22 March 2006
(thank you ward-- for letting me borrow this picture)
the other night, I dreamt that I went to a new salon in the area and begged for an appointment. miraculously, they had an opening and the woman immediately began to cut my hair. and she cut the bangs just like I'd been wanting though what I ended up with was a head full of extensions that seemed to be cut from an old black embroidered rug (sort of a choppy, stylish bob-- think raggedy ann meets eighties punk). and for a brief moment, I thought maybe I could really work this look, maybe I could pull it off. but then the reality of having carpet strips for hair sunk in and all I could think of was what my mom would say (because if she couldn't refrain from saying something about my super-cuffed jeans, she most certainly would have some words for this new hair). so I began to try to pull out the extensions, which seemed to be attached with some sort of thick wax. my stylist had disappeared (of course) and I began to plead with everyone in the salon-- please, someone help me get these out, please! and then I targeted the stylist standing closest to me, a hipster with a faux hawk and an orange tan: what, am I not cool enough to be helped? am I not wearing the right clothes? why aren't you helping me? why won't anyone help me? I'm never coming back, I screamed. my tirade brought nothing but blank looks and apathetic responses, which sent me into a graphic rage of epic proportions. and the dream went on and on like this and other equally strange things took place both before and after the whole hair salon sequence, but this is the scene that stuck with me, the one I can't seem to shake. it's funny, really. I laugh when I think about it but I'm also a little creeped out and not exactly sure why.
so I've been thinking about dreams a great deal the last couple of days, about how strange they really are. like, if you really really stop and think about it, if you earnestly try to understand the nuts and bolts of dreaming-- it's just the strangest thing. this idea that elaborate stories take place in our minds while we sleep, most of which we have absolutely no control over, it's so strange. not ground-breaking news (I realize) but all the same-- infinitely odd.
do you dream most nights? do you dream in black and white? or color? do you have nightmares? do you have recurring dreams? do you remember your dreams? do you write them down?
I have recurring dreams that involve losing my teeth. or dreams that revolve around me showing up at school whereupon I suddenly realize I've missed two weeks of class and am in no way prepared to take the exams. or, I am called on to perform and am supposed to be prepared but do not know the choreography or text. either way, panic sets in and it's all very unsettling because it all feels so real. once, I dreamt that I bought a kharman ghia convertible (my dream car) and I swear, I woke up in The Greatest Mood Ever because I really, truly believed I owned one. I believed that as soon as I left the house that morning, I'd be driving to school in the newly purchased convertible. it wasn't until I was on my second bowl of cheerios that I realized that this was not AT ALL true. I was genuinely disappointed too, as if there were ever really a chance that I might own such a fabulous little vehicle.
I've flipped through the books. the ones that you see while you're standing in line at the grocery store, the ones on the bargain table at the book store. I know that personal stresses and issues find their way into dreams, that there's all kinds of symbolism and subconscious meaning attached to dreams, I know this. I suppose I should pay closer attention to what's going on inside my head in the dead of night-- I should try to make the dreams work for me, use them as an inside track or something. but I don't, not usually. I enjoy them as if they were movies and love to tell ward (or anyone who will listen) every last detail.
dreams are strange.