The everyday blog of Richard Bartle.
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11:00am on Friday, 23rd December, 2005:
I've put off talking about dreams before, partly because they're a staple of so many blogs and partly because there's little so uninteresting as someone else's dream. However, as it's Christmas Eve Eve (also known as the night before the night before Christmas), I thought I'd bite the bullet. Well, that, and the fact I actually remembered a dream I had last night.
I don't normally remember dreams. I know I must dream, I just don't remember them in the morning. There are three exceptions: when the dream wakes me up I will always remember it; when waking up gives me the dream I may remember it; when I decide to have a dream before I go to bed, I'll always remember it.
I rarely get the dream-wakes-me-up thing, which is just as well because it's usually due to some system problem (eg. lying on my arm until it goes numb, or the feeling of impending cramp). In all dreams I remember, I always know I'm dreaming, which is why in this event I'm able to wake myself up.
I only set dreams up for myself maybe 2 or 3 times a year, if that. I really enjoy these dreams, but I don't want to make having them too regular a thing in case they lose their appeal. I never know what's going to be in such dreams until I have them, but I do know I'm going to have them.
Last night's dream was a dream from being woken up, which happened because of this bad cough I have that I picked up in Glasgow. In the first, tedious half I got lost in New York, found a beautiful canyon with a glorious sunrise, then wound up trapped with a couple of other people (a man and a woman) in a guerilla camp in South America. At this point, I remembered I'd had a dream where this had happened once before (one of my dream-by-request dreams), so I took it from there.
Man, what a fantastic dream! FPS paradise! The other two people were demoralised and were about to surrender, but they'd found these guns and wondered if it might be worth going down in a blaze of glory. Going down? With those guns? Impossible! They were great! They had these switches on the back and could shoot poison acid gas, flames and bullets. I spent the next (what felt like) 20 minutes meting death to hordes of guerillas as they tried to stop me getting out of their clutches. I don't even like FPSs, but if they played like this every time I'd take them up like a, er, shot. There was no boss to defeat at the end, just groups of guerillas (or they might have been some private army belonging to a drug smuggler or something — the premiss was flimsy) coming at me and going down in a hail of read hot death. Really exciting stuff! They could have got me, too, because although I knew it was a dream, I knew I was going to wake up any moment and then they'd have won. However, I made it out to the jungle just in time, and then woke up. I don't know what happened to the other two people on my side, but they were working as a pair so I expect they made it OK.
See what I mean? There's little so uninteresting as someone else's dream...
As for what it means, well, if you're into dream analysis, here's my take: there's going to be seven years of plenty, followed by seven years of famine, so stock up on your grain now, while you can, because you're going to need it.
Referenced by Right Handedness.
Referenced by Memory and Reality.
Referenced by Been There.
Referenced by Be Still, My Beating Heart.
Referenced by Worlds Within Worlds.
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Copyright © 2005 Richard Bartle (firstname.lastname@example.org).