Chat
02-18-2017, 03:49 AM
17Feb2017
No intentions set
Two separate dreams, the first more of a dreamlet than anything else.
1) I'm driving a silver with a blue stripe down the hood Mustang. In the dream, it was called an Elliot Mustang, after the NASCAR driver Bill Elliot. There's someone riding shotgun, a man I don't know but he knew me. I'm taking him into some city and we're cruising along a freeway. Neither of us are talking. I'm doing at least 80 but know this car is capable of way, way more speed if I need to put the pedal to the metal. Flashing lights behind me. Drat. Highway patrol. I signal, pull over to the shoulder. Cop comes up on the passenger side. My passenger tells me to behave. I say I had no intention of starting anything. He rolls down the window. Cop leans in and seems surprised to see me. He tells me he thought my son might be driving. No, I say, this is my car. I let my son drive it now and then, though. Cop scans the car. Shelby? he asks. No, I say, an Elliot. He chuckles and says, The poor man's Shelby. Yeah, I laugh, but I'm working up to a Shelby. He straightens. Tells me to keep my speed down to somewhere in the range of the limit and to be safe. I thank him. He leaves. Passenger eyes me, then shakes his head. Never fails to amaze me how you do that, he says.
2) In an old house. Other people are there. We're gathered for a big dinner. For some reason I think it's Thanksgiving dinner. I've provided the pumpkin pies. We gather around a big rough-hewn oak farm-type table. We're sitting on benches. The whole house feels very old. Big and drafty. Filled with stuff gathered over years. The benches are full. I don't know anyone at the table but they're all friendly and it's a pleasant meal. After dinner, I go into the kitchen to cut the pies and can only find one pie. I had brought three. I search for the other two pies but can't seem to find them. The hostess comes into the kitchen to ask if there's a problem. I tell her I can't find the other pies. Oh, she tells me, as she opens the freezer door, I put them in the freezer. She pulls out two pre-baked pie boxes. I blink, surprised, because I had made the pies from scratch. She tells me we'll heat them up in the oven and the pies will be good to go.
Jump to the same people are now clearing out that house. I'm helping. The owner now resembles an acquaintance with whom I haven't had contact in some time. There are no boxes so people are carrying items out one at a time. I comment that this would go much faster if there were boxes available. Everyone thinks that's funny. I sit down in a chair to take a break. The owner sits down in a chair opposite me. I tell her not having boxes is going to make this move a lot harder than it has to be. She agrees but shrugs and tells me that's how things go sometime. I don't reply. She looks at me and asks if I'm aware there's a demon standing behind me. I lean my head back and there's a heavyset woman dressed in a mid-19th century dress, dark hair pulled back in a tight bun. Hi, I say. The woman looks down at me. Her eyes glow. Hello, she says. So, I say, why are you here? She says, I'm here for you. Well, I say, I'm not going anywhere with you. She nods. I'm not surprised, she says. Now what? I say. I have no quarrel with you. And I have no quarrel with you, she says, I'm just doing as I was ordered. Well then, I say, where would you like to go? Home, she says. I nod. Okay, I say, since I have no quarrel with you, you're free to go home if you want. My, she says, you're quite understanding about all this. She heads towards the door, opens it, then looks back at me. Thank you, she says, and steps through the doorway. The owner says, Well. That was interesting. I just shrug.
Random thoughts:
These dreams just struck me as weird, even for me.
I do drive a Mustang GT, but it isn't silver and it isn't a Shelby(*snif* ). No idea who the guy riding shotgun might be.
Second time this week I've dreamed of dealing with a demon.
No intentions set
Two separate dreams, the first more of a dreamlet than anything else.
1) I'm driving a silver with a blue stripe down the hood Mustang. In the dream, it was called an Elliot Mustang, after the NASCAR driver Bill Elliot. There's someone riding shotgun, a man I don't know but he knew me. I'm taking him into some city and we're cruising along a freeway. Neither of us are talking. I'm doing at least 80 but know this car is capable of way, way more speed if I need to put the pedal to the metal. Flashing lights behind me. Drat. Highway patrol. I signal, pull over to the shoulder. Cop comes up on the passenger side. My passenger tells me to behave. I say I had no intention of starting anything. He rolls down the window. Cop leans in and seems surprised to see me. He tells me he thought my son might be driving. No, I say, this is my car. I let my son drive it now and then, though. Cop scans the car. Shelby? he asks. No, I say, an Elliot. He chuckles and says, The poor man's Shelby. Yeah, I laugh, but I'm working up to a Shelby. He straightens. Tells me to keep my speed down to somewhere in the range of the limit and to be safe. I thank him. He leaves. Passenger eyes me, then shakes his head. Never fails to amaze me how you do that, he says.
2) In an old house. Other people are there. We're gathered for a big dinner. For some reason I think it's Thanksgiving dinner. I've provided the pumpkin pies. We gather around a big rough-hewn oak farm-type table. We're sitting on benches. The whole house feels very old. Big and drafty. Filled with stuff gathered over years. The benches are full. I don't know anyone at the table but they're all friendly and it's a pleasant meal. After dinner, I go into the kitchen to cut the pies and can only find one pie. I had brought three. I search for the other two pies but can't seem to find them. The hostess comes into the kitchen to ask if there's a problem. I tell her I can't find the other pies. Oh, she tells me, as she opens the freezer door, I put them in the freezer. She pulls out two pre-baked pie boxes. I blink, surprised, because I had made the pies from scratch. She tells me we'll heat them up in the oven and the pies will be good to go.
Jump to the same people are now clearing out that house. I'm helping. The owner now resembles an acquaintance with whom I haven't had contact in some time. There are no boxes so people are carrying items out one at a time. I comment that this would go much faster if there were boxes available. Everyone thinks that's funny. I sit down in a chair to take a break. The owner sits down in a chair opposite me. I tell her not having boxes is going to make this move a lot harder than it has to be. She agrees but shrugs and tells me that's how things go sometime. I don't reply. She looks at me and asks if I'm aware there's a demon standing behind me. I lean my head back and there's a heavyset woman dressed in a mid-19th century dress, dark hair pulled back in a tight bun. Hi, I say. The woman looks down at me. Her eyes glow. Hello, she says. So, I say, why are you here? She says, I'm here for you. Well, I say, I'm not going anywhere with you. She nods. I'm not surprised, she says. Now what? I say. I have no quarrel with you. And I have no quarrel with you, she says, I'm just doing as I was ordered. Well then, I say, where would you like to go? Home, she says. I nod. Okay, I say, since I have no quarrel with you, you're free to go home if you want. My, she says, you're quite understanding about all this. She heads towards the door, opens it, then looks back at me. Thank you, she says, and steps through the doorway. The owner says, Well. That was interesting. I just shrug.
Random thoughts:
These dreams just struck me as weird, even for me.
I do drive a Mustang GT, but it isn't silver and it isn't a Shelby(*snif* ). No idea who the guy riding shotgun might be.
Second time this week I've dreamed of dealing with a demon.