I've always maintained that I don't remember my dreams... and I really don't... not those middle of the night ones.I do tend to remember the ones you have after you've already woken up once and have gone back to sleep... where sometimes you're aware that you're dreaming, and its like watching your own personal teevee show, and you just go with it... THOSE I tend to remember, maybe because my brain is "switched on" while they're happening, and it makes me remember, at least for a while after I wake up... after about half an hour all the details get a little sketchy...
And for some reason, I've been having those dreams this weekend... one yesterday, and one this morning...
Yesterday's was a little more vivid... and a little like being trapped in some kind of bad sitcom... all I really remember is it starting out with Jamie Durie for no apparent reason... then it seemed to slide into weirdness, including people I know/knew alongside Betty White as a judge, David Duchovny as her son (I think), and Bel Ami star Sasha Chaykin as somebody's boyfriend... as well as, for some reason, a small set of drawers in an alcove standing in for my car (I've got no idea what that's all about), and trying to fit four people on top of them so we could go somewhere... weird.
This morning's sifting of my psyche reminded me of something else... every time I dream about a house, or home, or whatever, when I know I'm "at my house" in my dream, its never MY place, or where my Mum now lives, its always the house I grew up in. And I'm never sure why... obviously that place imprinted on my brain pretty damned deep (and so it should have, I spent over half my life to date there).
There was some other stuff about me having to collect someone from somewhere, and Mum stopping on her way home to pick up some woman she knew, and getting "home" to find my cousin was inside waiting for us... but its all a bit of a blur now.
And I thought my brain was weird when I was awake!
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