Join Date: Dec 2010
| | Naked famous man turned into giant squid
Would someone mind taking a look at the following dream? From my dream blog, if you'll bear with the following long read:
Okay, this sucker is way too weird not to blog about.... |
The dream ends with me losing my temper at (other Canadian actor I know (OCAIK) Ė long story and Iím not too proud of it) right after he finds me hiding in his apartment. I'm yelling at him about everything. In fact, true to Clonazepam's side effects, I'm still yelling at him in my head as I'm getting up from my bed after waking up, or rather hearing him yell that this is all a dream now and I'm awake anyway....
He has just discovered me hiding there in a closet in an empty room that he obviously never uses, sitting on a portable potty he's got in there. (Marker of my dreams: there are lots of these fake potties not connected to any plumbing.) I've managed to evade discovery up to now because (other Canadian actor I know)'s been in the next room (which has a slightly ajar door connecting to this one) writing/singing a song about how much hate is in him bursting to get free, and a variation on the usual bait line about longing for the right woman, this one about how he'll know her because she will see and discover that hate and know what to do with it.
This is after I've just left some other girl, part of (OCAIK)'s circle, sleeping in his spare room - we'd been there because (OCAIK) had given me a key and we were stopping there to get ready to go to the party. I'd left her, found a little alcove with a bed, and found this closet and pulled my laptop into it to blog, with the AC cord plugged in around the corner. I was reading a book that the other girl had written....I had read a book that was chronicling what had happened in my life five minutes ago. I was making notes all over it. It was fine when I confronted (OCAIK) and (prominent Canadian actor (PCA)) together and said, "Obviously I'm well known among your friends. How am I known?" Whereupon both of them sort of hem and haw and (OCAIK) finally takes it: "Well, the usual comment is when they see you walk into a place, 'That's your stalker? Wow - I'll take her off your hands, man!'"
(In real life, everyone tells me how beautiful I am and how I don't look my age, and I have to say I generally agree - but not once - not once - has it meant my romantic feelings for a specific person have ever been returned in kind. So it's a great compliment, and I always appreciate it because I usually forget it as real-life experience doesn't support it, but I do wish it would lead to better results.)
So I'm reading further into this manuscript - which has an advising professorís name on the front page - and it goes on to describe how other girls at the party say things like, "We've all been taken in by crocodile scrips like (a current romantic interest of mine)." (???) I've finished the book and finished arguing with the girl about how non-roadworthy my car is, and obviously the party's over by this time so she goes to bed. I look for a bathroom to use and notice noises indicating that (OCAIK)'s home. It'll look like I'm stalking him if I've stayed there.
Cut to before the apartment: It's 4:00 in the morning, and a wafer-thin African-descent hooker named Lola (word in a crossword puzzle three days ago), with blonded Afro hair and a skin-tight micromini sheath, is following me, saying no one cares about her. The other girl with me from the party is getting exasperated, and she turns into Bree from Desperate Housewives. Cut to a moment before: Lola has been eyeing me as if I'm encroaching on her turf, but then she just says, "You done for the night?" "Yeah." "Good night!" "You're beautiful!" Then she follows me, saying no one ever calls her beautiful. (Dreamerís note: In waking life, Iíd helped an injured homeless man a few days earlier and heíd cried that no one cared about him.) My Bree-like friend looks exasperated. "This is Melissa," I say, "and she already knows she's beautiful!" Melissa gives Lola a strained smile. We get to (OCAIK)'s building and I say, "This isn't my apartment, so I can't invite you in - but I'll help you find a homeless shelter for the night." Then the details get lost in how I'm using my iPhone to look up hostels online, but that turns out to be a bad idea because they'll ask for a credit card from Lola.
Cut to: My old parking lot in (a working-class Toronto suburb), at my old apartment. The Lada is there that my parents gave me in 1989. That thing was ten years old and never worked properly. It was broken into once just for the radio I'd put into it. It doesn't stop on snow unless you press the brake at least five car lengths ahead of time - the brakes are ground almost to nothing. I'm nearly out of gas. Repeatedly, I impress upon Melissa that perhaps driving this thing to a party in North Hollywood, where I would almost certainly be drinking, wouldn't be the sharpest move. She just goes, "Uh-huh," and does up her seatbelt. I sigh and continue to drive, making a mental note to stop at the Missing Horse store (near my parents' house 1500 miles away) for gas before going on the half-hour drive from (Toronto suburb) to North Hollywood for this geographical confusion of a party.
Cut to (PCA)'s estate in LA. (He doesnít actually have one.) I've met a bunch of girls from various parts of the US that are there for a fan convention. Most of (OCAIK)'s crowd has left, but some are straggling around passing around the address where the party will be. I don't have it, so I hook up with a bunch of girls who know the address and have GPS in their cars.
Cut to previously mentioned conversation in which (PCA) and (OCAIK) reassure me that I'm okay. But this time it's about stalking (PCA)!! We also talk about the fact that I'm usually unaware of sex, but when confronted by (PCA)'s full-frontal naked body, I feel a strange, oddly familiar, and unbidden full-body sensation of pleasure. It's commented, I think by (PCA) himself, that this is natural and biological. It occurs to me that pure, plain sex is something I rarely, if ever, think about these days. (And it's true. If I'm ever turned on - and I don't think I am - I don't know it. I'm not certain, but I think it's a side effect of my antidepressants. Possibly when (my drama-workshop partner) claps me on the shoulder the way he usually does. What I think of as a "rush of endorphins" when he hugs me might actually be a rush of reproductive hormones, for all I'm aware. I just know I enjoy it.) (PCA) is very nice and logical about it, kind of as if he's trying to explain this to a 12-year-old kid entering puberty. (And I think I noticed him favourably in a movie when I was about 16.) But by the end of this conversation, I somehow just want to be around (OCAIK) some more - as if he's raw masculine sexuality, without the complication of actually liking or having any feelings of friendship for him. It's an intriguing feeling.
Prior to this, (PCA) is smiling at me and telling me he's sorry he didn't tell me that the pool was a self-contained pool, not a pond connected to the earth. I in turn tell him I was about to apologize for peeing in his pool. And then I'm inside the main house where everyone is drying off, and I'm looking for a place to get to a bathroom and change. The only place available is off (PCA)'s bedroom, where I walk in to discover him lying naked - I still avert my eyes and stick my hand out to block my vision. By the time I sneak a peek back at him, heís turned into a giant cooked squid with an olive-oil-and-black-pepper crust. Weirded out but relieved that thereís nothing to look at, I manage to get past him and get to the stall. Meanwhile he wakes up and discovers me there. There's a definite you-are-a-disgusting-stalker colour to being discovered uninvited in a room where an attractive and sought-out famous man is lying naked on his back.
Before this, I go down to a pond. It's just after dawn, calm and idyllic. I strip down. I'm in the pond, and I decide to relieve my bladder. Then others arrive - all people from (OCAIK)'s crowd. It's a closed-off pool. I'm certain the yellow cloud around me is obvious to everyone.
Somewhere in the middle of all this, (PCA) and I are doing a scene from MacBeth in which we have to kiss. I'm trying my best not to be obviously attracted to him. He is attracted to me as his character, but when the scene ends, he's an acting teacher (which he is at times in real life). He's even coldly analyzing my kissing technique.
That's pretty much the bulk of what I remember. A few things are obvious in writing this dream down. 1) I must have had to go to the bathroom pretty badly. 2) It's all about my fear of being considered a stalker if Iím in any way attracted. 3) - I think that I may want a boyfriend.
And 4) It's probably these drugs I'm on that are making my dreams this detailed, complex, convoluted and weird.
Regardless, I'm not stalking (PCA) in real life - yeah, 'cause I'd really be that stupid and stalk a 62-year-old happily married grandfather - and I know I'm not obsessed with him in real life. Plus, (OCAIK) is still normally not attractive to me. And today, I have (my drama-workshop partner)ís workshop in two hours, then a couple of hours until my Botox treatment at 4. And I still have some sleep left in me. I'll see if today's breakfast of fruited quinoa wakes me up.
I should add that OCAIK in real (waking) life doesn't consider my pursuit of him to have crossed the line into stalking. He has reassured me of that. Anyway, I can't get this dream out of my head and there's a chance I may have to deal with PCA professionally, so I really have to figure out what he means in my dream. Can anyone offer me any ideas, or things to go on? Thanks in advance.