dream_travel epitome of incomprehensibility David and I are staying at a luxury resort in England since it's part of an academic conference. I don't question this. The problem is that when we have a bed big enough for three people, we have to sleep on the sides. There's some kind of superstition that you can't touch someone while sleeping when you're in a particularly large/fancy bed. But I can't sleep anyway because England is a higher altitude than Montreal, so it starts getting light again at 1:30 AM in the summer. The birds are chirping. David suggests we go outside and sit at one of the picnic tables. The tables themselves are basic and non-luxurious, but we can get tea and scones served when we're sitting there. At 2 AM. The scones are warm and fresh, served with delicious strawberry jam. I complain to Aunt Sarah, who's inexplicably joined us, that I find it hard to sleep while traveling. "Just relax," she advises. "Don't worry about it and your mind will fall into the right rhythm." 220529 ... e_o_i It's my parents who've gone to England for a vacation. I have to stay and take care of their house (but not Shiloh, who doesn't appear to exist in this reality). The issue is whether to drive the car myself or let a robot version of my father drive it. The Robot Dad isn't supposed to be as safe, but I go for that option so I can relax and look out the window without worrying about what lanes to cross and exits to take. 220601 ... e_o_i Last night it was unusually vivid, starting with...fear of buses? I'm in Montreal, on a city bus. There's a button I can press, as a passenger, to turn the "916" displayed on the bus's front screen into a "917." I don't question the existence of this button. It only surprises me that there are bus routes that start with the digit 9, as I haven't heard of them before. Curious, I press the button, then press it again quickly to restore order. That doesn't happen: the second time causes immediate chaos. The bus swerves, as if automatically drawn to a different route. The driver, a white, dark-haired man, curses in French. Cars avoid us. A minivan spins and halts, sideways in the road. We're careening into a one-lane, one-way street. By some miracle the incoming car avoids us; the road widens and different lanes appear. But then a truck barrels towards us. I imagine rather than feel the crash. I'm in the bathroom at home, drinking tea, which unexpectedly makes me pee on the floor. Then I wake up in a hotel room and tell my mother I had a frightening dream that ended in a silly pun: "Remember how, when I was a kid, I thought it strange how 'accident' could refer both to car crashes and pee-related incidents?" ... I wake up for real in my own bed, relieved that I haven't in fact peed in it (the last time was when I was, what, 6?) but with a headache from not enough sleep - I'd drifted off at 3:30 AM, an open notebook with early drafts of novel chapters beside me. ... Now I'm in a room with my mother again, but it's a bed and breakfast in England. She thinks I'm gross for chewing wads of gum, maybe three or four pieces together. I finally take it out of my mouth, even though it still tastes minty, and then I cough gummy phlegm into the same napkin. "See? Gross. The gum isn't good for you." But I think maybe it is good for me, in getting the gunk out. Or maybe it's causing it in the first place. I'm not sure. On the hillside outside the window, the grass looks impossibly green. Mom explains that the vegetation in England is like this: more countrified than in Canada, more saturated, more naturey. I'm not sure I can bear it if it's TOO perfect. But it's not that eerie or unfamiliar. Groups of cows are grazing on the hillside. Three or four calves are suckling the teats of one cow, and I think to warn David not to try to pat them, however fluffy and cute (and oddly doglike) they look, because mother cows are fierce and they WILL stampede you. Then my eyes turn to a shelf and I see five pairs of shoes, lined up. Will David think five pairs for an 11-day trip excessive? When will I meet him, anyway? The slip-on sneakers are tan instead of black - new to me, it seems, but nevertheless worn and comfortable. 220604 ... e_o_i A flying train launches not too far from me, and I wonder whether its booster rocket will just fall down to earth. Yes. No one's hurt when it lands, but discarding the whole rocket seems wasteful. The Russian space train program is like that. The States' version takes ecology and thriftiness more into account. But is that actually true? It's the line I've been presented. I gradually come to realize I'm in a Cold War thriller, a paperback with large print on the cover and tiny print inside. But I don't have to believe that the American space trains are any better. I can disapprove of all space trains, and maybe I should. ...But they look so COOL. 220623 ... e_o_i Partly blatherskite_dreams...the conundrums of categorization... "Indochina" is the name I'm given for the place where I start kissing a statue who then comes to life (today's new_dream_lessons). But I'm unsatisfied with this name as well as the former statue's kissing habits. Am I in India or China, or another place nearby? Places, places. My cheek is less sensitive than my neck, and avoiding my mouth makes this all too impersonal. But I'm already in a relationship, right? Of course, David WOULD be other people sometimes. But the statue woman seems not to really love me, so I'd better stop. And thinking of David reminds me that I'm oceans away from home again. For a fleeting moment I'm sliding over Egypt in a glider, and a tour guide is pointing out the famous Egyptian tower, which you can see on the horizon from "most of the rest of Africa, even South Africa." Are we going to go that far away just to test his hypothesis? No, we're back in India, which is definitely India now. I'm reminded that raze lives in India, so I knock at a wooden board and there he is, in a room with a digital clock and a rabbit. The digital clock reads 1:15, and that's in the morning, so I apologize. "My internal clock still thinks it's 8 PM." He understands and hands me the rabbit. In my arms, the small animal turns into a woman wearing a soft sweater. I give her a hug, but set her down. She and I have one of those funny dream_conversations, which I forget (except that I express mild surprise at her shapeshifting), and then I'm in a hotel room, trying to sleep. Which leads to relief when I wake up in my bed, realizing I'm home and I've already been sleeping. The next dream has my parents' church becoming Catholic, which means that an adjustable bed pops up (literally) in the middle of the church. This is a prank to show that Catholics "write too much about sex and death," but it also makes me think about sleeping. I'm sure I've been thinking about that topic recently. The place's newfound Catholic-ness is also represented by the pews growing receptacles for wrought iron, incense-filled censers at each end. In this transformation, the church also grows side aisles that make it look like Salisbury Cathedral, the church where a copy of the Magna Carta is stored. (And which is, incidentally, Anglican.) 220716 ... e_o_i The night before last, a close imitation, complete with a) geographically misplaced friends/relatives b) horniness for random imaginary people c) annoyance at not being able to sleep, IN A DREAM I'm in Oxford, U.K., frustrated that everywhere I go seems to be uphill, including cobblestone paths and staircases. (You could go down the staircses, but that's not the way I'm headed.) And I'm here to see my aunt - the one who lives, in waking life, in Arden, Ontario. Except she's not there, but some younger people are staying over. One is a woman who's visiting while David is away (because David lives with my aunt now, apparently) and I'm secretly upset that she doesn't want to do anything sexual with me. Not that I ever ask her about it. I just figure SHE'LL think so, what with sleeping on a mattress in the same room and being the Current Boyfriend Figure (although not a "boy"). And then I forget about that, becoming frustrated that it's already 6 AM and I haven't been able to sleep. (Wakes up.) ... The repetition is a bit annoying, but also funny? I don't know? I mean, the dream situations those past two nights weren't inherently tragic nor triumphant, so I guess it depends on how I feel about it. last night's was about an imaginary craft show - which then reminded me, upon waking, that my next one is in less than a month and I've done nothing to prepare for it besides ordering the fliers for the artisans guild fall show. Knew I was slacking on something. 220718 ... epitome of incomprehensibility I'm wheeling around a two-level trolley, like a grocery cart but with flat beds on the top and bottom. There's a dead man lying on the bottom one. He falls off a couple of times and I have to stop and haul him back on. I don't know who he is or how he died, just that I have to bring him to the bus stop. It would be rude to leave a corpse in the street for someone else to clean up. At some point, the trolley disappears and I'm just pushing a pole that's tied to his legs somehow. His head is down in the slushy snow, but when I push, it feels like there are still wheels. Still, I'm afraid I'm disfiguring his face, that it won't be in good shape by the time we arrive. At the bus stop, he comes to life, stumbling to his feet, unsure and then surer. His nose and cheeks are red, but otherwise he has no scars. I shuffle through my purple purse with the silver pop-can-opener chain mail; now that he's come back to life, he needs some sort of bus pass. My student card will do. Or is it a business card? Plastic or cardboard? Regardless, once I finally find it, it beeps him welcome aboard. The others in line are waiting. 230326 ... e_o_i I'm in Singapore for a few days for a wedding, renting a small hostel room with two other women because things are expensive there. It's one of two doors on the landing after a short, small flight of stairs. Inside, a window next to my bunk looks out onto the sea far below. My two roommates are companionable - whatever conflict is going on doesn't involve them. Because there IS a conflict: a criminal or terrorist seems to have plans to stab someone, but it turns out he's been misunderstood. As for my roommates, one of them appears to be be Annie from last year's immer_immersion German class. We're like characters from Crazy_Rich_Asians, only I'm not Asian. The hostel appears to be connected a mall. At one point I go through its halls searching for a bathroom because "I don't want to poop on the plane" (what plane? we're not leaving yet) and I keep my eyes averted from both the large windows to my left and the bright grocery store. The idea is that if I look at too-bright things, I'll wake up. If my surroundings are kept comfortably dim, I'll stay asleep. So I avoid the light, keep dreaming, and admire the soap in a luxurious washroom up an elevator. In the bathroom back in the hostel, I mimic a psychotic attack by insisting that a can of shampoo on the shelf isn't REALLY there. See, I can put my hand through it! It's all in good fun because I'm just dreaming, and it's like the mystery of the maybe-stabbing-things man. Only I'm stabbing things with my hand. My punishment is that someone left several cakes of soap of various sizes and colours in our toilet. It wasn't my nice roommates, but another person who objected to my messing with reality. Whatever - I can scoop them out and run them under the sink. They're clean now and we can use it. We don't spend all the time inside the building. We never seem to get to the wedding, but we go down a waterslide that's called a roller coaster, only it's an extra long version of a slide tube. Then there's another ride with a Montreal metro theme, and the goal is to collect colourful containers that can be redeemed for coins (I mean, that's my video-game-type hobby in real life, only the range of redeemable containers is narrower). In between, there's sleep. But because we're not quite adjusted to the time zone and we're in the middle of a busy port city, we don't always get it. If I'm lying awake I try not to stress out, just grab the sleep I can. There's a hint of tension when my two roommates are talking without me. But then there's a sense of camaraderie again: it's early morning and all of us are awake when we don't need to be, so clearly it's time to quietly read newspapers together in the hazy yellow sun and wait for sleep to weigh our eyelids again. My newspaper has an ad for Plathfest, the Sylvia Plath festival. "It can get dark!" a cartoon woman tells us cheerily. She's drawn 60s-style, with a bob of softly curled hair. On my other side there's an anthology of German essays. "I don't know why I bought this," I complain to no one in particular. "It's not like I can read it." ... (And just when I'm ready to claim more sleep, I'm summoned to awaken earlier than usual for an exciting Phonology exam. Maybe that's why I remember so much of the dream. But in real life, going to Singapore for weddings isn't solely a book-character thing: my choir-mate Rachel is off for a relative's wedding there and will miss the May concert, sadly. As for the Potentially Dangerous Criminal bit, there was a misleading caption in the conservative-leaning National Post section of our paper that said an international student whose deportation order was delayed admits - admits! - to being involved in "a foreign-funded rebellion" against the Canadian government. Guys, he's part of Extinction Rebellion. An *environmental* group. So calm your royal Canadian horses.) 240425 ... e_o_i Besides dream_switzerland, a snippet from a few nights ago had me planning a trip for my brother. "He's already been to Egypt," I think, very secure in this premise, "so perhaps somewhere else on the continent? But central Africa would already be too hot this time of year, wouldn't it?" (as if he, not I, were the one bothered by hot weather). 240521 ... e_o_i Here, it's not about the destination, but the vehicle. I'm going through train cars looking for my parents, and I find them in the "conference car." It doesn't have two seat rows as the other cars did, but moveable chairs set around a table. Because there's no middle aisle, there's plenty of room (plus room at the side for people to pass by). There is space. Carpeting. Comfort. My parents greet me, as does a Perrier bottle, with a promise of food to come. Only I have to attend their meeting, which is about planning some sort of fundraiser. 240605 ... e_o_i I'm with the German class from immer_immersion and a few of us are travelling on a small plane. I'm nervous about it all of a sudden - literal fear_of_flying, general panic at new and unexpected things. All four of us are in a single row, the pilot and three passengers. I'm on the other end of the pilot. But I confess my sudden fear to the guy beside me, Nikola I think he was supposed to be, and the act of saying it is comforting. I don't try to plead my way out anymore. We're taking off inside a building, a vast cylinder. There isn't a runway - we have to lift off right away and navigate through the cylinder's large spiral ramp, sort of like the staircase in the Guggenheim Museum. The skylight on top is supposed to be open to let us out. But no. There's a crash. When the plane stops rocking and we scramble out, I'm secretly relieved that we're not going farther, but then I see that a girl is struggling to walk - in fact, a couple of people have minor injuries. I get out and look around, seeing that the skyline door was only half open. Now there are voices and other people from the class are running up to meet us. I'm not surprised when Holly, voluble, exclaims her relief and hugs me, but I am when Grace does the same. I know Grace better, she's in my class, but normally she doesn't show so much emotion. Now there are tears in her eyes and she's running again, looking for her friends. Another of the runners-up is Eliezer from high school. I have a vague idea that my mind has misplaced this tall, freckled classmate, that he wouldn't be quite so young anymore, but then we're going around flying airplanes inside, so... 240828 ... e_o_i (Now that I think about it, how did more people get on the plane between the boarding time and the crash? I remember: a man who was a pilot, the girl from Newfoundland whose name I forget and to whom the dream gave a twisted ankle, Nikola, and myself. But when it crashed, it seemed there were more people inside.) 240828 ... e_o_i I've gone to Rome with my parents, just like that, and we're staying at a fancy hotel called The Callabrin. Only, when we go out to see a crowded town square - which is more of a rectangle, and which is a bit like a fountain in actual Rome and a bit like Berlin around the Brandenburger Tor - I lose track of my parents and so I can't get into the hotel that night. I don't panic. I sign into a hostel. "At least I've got a separate room," I think, but then another woman appears in my bed. About my age. Brown hair. Lying on her side, trying to sleep. Why do I decide to kiss her? I wouldn't do that to a stranger in real life, but I have some sense it's a dream. And the contours of her face seem desirable. But my kiss isn't desirable to her at the moment. Neither does she panic or rage. She just pulls her head back and gives me an annoyed look. Now a bed has appeared next to ours and the man and woman in it are laughing at me. I get up and the dark-haired woman does too. "Let's get naked in the shower," she says to me unexpectedly. It's a white, futuristic capsule, bigger than it seems on the outside. But then I find more people inside, sitting around what looks like a table, laughing at us. (At that point, one just has to give up and wake up. No sex, no explanations, no finding the ones you've lost.) 241023 ... e_o_i My brother and I barely catch the bus. It's a sleeper bus going from Europe to Quebec, powered by some dream_geography logic. We have to climb up to our bunks. I see him across from me, adjusting ropes that prevent his bags from falling. I turn around for some sleep inside sleep. 241213 ... e_o_i (dream_names: a town named "Dariu" on the ticket) 241213 what's it to you? who go blather from