I dream that I’m trying to wake up, I want so badly to wake up but whenever I think I’ve done, it I open my eyes and I know the world I’m in isn’t real.
There’s my sister watching DC cartoons in my room (how dares she?) then I wake up again and I can hear her watching in the living room instead. I drag myself out of bed, find my dad, grab him by the jacket, beg him to wake me up.
I’m still asleep! I tell him frantically. This isn’t real! You have to come to my room and shove me out of bed, it’s the only way!
It doesn’t work. I wake up again and since nothing is real I decide to fly out of the window. I fly over a blue, shiny ocean, I get to watch seagulls up close.
I come across a flying carrier transporting giant containers. I know this is the villains, so I break inside a container using my super strength. I find thousands and thousands of my old books and drawings. I walk around the plane and make people have sex with each other, so I can watch.
I dream that I’m in the car with my dad, he’s angry and suddenly he turns into my cat, her claws gripping the steering wheel.
Then I have the usual dream about believing you’ve woken up but then realizing it’s not true and trying to wake up again and again, going up a level of consciousness until yes, you’re awake for real and you can tell the difference.
(Strange, that usually happen when I set an early alarm, but it’s Sunday today)
I’m a soldier sitting at a table in my own IRL living room. A fellow soldier is sitting next to me. We are searching through a pile of jackets belonging to prisoners, one by one we rip the seams with a pocket knife, searching for hidden money or keys.
There is a journalist hiding in the room, taking pictures with his phone. We grab him, try to force him to release the phone, but he says the public has the right to know what we’re doing! We have to call one of our special agents, a skinny guy with glasses and a lab coat on. He smiles gleefully in a disturbing sort of way, gives the journalist a drug. I shake the scientist’s hand, it gets covered in spit. His mouth is full of spit too, he reminds me of a boy I was forced to sit next to in middle school.
I go to my usual salon and look around for F., the man that always cuts my hair. I notice stairs that weren’t there before and go up to the second floor: F. is on the balcony smoking, a balcony that looks almost like mine. I tell him about my new job and how I urgently need a haircut, he’s very happy for me and tells me to go fix an appointment.
Downstairs next to the register are standing Naya Rivera and Heather Morris. They look older than what I remembered, Naya is wearing a baseball cap and stinks of alcohol. They greet me because we went to school together, ask how my cat is doing. Hearing this, my sister walks up to show us the cat inside her tote bag, it’s a white and brown kitten that looks very unhappy. I get mad at my sister, how can she just walk around with a poor kitten like that! She ignores me and skips the line, so she can pay for the roasted potatoes she apparently bought at the salon.
I suddenly realize I’m not wearing my shoes and I don’t remember taking them off. The place is now filled with hundreds of people. I try to look outside in the yard, but I’m chased away by the Golden Girls. Inside a child is arranging hundreds of shoes in a long train on the floor, I pick them one by one but can’t find mine. Then a thought occurs to me: I’m wearing no shoes because I’m in actually in bed! And I wake up.
DECADE DREAM JOURNAL 