lucyoncolorado

I had a little to drink last night (in real life) and therefore my dream recall was poor. A bunch of fragments.

In which I build a house with slides instead of stairs...

I'm building a cabin on our family land in Louisiana. I add a second story loft which has two doors. One leads to a second story patio and the other leads to a slide that exits on the ground level. I forget to add stairs, so the only way to enter the loft is to climb up the slide.

In which I show up for a family dinner half-naked...

I'm at my in-laws house in their guest bedroom. My mother-in-law calls me to dinner. I'm wearing only a pair of pajama pants and no shirt. I'm comfortable so I casually decide not to put on a shirt. I walk into the dining room and sit down at the table, naked from the waist up. My in-laws look at me with shock. I realize I've made a very big mistake and that there is no way to take it back. From now on, they will think I'm crazy.

In which Bob Dylan babysits my forgotten child...

I’m walking around downtown when I suddenly remember that I’ve had a baby and I don’t know where it is. I can’t remember the last time I’d seen it. There begins a long and boring stress dream in which I first must find some quarters then find a payphone, then remember phone numbers to call various friends and family members. Then I had trouble reading the numbers on the phone and my fingers were like Jello and couldn’t press the buttons. I called my mom and a few friends and no one had any idea that I’d had a baby.

I decide to walk home and of course my legs will not work properly. I spend a lot of time dragging myself down sidewalks and trying to run. Eventually, I get to my house. I live in a small cottage with a picket fence around an overgrown garden. There are weeds and vines growing over the walkway and the patio. As I step onto the front porch, I can hear a baby crying through the screened door.

I enter a dark living room with the curtains drawn. In the corner, a ray of light shines in from a crack in the wall to reveal dust particles in the air and an old, pencil-mustached Bob Dylan sitting in a kitchen chair in his performance jacket and cowboy hat with one steel-toed boot rocking a crib in which a baby cries. He looks at me disapprovingly. I apologize for forgetting about my child. Bob Dylan shrugs his shoulders and leaves without saying a word.