Archive for the ‘friends’ Category

“Peanut Butter Unicorns”
October 1, 2009

I had a dream/nightmare last night. Some friends including my bro and his wife and I were all tripping on a drug that made characters… …we saw on t.v. come to life. However something went terribly wrong and while I was outside the house caught fire & I could hear their screams of horror. I woke up at that point but I made myself go back and finish it. It ended with me killing Mike Myers (the villain) with a shotgun and some decapitation.

Those screams though, they are still getting to me today.

Submitted by Lyn in New Orleans


Total Exposure
August 15, 2009

I dreamed I was at a restaurant.  It was really kinda nice, and the lights gave off this soft glow (candles on the table maybe?).  I was at a round table with people I know and respect.  I firmly believe some of you were there.  When I woke up I distinctly remember thinking my “blog readers” were present.  But other people were there, too.  People I didn’t feel as comfortable with, but I respect and like.  Like maybe GG?  I can’t say I’ve dreamed about him, but the people at the table were a bit of an amalgamation of people like him – people I respect and can trust and talk to, but with whom I am not yet very comfortable.  People who make me feel as if I have NO idea what they really think of me or how they really feel about anything.

And something happens and I can’t tell you exactly what, it’s very blurry.  It’s something like I’m digging through my purse and a razor blade falls out, and I’m very embarrassed so I try to scoop it up, and when I bend over and get it in my hand my hair falls in my face and I push it back.  When I do, I scrape my face.  I am mortified that everyone at this table is about to see all this, so I’m trying to put a napkin to my face and then examine it to see if it is indeed just a scratch or if it’s bleeding bad.  When I look at the napkin I think, “whew” it’s not bad, I can say I just scratched myself with my fingernail, but as I look at my nails I realize that I must have gripped that damn blade too hard or snatched it too quickly because my index finger is cut, and deep.  I start to panic as I think, “Holy shit this is going to need stitches,” and it’s not the stitches I’m upset over but the fact that this one will be too deep and messy to hide, and everyone at this table is about to see it.