Dream 20020214, 7:00 AM:
This dream has shifts from hypnogogia to full-on-dream and back… some parts of it seem more lucid than others. Some parts seem to be actually dreaming about lucid dreaming…
I am in bed, in a house that isn’t my real house, or any house I’ve ever lived in. It is brick, and fairly small, with a second story. The bed that I am in seems to be, paradoxically, both on the ground floor, and under the sloping roof of an attic room. I’m drifting off to sleep, and I keep hearing odd noises that I recognize with a friendly smile as being hypnogogia; there are some that seem almost musical, like a single brief piano chord. Then, I hear a banging noise above me, and I realize that I’m now dreaming, somewhat – I visualize these as some sort of minor annoying demon that is trying to get into the house through the roof. I yell at them, “Bill Doss!” which seems to startle them away and let me get back to going to sleep. My image of them is sort of boxy bat-like animals; they are kind of cartoonish.
Then, I’ve fallen asleep (within the dream) and I’m dreaming. I find myself walking down a sidewalk. Along the sidewalk between it and the street, and in the median of the street, construction crews are digging up the ground with roto-tillers. They are tall machines that look more like weed eaters than tillers, but they’re churning up the dirt. It is very dark and uniform brown, and seems very sticky. I am naked except for a Speedo bathing suit, and my body seems very thin, but like I’m old, not like I’m buff. My skin is not wrinkled, but is pale. I cross my arms across my chest; it’s not really cold, and I’m not uncomfortable, but I have a sense of comforting myself, like I am more exposed than I wish to be. I seem to be aware that this is a dream, but I’m not in a position to change it – I just notice it as it goes along.
I wake up (within the dream) and I’m back in the house. Mom and several other people are here, and Mom is cooking food. There is a sauteed chicken breast in a pan that I had prepared earlier so that I would have it now; she needs the pan, and tips out the food onto a counter or a paper towel. I pick it up, and start hunting for a container to save it in. It is brown like it is “blackened” style, and has a big dollop of some kind of sauce on it. Mom comments that we’ll have to rearrange the way we’re living, if it’s going to be “a mess of folks” here all the time. The kitchen area seems frantic, like there are too many people trying to eat and get out to various appointments. The shape of the kitchen reminds me of C. and J.’s kitchen in FW, but it’s not theirs either.