Tag: journals

Warning: Another Dead Kid. So Sorry. My Subconscious Sucks.

Posted on by Decade Dream Journal

I dream that I’m a nurse in a Middle Eastern hospital. There’s a doctor, a western woman with glasses, who just lost her daughter, and she’s so overcome with grief she’s carrying the corpse everywhere with her. I’m trying my best to work without looking at the dead girl. Another doctor is protesting about the woman’s erratic schedule. I call her to one side and say, “forgive her, she just lost her child.” “What do you mean,” the doctor says, the girl is right there with her!” “Exactly,” I say, and her face colors with understanding, followed by horror.

Now I’m having lunch with my mom and we’re talking about the woman and her dead child like it was a TV episode. I need to go back to school soon, but it’s the second to last day and I’m not sure what classes I have left, if it’s philosophy I’m gonna skip. With my shoes already on, I lay on my bed to check my Thursday schedule, which I never seem to remember. My bedroom is a big, airy attic with plenty of green plants. My aunt M. appears out of nowhere, she sits on the floor with a bin full of water and soap and starts washing some clothes. She keeps glancing at me, I try to ignore her. Finally she walks to me and tries to glance at my school diary. It’s full of pictures of Chyler Leigh and I’m really embarrassed.

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Do Your Worst Weird Dreams, Nothing Can Shock Me Anymore

Posted on by Decade Dream Journal

I dream that I’m going shopping, but first I need to pee. The bathrooms are located underground, I take an escalator and find myself in a long queue of girls. Maybe I can convince them to let me go first? I say out loud,

I REALLY FUCKING NEED TO PEE!

Another girl has said the exact same thing at the exact same time. We look at each other. Maybe we can share the toilet? One cheek each?

It’s our turn. The bathroom we step in is dark, gritty and enormous, with impossibly high ceilings, almost as if it was built from an underground cave. There are at least two toilets in the vast space, sitting high above the ground. A lot of people are watching, but I can’t afford to care. I need to go. I climb to the toilet and sit and… no pee comes out. How is it possible?

I have to wake up and run to the toilet for real.

I’m in a car with my whole family. My dad is driving, but he’s not paying the road any attention. Instead he’s reading something. I realize with horror it’s one of my old journals! Actually, all of my journals are here.

Furious at this invasion of my privacy, I grab them and get off the car. I end up in an old building, it’s dark and my old elementary teacher is there, wearing a black veil and smiling a wicked smile. She’s as ghastly as I remembered, I hate her so much I start to choke her. She seems to enjoy it. I have sex with her, it seems like the logic thing to do.

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Two Quick Ones

Posted on by Decade Dream Journal

That’s so strange how I’ve been dreaming about my old neighbor S., considering I haven’t seen the guy in years. This time he’s a teen and I steal his diary, write funny jokes on it. He’s so mad I run to the basement. I go down flights after flights of stairs, then crawl into a tunnel that gets smaller and smaller.

Another dream: I’m hearing a pitch about a new Star Wars movie, the main character is Palpatine. He towers menacingly over a young kid (Ben?) He kills and scalps a woman. He goes back home where his clone is sitting on the couch playing fantasy football. He kills the clone.

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College Days, Homesickness and… Violent Deaths?

Posted on by Decade Dream Journal

I dream that I’m in college, which is quite rare, it’s usually− almost exclusively really− high school. My mom and siblings are staying with me for a few days, they will need to go soon and I’m feeling heartbroken: I have no idea when I’ll be able to see them again.

Mom offers to drive everyone to Ikea to make me happy. A couple kids from college pile in the car with us, they aren’t much older than children. They sit on each other’s lap in the front seat. Mom is a rather bad driver, she goes really slow and hits every bump on the road (she actually can’t drive IRL).

At Ikea we are greeted by a girl with a big smile. She points to a pair of mummified legs hanging from the front door, explains that they belonged to a coworker, a girl who died on the job. I look away.

Instead I ask the two college children when is the academic year supposed to end; they say winter. It’s only June, it’ll be ages until I can go back home, I realize with a pang of despair.

There is an old book in my bag, white cover. My old high school crush gave it to me and I must have borrowed it to the library at some point, but now it’s back with me. The first pages are a journal recording my college years, the handwriting is beautiful and there are sketches of friends I’m sure I made up. Then there are a few colorful comic panels. One is the story of a geeky red haired boy and his fat emo girlfriend.

I’ve started journaling again on the last pages, and I’m panicking because I’m quickly running out of space.

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