared. I wander a bit more, thinking this is the village we were looking for, and try to find the pub. I am dressed in a long, grey shiny coat that I used to own, and I’m conscious this might not be the best choice of clothes for wandering round a small rural village at night. I enter the grounds of a large house, where a party seems to be going on. There are a lot of people, and a bonfire. Some of the guests seem quite intimidating. Thankfully, Key reappears and tells me this isn’t the village we are looking for.

We drive off again, and come to the right one. Key drives slowly round the streets looking for a parking spot, but doesn’t find any that he likes. At last he pulls into a spot beside a metal cage and we get out. The pub is next door. We enter to find it already full of people. I see a female colleague there, and talk to her, asking if she has read my book. She says she started to, but thinks I released it too early. She disappears. I look for Key but again can’t find him. A transgender person enters the pub. They think they know me, and say they like my coat. Then they ask me if I have seen Graham. I’m not sure who they are talking about, but sit down at a table with them and one of their friends. They tell me this Graham has been missing for a few weeks, and they are worried about him. I vaguely remember him from school, but tell them I haven’t seen him.

I leave the pub to look for Key. It is late at night now, and everywhere is closing. I can’t find anyone or anything, so return to the pub. Through the window, I see a barman putting cakes out on a counter. I walk back to where we left the Mini, and find it parked on the road opposite the cage. Key is inside, talking to someone in the passenger seat. As I approach, the other man gets out and walks away. I climb in, and ask Key if he has seen anyone called Graham. ‘Graham who?,’ he asks. I can’t remember the surname, but make a few unintelligible guesses. He says ‘Oh, Graham Linneman? That was him who just left.’ I think he might mean Graham Linehan, although the man looked nothing like him. I get in the car and we drive off.

 25-28.2.22

 No memories.