it's the end of the world as we know it

last weekend a friend of my husband's told me, in conversation, that most dreams mean nothing --- scientifically, I guess. it seems that the daily bits we recall are just nonsense and it is only the recurring bits that signify, well, something. he asked of any recurring dreams I have. I have a few. one such dream, I told him, I haven't actually had in about a year, but for a number of years had regularly: the end of the world. in the dreams the world is ending and I play the role of comforter and one who helps guide others to a safe ending, not my favorite role (I don't like endings). though the manner in which the world ends is not ever the same in these dreams, the overall sensations are the same: terror followed by haunting calm. well, last night such a dream I had:
in a large shopping area, the building seems constructed from an old barn. there are people just about everywhere. I am trying to get to my husband and friends. I find my husband when I walk into a large gymnasium; the people inside are perplexed by a large, gooey puddle on the floor. I walk into a kitchen and grab a mop. I begin cleaning up the goo, but soon realize it is "alive", as I mop it, it shifts and bubbles -- like breathing. I begin to clear the room when another large puddle appears. A low voice, from behind me, whispers to me what I am beginning to piece together: this goo will eventually - an immediate eventually - cover every acre of land on Earth and gobble all life up. Panic ensues. People are running, screaming, crying. I work my way through the room soothing the frightened people and then begin to lead them onward -- where to, I'm not sure, but it's evident that they must move on. I wait at the door where I lead them out to catch sight of my husband's face. I worry that I will not see him before everything ends. I wait and wait almost losing my composure completely when suddenly his face appears and we embrace.
~~~
This one definitely has a sci-fi channel feel to it. Lately, I've been an ESPN girl, so I don't know where such things come from in my brain.

another blond actor

and peeing. weird combination, but that's the case. last night's dreams found me in a large auditorium, surrounded by young men. I was lounging in a seat while they shuffled past in the aisle, making eyes and small talk in my direction. One asked my age and I honestly answered. Within the crowd soon I noticed the face of Leonardo DiCaprio. He was smiling big as he made his way towards me. When I left the room to find a ladies room, he followed. While I make my way into the rickety looking bathroom and stall, I can hear an old professor of mine lecturing in the room next door. I make my way to this same bathroom a few times, and each time someone is waiting outside the icky stall. The last time I am inside the stall I notice a large window. The sky outside is dark blue and suddenly the sky is illuminated by bright white fireworks. They shine like diamonds and go on and on.

elevator to the side

bits of bits:
waiting for an elevator to arrive. when I get in, I realize it is an elevator that moves side to side. I move to the right. On the elevator ride with me is Brad Pitt, only I don't notice until I have stepped off and look back inside. I am holding two pairs of panties in my hand, and I have taken the elevator to find a bathroom because I really have to pee. Brad motions at my panties and smiles big. I turn and walk away. The area is dark, and has a basement feel. There are lines of people, mostly women, parading around in their best lingerie. And they are carrying big shopping bags. I seem to be in the midst of a lingerie fashion show/sale extravaganza. I continue my search for a ladies room; finally I come across a short flight of stone steps and make my way down to the ladies room. Sigh.

pina colada = crazy dream(s)

Not my usual drink, but summer is confronting us soon, so I enjoyed one last night with some friends. My dreams are a bit big, so a bit tangled too. I write as I remember:

On the side of a road with friends and two of my ex professors, they are thrilled to see me and much looser than they ever were while on campus. Both professors are smoking cigarettes - while I knew the one did, the other seems a big surprise. We are talking writing and they are encouraging me to do something ... some kind of contest or reading. We walk them to their cars and they throw their arms around me before they hop in and disappear.
Next everything gets a bit ... more. Lots going on. I am in a large room with chairs set up through out, people are everywhere though I don't really recognize anyone. A murder has occurred and there is a television nearby relaying every single bit of information on the case. I am transfixed. A movie star blond is the suspect. A tall man approaches me and reminds me of my role in all of this: I owe someone my left thumb, and I must pick one of my fingers to cut off and eat. I am horrified and begin to walk away from him. Not only does he follow but he has gathered supporters and they are reminding me, in unison, of "my word" and how it must be kept.
I grow frantic and find myself inside my childhood home. The large front bay window is undressed and I see a group of reporters and police walking up our hilly driveway to talk with me. They have freaky grimaces on their faces. When they knock I tell them calmly that I will not open the door. Somehow I have now become the suspect in the death of a man I do not know/never met.
The scene switches momentarily and I am among the "finger" people again, outside where clothes are out drying on a line. My husband is there and we get into an argument - I don't know whose side he is on. I have a pair of scissors in my hand and I am waving them around as I grow more frantic and speak/yell with my hands. I nic the right cheek of my husband's face and the thin gash quickly spills over with lots of blood. I apologize, and he seems to realize it was an accident, but the others are not as easily convinced. I have given them more ammunition to believe that I am the killer.
I am back in my childhood house and there are reporters and police coming again to collect and question me. I recognize one lady - a bitch I worked with before; her face is broad with glee, she's getting off that I am in such a position - it's pasted on her face. I tell them again that I will not open the door.
Dark patches of faces and conversations thread through until finally I am beside some investigators as they are removing a body from a car off the side of a dark road. These men, who before scared hell out of me, now smile and joke with me as they pull a blood-soaked body from the back-seat.
The true story unfolds: the movie star did kill the man because he was abusive, then under the threat of life in prison, or worse, she took her own life and wrote out her confession/circumstances. I am exonerated and swiftly pulled from the crowd by the "top dog", he stands me against a white wall and in front of a large crowd applauds my "toughness" and unwillingness to speak with reporters and police. I'm still in shock and stare out blankly.