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You gotta be kidding me. I remembered this, but I make no claims to understanding it well enough to somehow title it. I slept, and I woke, and I'd dreamt. Two segments that stick in my mind.
At the first one, I was staying over at someone's house. It wasn't very houselike - it was large, and I was sitting in a seat not too unlike one at the movie theater, in a row of other such seats. I'd tucked my books and journals which I had with me (a fair number!) under the seat in front of me. My parents were there as well; I got up and walked back to where they were. I knew it was almost time for dinner; other people who were there were talking about which restaurants to go to.
I went back to my seat. My books were gone. People started filtering out to go eat, but all that mattered to me (mostly) was my books. I thought I could maybe order pizza in instead, but mostly I wanted to find my books. I knew my parents wouldn't go to dinner unless (a) I did or (b) I told them I was getting pizza. Instead I went over to one wall - left of me, more or less - where there were lots of bookshelves. The books on them were placed so that covers faced forward, and the book stood up (ie, "stacked" front-to-back). And they were sorted, gods help us all, by the dominant color of the cover.
Oranges. I found my Santiago. It now had a price tag of $4 in front of the cover, and I became irritated. Reds. I found my journal (I don't currently have a journal in this vivid shade in use, actually). I opened it to look for a price but was distracted by a far worse desecration: a full-page sticker over one of the entries, sort of like a huge book-plate, but with nothing that I can recall written on it. And then I began to notice that there were comments in blue ink - one or two words - on each page. I didn't read them, I just got steamed.
The more of my books I collected, the more I saw this same pattern: journals had 1 page covered with a full-page bookplate, and commentary. Regular books had prices pencilled in. After I had about six books (two journals), I saw someone I knew belonged to the house and went to confront her. She was dusting something, but the scene - except for her and my books! - was vague to me by the time I woke. She apologized, and said she'd put the books away, but that there shouldn't be prices or any of the other stuff.
I think I went back to talk to my parents, but I'm not sure. I don't know if I gathered all my books. The dream, or its memory, fades after this.
Going somewhere with my parents (a possible continuation of the "get me out of here" feeling from the last dream?). I think Mom was driving, but maybe it was Dad. It was NOT me. I was in the front passenger seat and I was busy being scared. Because we were going up. And up. A very steep tunnel. Steep as in, almost vertical. With curves, so that often all I saw was the twisted, natural, not-braced wall of the tunnel. Mostly brown, here and there marked with white deposits or the glitter of fool's gold, it twisted and turned away before us as we (slowly, thank heavens!) climbed.
The worst part was, I knew we had to come back the next day, which meant going DOWN. And I also knew, if this side of the tunnel was that steep, that the other side would be as well - only down. So both days we had to go down.
And with that realization we crested the top, rocked over, and started an almost vertical descent. I folded myself forward into the foot space so that my head was aimed almost straight down, so that I wouldn't have to look, and all the blood rushed to my head. It went on and on, so that I felt like I would pass out, and all the while I was scared, even though the car wasn't even slipping. It was a very slow descent, just as it had been a very slow ascent, and I spent it scared and hiding in the footwell. (Incidentally, while my memory suggests my mom was driving - because I think I saw her there in this dream - if she was, she was still in control and calm in this part. I don't remember ANYONE screaming, or saying anything, including me. I just folded down and weathered it. Which is odd; my mother is quite afraid of heights and drop-offs, in real life.)
Then it levelled out and I was so relieved. We'd made it. I sat up and we were in a natural cavern, with a house carved of stone (and far smoother than the cavern walls) before us. I jumped out of the car and walked forward, never looking back toward the way we'd came.
The floor was smooth stone where I walked, carved to a floor - carved to stairs and pathways around the house - but beyond it there was an underground lake. (Underground? The light here was perfectly good - and I don't actually remember a ceiling - only walls.) The lake had a number of rocky formations that formed very tiny pools, which I knew connected to the main body of the lake on their bottom, but which were surrounded by the rocks on the top.
I knew they connected because their were dolphins shoving their noses up through them and trying to look cute for the tourists. These weren't normal dolphns; they were probably not much larger than a large housecat. I wondered how long it had taken to train them to appear in those spaces.
I walked around the side of the house toward a set of stairs that led into the house and some of the dolphins disappeared from their holes, reappeared in the lake proper, and followed me. By the time I reached the stairs, they were only "sort of" dolphins (even though they'd looked quite like miniature, chubby dolphins until that time, from every angle-- chibi-style dolphins??), because they had front legs instead of flippers.
They pulled themselves up onto the lowest stair, looking at me beseechingly, and I knew that this - like all the other things - was an effort to get me to toss them coin, which the owner would later retrieve from the lake. I lingered, tempted, but never with a coin in my hand....
...and then I woke.
At the first one, I was staying over at someone's house. It wasn't very houselike - it was large, and I was sitting in a seat not too unlike one at the movie theater, in a row of other such seats. I'd tucked my books and journals which I had with me (a fair number!) under the seat in front of me. My parents were there as well; I got up and walked back to where they were. I knew it was almost time for dinner; other people who were there were talking about which restaurants to go to.
I went back to my seat. My books were gone. People started filtering out to go eat, but all that mattered to me (mostly) was my books. I thought I could maybe order pizza in instead, but mostly I wanted to find my books. I knew my parents wouldn't go to dinner unless (a) I did or (b) I told them I was getting pizza. Instead I went over to one wall - left of me, more or less - where there were lots of bookshelves. The books on them were placed so that covers faced forward, and the book stood up (ie, "stacked" front-to-back). And they were sorted, gods help us all, by the dominant color of the cover.
Oranges. I found my Santiago. It now had a price tag of $4 in front of the cover, and I became irritated. Reds. I found my journal (I don't currently have a journal in this vivid shade in use, actually). I opened it to look for a price but was distracted by a far worse desecration: a full-page sticker over one of the entries, sort of like a huge book-plate, but with nothing that I can recall written on it. And then I began to notice that there were comments in blue ink - one or two words - on each page. I didn't read them, I just got steamed.
The more of my books I collected, the more I saw this same pattern: journals had 1 page covered with a full-page bookplate, and commentary. Regular books had prices pencilled in. After I had about six books (two journals), I saw someone I knew belonged to the house and went to confront her. She was dusting something, but the scene - except for her and my books! - was vague to me by the time I woke. She apologized, and said she'd put the books away, but that there shouldn't be prices or any of the other stuff.
I think I went back to talk to my parents, but I'm not sure. I don't know if I gathered all my books. The dream, or its memory, fades after this.
Going somewhere with my parents (a possible continuation of the "get me out of here" feeling from the last dream?). I think Mom was driving, but maybe it was Dad. It was NOT me. I was in the front passenger seat and I was busy being scared. Because we were going up. And up. A very steep tunnel. Steep as in, almost vertical. With curves, so that often all I saw was the twisted, natural, not-braced wall of the tunnel. Mostly brown, here and there marked with white deposits or the glitter of fool's gold, it twisted and turned away before us as we (slowly, thank heavens!) climbed.
The worst part was, I knew we had to come back the next day, which meant going DOWN. And I also knew, if this side of the tunnel was that steep, that the other side would be as well - only down. So both days we had to go down.
And with that realization we crested the top, rocked over, and started an almost vertical descent. I folded myself forward into the foot space so that my head was aimed almost straight down, so that I wouldn't have to look, and all the blood rushed to my head. It went on and on, so that I felt like I would pass out, and all the while I was scared, even though the car wasn't even slipping. It was a very slow descent, just as it had been a very slow ascent, and I spent it scared and hiding in the footwell. (Incidentally, while my memory suggests my mom was driving - because I think I saw her there in this dream - if she was, she was still in control and calm in this part. I don't remember ANYONE screaming, or saying anything, including me. I just folded down and weathered it. Which is odd; my mother is quite afraid of heights and drop-offs, in real life.)
Then it levelled out and I was so relieved. We'd made it. I sat up and we were in a natural cavern, with a house carved of stone (and far smoother than the cavern walls) before us. I jumped out of the car and walked forward, never looking back toward the way we'd came.
The floor was smooth stone where I walked, carved to a floor - carved to stairs and pathways around the house - but beyond it there was an underground lake. (Underground? The light here was perfectly good - and I don't actually remember a ceiling - only walls.) The lake had a number of rocky formations that formed very tiny pools, which I knew connected to the main body of the lake on their bottom, but which were surrounded by the rocks on the top.
I knew they connected because their were dolphins shoving their noses up through them and trying to look cute for the tourists. These weren't normal dolphns; they were probably not much larger than a large housecat. I wondered how long it had taken to train them to appear in those spaces.
I walked around the side of the house toward a set of stairs that led into the house and some of the dolphins disappeared from their holes, reappeared in the lake proper, and followed me. By the time I reached the stairs, they were only "sort of" dolphins (even though they'd looked quite like miniature, chubby dolphins until that time, from every angle-- chibi-style dolphins??), because they had front legs instead of flippers.
They pulled themselves up onto the lowest stair, looking at me beseechingly, and I knew that this - like all the other things - was an effort to get me to toss them coin, which the owner would later retrieve from the lake. I lingered, tempted, but never with a coin in my hand....
...and then I woke.
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