My dreams these past few weeks have been "muted", for lack of a better word. They touch on familiar themes, but except for a brief moment here and there I haven't been remembering them once wide awake. Last night broke that pattern, with two (count 'em) classics -- one that I woke from at 2:30 in the ayem, and the other at 4:30.
The first one was a familiar one in which I find myself having apparently walked a very long distance, and it's time for me to quit dallying and get the hell back to where I'm supposed to be before it's dark or some other deadline passes. In this one, I was in L.A., somewhere south of Wilshire or Olympic or Pico (maybe even farther south), and I needed to walk back to, I guess, Hollywood. At any rate, I knew I had a two- or three-hour walk ahead of me, and I began trying to quicken my pace. It then was one of those dream things, in which the harder and faster I try to move, the more bogged down I get.
The second isn't even describable, but it was one that mixed elements from a few of my past lives in bizarre ways heretofore unknown.
And that was my night. It was a bit restless, but it turned out nicely when the cat decided to leave us all alone until way after his normal feeding time, allowing me to feel quite rested.
