Bancroft-Durant-Channing-Haste-Dwight
Jan. 31st, 2023 05:59 amA night of strange, strange, strange, strange dreams.
From which, I kept awakening and then tumbling back down into like Scrooge on Christmas Eve.
I was on the UC Berkeley campus. (It did not look like the UC Berkeley campus.) In a cafeteria. Some kind of event. With a bunch of people. My kids maybe? There was a table of stale cakes. Waitaminnit, thought I, these aren’t what I paid for!
There was another cafeteria on the other side of the building.
In the dream topography, there were two ways of reaching that cafeteria—you could walk through that building (which in the dream, was very familiar with that sense I had walked through it many, many times before—though upon waking, I don’t recognize it) or you could get to it by detouring through the city.
I chose the latter way.
The city was very anonymous. Kind of like San Francisco’s Marina district (as I remember it): vast, pastel-colored houses, empty streets. I was lost. But I knew if I just kept walking west, I would arrive at the other cafeteria—which was filled with the most delicious banquet imaginable. I walked, and I walked.
Finally, I reached a kind of art installation. It was filled with police barricades and all sorts of incomprehensible twists and turns. I got lost. Wandered into this room that was perfectly black. I mean, the darkest dark imaginable. There was a door that opened onto the street on the other side of the room, but I could not see it. Could not see anything. Felt something around my neck—it was part of the art installation. Thought: What am I going to do?
Feel your way to the door, I commanded myself.
And while I was doing that, some people on the other side of the door opened it, and the door opened, and the room filled with light, and I thought, Wow! This is what was scaring you?
…
I was in a park with Ben and RTT and all the pets we had gathered over 17 years. It was raining.
I was supposed to set forth and get my car to pick them up. My car was in Berkeley.
My car was parked in a parking lot on the side of one of those five streets that form the last stretch of Telegraph Avenue before it abuts the campus. (Bancroft-Durant-Channing-Haste-Dwight: They’re like a poem to me.). But I didn’t know which parking lot. I’d completely forgotten where I’d parked my car!
I had the Meezer with me while I hunted for the car. She was sticking her claws in my neck, hissing. Fuck her, I thought. Just let her go. But I couldn’t let her go because she would be run over in all the traffic and almost certainly die. She was my responsibility.
I reached into my pocket for my phone. I could at least call Ben. Apprise him of the situation. Warn him I’d be late.
But Ben’s phone was also in my pocket. There was no way to let him know what was going on.
I pictured him and RTT (and the pets!) alone in that rainy park. What were they going to do?
For that matter, what was I going to do?
Because I couldn’t find the car!
What do people do when they forget where they park their cars? I wondered. Because I can’t be the only person to whom this has ever happened! There must be some sort of procedure for this. Do I flag down a cop?
And then, finally, I woke up.
###
Basic anxiety dreams!
And Berkeley ❤️
Though awake, I’m not feeling particularly anxious.
And I’m not thinking of Berkeley. Though I suppose Berkeley is some kind of uber-metaphor for my misspent youth.
###
Naught else to report. I did not finish the Remunerative Project. So I will have to finish it today when I get back from TaxBwana.
On the brilliant![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lookfar's recommendation, I read JAMES HERRIOTT: The Life of a Country Vet. (Short book!). Rather endearing! Though not as endearing as the ostensible memoirs. All Creatures etc. Plus, there was a lot of difficult shit in them. (First 20 years in a Glasgow slum circa early 20th century.)
Still.
I know what I’m gonna lobby for when I get to Bardo.
From which, I kept awakening and then tumbling back down into like Scrooge on Christmas Eve.
I was on the UC Berkeley campus. (It did not look like the UC Berkeley campus.) In a cafeteria. Some kind of event. With a bunch of people. My kids maybe? There was a table of stale cakes. Waitaminnit, thought I, these aren’t what I paid for!
There was another cafeteria on the other side of the building.
In the dream topography, there were two ways of reaching that cafeteria—you could walk through that building (which in the dream, was very familiar with that sense I had walked through it many, many times before—though upon waking, I don’t recognize it) or you could get to it by detouring through the city.
I chose the latter way.
The city was very anonymous. Kind of like San Francisco’s Marina district (as I remember it): vast, pastel-colored houses, empty streets. I was lost. But I knew if I just kept walking west, I would arrive at the other cafeteria—which was filled with the most delicious banquet imaginable. I walked, and I walked.
Finally, I reached a kind of art installation. It was filled with police barricades and all sorts of incomprehensible twists and turns. I got lost. Wandered into this room that was perfectly black. I mean, the darkest dark imaginable. There was a door that opened onto the street on the other side of the room, but I could not see it. Could not see anything. Felt something around my neck—it was part of the art installation. Thought: What am I going to do?
Feel your way to the door, I commanded myself.
And while I was doing that, some people on the other side of the door opened it, and the door opened, and the room filled with light, and I thought, Wow! This is what was scaring you?
…
I was in a park with Ben and RTT and all the pets we had gathered over 17 years. It was raining.
I was supposed to set forth and get my car to pick them up. My car was in Berkeley.
My car was parked in a parking lot on the side of one of those five streets that form the last stretch of Telegraph Avenue before it abuts the campus. (Bancroft-Durant-Channing-Haste-Dwight: They’re like a poem to me.). But I didn’t know which parking lot. I’d completely forgotten where I’d parked my car!
I had the Meezer with me while I hunted for the car. She was sticking her claws in my neck, hissing. Fuck her, I thought. Just let her go. But I couldn’t let her go because she would be run over in all the traffic and almost certainly die. She was my responsibility.
I reached into my pocket for my phone. I could at least call Ben. Apprise him of the situation. Warn him I’d be late.
But Ben’s phone was also in my pocket. There was no way to let him know what was going on.
I pictured him and RTT (and the pets!) alone in that rainy park. What were they going to do?
For that matter, what was I going to do?
Because I couldn’t find the car!
What do people do when they forget where they park their cars? I wondered. Because I can’t be the only person to whom this has ever happened! There must be some sort of procedure for this. Do I flag down a cop?
And then, finally, I woke up.
###
Basic anxiety dreams!
And Berkeley ❤️
Though awake, I’m not feeling particularly anxious.
And I’m not thinking of Berkeley. Though I suppose Berkeley is some kind of uber-metaphor for my misspent youth.
###
Naught else to report. I did not finish the Remunerative Project. So I will have to finish it today when I get back from TaxBwana.
On the brilliant
lookfar's recommendation, I read JAMES HERRIOTT: The Life of a Country Vet. (Short book!). Rather endearing! Though not as endearing as the ostensible memoirs. All Creatures etc. Plus, there was a lot of difficult shit in them. (First 20 years in a Glasgow slum circa early 20th century.)Still.
I know what I’m gonna lobby for when I get to Bardo.
