Two Dreams about the Human Condition

I dreamed that the human body did not actually need food to survive. Calories were an extraordinarily addictive drug that every human on earth was helplessly addicted to. The physical sensation of hunger and death by starvation were actually just symptoms of the withdrawal from this drug, which is too intense for most humans to live through.

The addiction begins in the womb, with the food consumption of the mother. If a person could be found who could survive the extreme withdrawal process, that person would no longer need to eat. A new race of people free from caloric addiction could be bred.




My other dream last night took place in the year 2341. Science has perfected a serum that, when injected intravenously, made the recipient immortal. They could still be killed, but they would no longer age, and would be immune to almost all disease.

The government decided that this serum could not be given to the general public because the population would grow exponentially. No one would die, but the birth rate would remain the same. This would probably lead to the end of the human race.

But it would be a shame to never use this serum. Imagine if they could have given this serum to Mozart, or Da Vinci. They could have gone on creating forever. We must preserve our geniuses, the government decided.

So immortality was given as a prize to those who earned it. It was like the Noble Prize, and they called it The Eternal Creation. It was given to those whom the Immortal Committee deemed the finest artists, and scientists etc.
It was a desperate and viciously competitive award. It led to much plagiarism, and murder.

Sleepwalking: Circles! D:

Minor sleepwalking event last night.

I sat up startled. I either thought or said out loud: "There are too many circles! Circles everywhere! I need some squares to balance it out."
I got out of bed with the full intention of going to get some squares. But wait! I thought. I need to wash my hands first.

In the middle of washing my hands, I woke up. Whenever this happens there is a moment of insanity where two things are true at the same time. It was the truth that I needed to go find some squares, and it was also the truth that that didn't make any sense. Finally the latter truth won out, and I realized I had been asleep.
I got back in bed, wondering what the hell "getting some squares" would have entailed.

This is a perfect example of a category 2 sleepwalking session. I probably wouldn't have remembered it at all if I hadn't woken up in the middle of it.

Little Big Dreams

I dreamed I was being attacked by El Niño. He was an assassin, sent to kill me. He had a theme song that played every time he was in the room. It sounded like a theme song to a cheesy 80s cop show.
"El Niño! He get's his man every time! Oh yeah! El Niñooooooooooo!!!"


I also dreamed I was sitting in bed petting my roommate's cat Musubi, looking out the window as it rained. It was a pleasant afternoon. Then Musubi turned to look up at me, and in a very deep man's voice (despite the fact that she's a girl cat,) she said:
"Your alarm is gonna go off soon. You're not gonna like it. I feel sorry for you."
Instead of being surprised that Musubi could talk, I looked at her slightly confused.
"What do you mean, Musubi? I didnt' set my alarm. I wasn't planning to take a nap."
"That doesn't matter," she said, "because you're asleep anyway."
I went from confused to slightly paniced that she might be right and I didn't even know that I was asleep. I went through a whole existential crisis about what it really means to be asleep, and how do we know if we are dreaming at any given time.

Then my alarm went off. Musubi was right, I didn't like it.

Sleep Texting: Watermelon

It's a busy time of sleeptexting!
This is ironic, because Anjin texted me in the middle of the night to talk about the sleeptexting I did the night before. I was of course, asleep.

Anjin: I just read your sleep text with Jake! That is so intense!

Me: Well sure. But what are you going to do with that watermelon?

Anjin: I was thinking about cutting it up and eating it. Did you have any other ideas?

Me: You know we're allergic.

Anjin: I have been dying for a good summer fruit! Look at it- it's so beautiful. Are we really going to let it go to waste?

Me: Maybe you have an affinity for anaphylactic shock. Personally I like breathing more than fruit.

Anjin: Ok. ok . You always did get your way. Now what will we eat for a snack? I'm hungry.



Meanwhile, Anjin texts Jake, to tell him that I'm sleeptexting. So I receive this text from Jake:


Jake: I have a seedles watermelon patch in my backyard. It is underneath the willow tree.

Me: Um, that's nice.





Me to Anjin: Who the hell is this guy?

Anjin: He's a friend of mine! Be nice! He just wants to hang out for the day. He's a little mentally slow. Don't judge him, ok?

Me: You two have fun. I think I'll go home.




Jake: Don't you know who I am?

Me: One of my sister's friends. She told me. Either that or just some strange guy who tells random people about his watermelon patch.

Jake: I am one of her friends. She told me to tell you that. We met a few weeks ago briefly.




Haha. How dare they ambush me in the middle of the night! No wonder I got snarky at them.
My tone is so different in this than it usually is. It seems to be set in modern times, rather than some fantasy past.
Also, I'm not actually allergic to watermelon. I don't know where that came from.

Sleeptexting: Sorceress in the Woods

Long sleeptexting conversation with Jake last night. No code this time. I guess it didn't take long for my subconscious to get used to the new format. It's almost creepy how adaptive it is.

Me: I get the feeling that you are lying to me. And yet I know that you are aware of how unwise that would be in your position.

Jake: Unwise? Perhaps. But how do I trust that you are speaking the truth to me? How do I know you are on my side?

Me: You don't. It's as simple as that. You came to my for my help, at your own risk. I owe you no favors. You had better tell me the real reason you need my kind of help.

Jake: I know your track record. The kind of help you give provides results. And I need results.

Me: If you have heard the stories of me, human, than you have discovered that I owe allegiance to no one. I am no common village witch, existing to solve your problems.

Jake: Indeed. I do not seek allegiance with you, but revenge on the village apothecary owner who poisoned my family. Forgive my inquiries about gaining your trust.

Me: Just a moment ago you said it was the King's physician who did the alleged "poisoning." You are brave to lie to me, but I am losing patience.

Jake: The King's physician was a lie. But it made the matter appear more dire. At any rate, my family is dead and I seek your help for gaining my revenge.

Me: I admire your courage. What makes you think, however, that I will even allow you to leave alive, now that you have seen the whereabouts of my home?

Jake: If you must take my life in the process, than so be it. At least I might be reunited with my loved ones. I traveled a great distance to find you here. The mysterious and dark woods frightened me, but I kept going. And here we are.

Me: How adorable. But I'm afraid I do not involve myself in such petty human affairs as revenge. If you'd like, I can make you a tonic that will lesson your grief.

Jake: Revenge is what I seek, but this is a matter of greater importance. Something that would perhaps make you more interested: the village apothecary owner is being guided by the powers of the Dark Host.

Me: How many times do I have to explain to you that I am autonomous? I care nothing for such things. Go find yourself a nice human witch. They'll do anything for a few coins. I shall not kill you, out of a newfound fondness. But do not trouble me again.

Jake: A human witch simply does not possess the powers needed to destroy this "man." I guess you do not either. I shall venture to the next town to see if Aegir will help me. He holds the power over the waters.


I'm not sure if I stopped responding at this point because my character had nothing else to say to Jake after saying "do not trouble me again," of if it was because Jake was making up a lot of details himself. He told me later he looked on the internet for good names, and Aegir is a norse god of the ocean. He's lucky I didn't call him a fool.
Although I did kinda threaten his life...that's new. O_o

I wonder what I was? A witch? A demon? A fairy-type being? Whatever else I might have been, I certainly wasn't very nice.

Dream: Coma

I really didn't like the dream I had last night.

I dreamed that I went to bed. My dream went over the exact things I did last night before I went to bed, so that I would relive it exactly as it was. I went to bed in my room. I was me, now. (that's already a horrible way to dream. It can be easy to confuse with real life.)

Then I dreamed that I woke up. I was no longer in my room in Cleveland, but in my mom's guest bedroom in New Orleans. I opened my eyes, but that was the only part of my body I was able to move. The guest room was different. There were machines around my bed, the type you'd find in a hospital. I wasn't wearing my Pjs, but rather a loose gown. I saw that Joseph, my cat that lives with my mom, was laying at the foot of my bed.

My mom walked in, but didn't look at me for a few minutes. I tried to say something, but I was frozen. After several minutes of busying herself around the room, she finally looked at me. She froze, and stared at me for a few moments. Then she began talking to me in that way people do when they know you can't respond.
"Your eyes are open again, Lizzy. That always disturbs me when that happens. It stops my heart and makes me think you're awake for a split second. They said it's normal, that most people do that occasionally when they're going through this. I brought some new flowers for you today. They'll look pretty in the window." She kept talking, hardly looking at me. She sat on the bed, and kissed my forehead sadly, before leaving the room.
I tried to move, to speak, to do anything. I couldn't.

I stayed like that, not sleeping, not being able to move for three days in the dream. Day and night I concentrated on moving my hand. In the meantime, my mother took care of me diligently. She changed the IV that was in my arm, changed the sheets once, etc etc. (While changing the sheets, she lifted me and placed me in a lounge type chair next to my bed. Our pug, Tookie, jumped on the chair and started licking my face. I couldn't move to stop him. Finally my mom saw what was happening, and shooed him away laughing. The laughing turned sad, and she began to cry. It was a really sad moment in the dream.)

After three days of extreme concentration, I was able to wiggle my fingers. It took another two more days for my mom to notice. She called the doctors, who told her I was starting to recover. She wept in relief. She sat by my side for most of the time after that. She told me that I had been in a coma for over a year. I had apparently not woken up one morning in Cleveland, had spent some time in the Cleveland Clinic, and had eventually been moved to my mom's house.


This dream was so disturbing, and set WAY too realistically in my real life. I keep getting emotional today whenever I thought about it.
I would categorize this as a category 2, but in the still-making-my-cry subcategory of nightmares, rather than frightening.
I never want to have a dream like this again.

Dream: Not Irish Enough

I was a young man in this dream. It was set in a medieval setting, but had elements of other time periods as well.
I lived in a small island town. The only way to get to and from the island was by ship. I owned a small boat to get from port to port, but I did not have a ship. I was unpopular on the island because I had only lived there a few years.

I was originally from Ireland, but I hadn't been there for many years. I had traveled for much of my life, which was very unusual for people in this day and age. People didn't trust me because I was a traveler, and because I was Irish.


One day I got warning that a hurricane was coming. A big one. It was supposed to arrive that day. No one bothered to tell me about it, so I did not have much time to prepare. Everyone was evacuating the island. I went from ship to ship asking for passage.
"Just like an Irishman," they said "Waiting until the last minute, then trying to live off of what others have worked hard to prepare."
No one let me on their ship, even though staying on the island meant death. "No Irish!" they shouted, when they saw me walk down their dock.

The last ship I approached was a strange ship to our ports. Traders, mostly likely. They were also preparing to evacuate and take their wares somewhere else. I asked for safe passage. The captain listened to me without speaking, glaring at me for an uncomfortably long time. "Where are you from, boyo? You don't have the look of these stuffy islanders." I was surprised to hear him speak with a strong southern Irish accent.
"Well," I told him, "I'm actually Irish."
The captain stared at me for a moment. I was afraid he was angry. Then he burst out laughing. "Hear that, lads? An Irishman!"

The entire crew, who I only just noticed standing around, laughed at me. I was no Irishman to them, that was apparent. The captain, when he could stop laughing at me long enough to speak, told me that he would take me the long route to the mainland, but they were going the long way in order to make a few stops at other islands, and I had to work for my passage.
I spent the next few weeks working hard on the ship. I had become a ship's joke in some ways. I never got to drink the strange alcoholic drink they all had with their supper
"I'm afraid you're not quite Irish enough for this one." they would say.

One day I saw one of the crewmen with a bow in his hand. He was the only one on deck, and he was practicing archery, the mast being the target. I could see that he was very skilled. I always had a gift for archery and I was itching to shoot again.
I asked him for a turn and he laughed at me. I was used to this reaction with just about anything I did on that ship. But I can see he wasn't against the idea. I impressed him with my first shot -a perfect bullseye on the mast-target. He became excited, obviously he had never met another skilled archer before.

He challenged me to a contest. We were close to an island now, and there were small birds sitting on the mast. There were four horizontal levels to the mast. Each of us had to shoot a bird on each level. The first one to miss, loses. (This part, of course, uses dream logic. Why wouldn't' the birds fly away after we killed the first one? lol)

A crowd started to gather as we shot. The men were laughing with me for the first time, rather than at me. A comradery started to build between myself and the archer. He respected my skill. I was bold enough to start making fun of him as well.

He missed his shot on the highest level. I told him that as the winner, I got to decide his fate. I told him he deserved a nice saltwater bath. I went towards him. He realized I was going to push him overboard, and yelled "Irishmen, To me!" The watching crewmen rushed forward to help him, but did not get there quick enough. I tipped the archer overboard into the warm ocean.
The men roared with laughter as the archer sputtered and cursed. He climbed back on board, laughing and furious. He said I wasn't done. I must take the shot, and if I miss it was a draw.

I took the shot, with all the men trying to distract me, the archer shaking water on me from his sopping clothes. I made the shot anyway, and the dead bird fell to the deck.
The archer came towards me with a mischievous glint in his eye. "You deserve a reward for such shooting." he said.
"Irishmen, to me!" I yelled. The men rushed forward again, but this time they all grabbed hold of me and threw me overboard.

As I climbed back on board, they patted my back and handed me a jug of the drink I had yet to try. "You're Irish enough for us to like you, lad." One of them said, "But you weren't Irish enough to avoid a dunking."



I had this dream a few years ago, but I had another dream last night that reminded me of this one. Last nights dream just involved me being an Irishman on a ship. It reminded me that I had this one written down somewhere. I remember liking this dream.

Sleeptexting: Soul Cupboard

This is my favorite sleeptexting session I've had in a while.
It seems as though my subconscious is adapting to the new phone. I had a sleeptexting session last night that was half in Abc code, half in T9 mode. Catheryne took the time to decode them, so that she could respond.

We had been texting last night about the video game Zelda. She was telling me about the temple she was currently in. The last thing she said was something about the map.

Me: But without the map, I can't find the soul cupboard.

Catheryne: How to you propose to get the map?

Me: G gatd tm dapm gt. Gt aammmt ad tajdm. Gt mtpt ad ggtdm. ("I have to earn it. It cannot be taken. It must be given.)

Catheryne: How are you going to earn it?

Me: That's the hard part. You need a soul for the mapkeepers to be able to see you.

Catheryne: A soul? What kind of soul?

Me: Tgdpd gp mmjw mmd twpd. Wgat a mgmdjdpp ptdptgmm. mgmd gp gm tgd atpamapd pgggt mmw, pm wmt pdd mw ppmajdm. ("There's only one type. What a mindless question. Mine is in the cupboard right now, so you see my problem.")

Catheryne: Yes, that is quite the predicament. How are you going to get a soul so the mapkeepers can see you?

Me: Maybe I can borrow one. A couple of soul sharks owe me a favor.

Catheryne: That sounds like a decent plan. I hope it goes well. Soul sharks scare me a little. Will the mapkeepers care if you use a soul that isn't yours?

Me: They can't tell the difference. They have soulsense, not soulsight. You still have half your soul, why don't you try to get the map for me?

Catheryne: That sounds really dangerous. What if they can sense that I only have half of my soul?!?!

Me: Just offer them a gift first thing. A sense is usually customary. You don't really need your sense of taste. I'll make it up to you.

Catheryne: What? You're out of your mind! I love my sense of taste! Can't I offer them something else?

Me: Oh never mind, halfsoul. I'll find someone else. Go do whatever it is you do. Go taste something.

Catheryne: I just don't see how you can make up for me putting myself and my senses at risk for you! There's no need to be nasty. What are you offering for such a personal risk?



I vaguely remember some things about this reality. You could take out your soul and put it someplace to keep it safe, or give it away. I think I lost mine in a bet or something. The senses could be traded, and it was rare for one person to have all their senses at any one time. You traded them for favors, etc.

"Go taste something." I might have to start saying that to Catheryne from now on. :D

Sleeptexting: More Code

I sent another encoded sleeptext last night. I haven't yet figured out how to make my new phone default to T9. Apparently my subconsious thinks it works the same way as my old phone.

Here's what I texted:

G aamt pdd amwtghmg tp gdpd. Ptgt gmgggmg tgd ppw gjapp. Gtp mw ttpm!



I have figured out what it says. But I'll wait a couple days to post it. Try to figure it out yourself and tell me in the comments! ^_^

Dream: Lost da Vinci

I dreamed that I was a servant in a large, wealthy household in Florance in the early 1500s. I was mostly a chambermaid, and sometimes a cook's helper. My parents had died when I was a young child, and I was taken in by my godmother, Maria, who was the cook in this household. She was a kind, but unaffectionate woman. I earned my keep.

Down the cobbled street lived an eccentric gentleman named Leonardo da Vinci. My godmother had told me to stay away from him. He was an artist, apparently, and you couldn't trust people who belonged to the arts. Especially if they were also nobility.

I was walking on the street one day, when da Vinci stepped around a corner, startling me. While I stammered an apology for nearly running into him, he stared at me intently. He then demanded that I come in his house for a moment. I tried to refuse, but he was already halfway back to his gate. I followed. He was a gentleman after all.

He made me sit down on a stool in what looked like a painter's workshop. He stared at me for maybe five minutes, before turning to his desk to write a short note. He handed me the piece of parchment and told me to deliver it to my master. I left, confused, but relieved that was all that had happened.

When I gave my master the note that evening, he laughed.
"It seems as though Senior da Vinci wants to paint you." He looked at me closely. "I can hardly see why. You're not the prettiest, even out of my servants. Oh well, no matter. He has the ear of the court. Any favor I can do is to my benefit. Go to him tomorrow. You're dismissed."

Over the next few weeks, I sat for da Vinci, while he painted my portrait. I was very nervous at first, but it fell into a kind of routine. He was not to be talked to while he was painting, but he was kind once he was finished for the day. I had never known a man like him. He seemed to know everything. He spoke differently than the other nobility I had heard, much more frankly, without the many layers of diplomacy and embellishments.

Only when my portrait was done, did da Vinci allow me to see it. What I saw took my breath away. It was me, certainly. It was my likeness, almost exactly. But it was more than that. It saw past my rather plain appearance, and showed a creature that was vulnerable, beautful and holy. It was as if you could see God looking out through her eyes. I couldn't take my eyes from it. The spell was only broken after several minutes, when da Vinci suddenly covered it with a cloth, and bid me goodnight.

After my time sitting for da Vinci was finished, I found other reasons to visit him. I enjoyed his strange company, but I also felt a strong attraction to the painting. I felt more complete after looking at it, as if it showed me the person I really am. My master tried to curry favor with the artist, so I delivered many parchments back and forth. One day when I walked into his workshop, da Vinci was holding my portrait, looking at it sadly. When I asked him if anything was wrong, he told me that my portrait had caught the eye of a rich nobleman from Rome, and it was to be sent to him tomorrow.

I was horrified. My painting! I felt as if he had told me they were breaking my soul in two, and sending the more beautiful half to Rome. I turned and walked out of the workshop without a word.

I lay in my bed that night in a sort of fever. I couldn't let my portrait be sent away. I had become so fixated on it, so dependent on seeing it almost every day, that I felt I would surely die if I could never see it again. I felt panicked, almost mad with the desperation of staying close to my portrait.
I got out of bed, and dressed in the dark. The house was dark except for one candle in each room. I grabbed only a few items: my purse with what little money I had, my one spare set of clothing, and a loaf of bread and a wheel of cheese out of the kitchen. I crept out of the house and down the street.

Leonardo's house was dark, without candles. I grabbed a candle on the porch of an estate across the road, and made my way into da Vinci's workshop. It was completely silent as I crept towards where my portrait stood covered on an easel. I uncovered it, and felt the immediate euphoria that this painting always held for me. My resolve stiffened. I wrapped the painting back in the cloth. It only fit halfway into my travel sack, but I stuffed it in anyway. Within moments I was out the door, escaping into the night.

I had no idea where to go. I had heard I had a cousin in Fiesole.(*) Without any other options coming to mind, I headed north along the road.
I walked most of the night. In the hours just before dawn, I was on a long, empty stretch of road. At least I thought it was empty until suddenly, 3 men stepped out from the low bushes on the side of the road. They said nothing. They simply came towards me with an air of business like intent. Brisk and emotionless.

One grabbed hold of me from behind. I struggled against him, but I might as well have struggled against a mountain. Another man grabbed my travel sack. He uncovered my painting, holding it up for the others to see.
I screamed, "NO!"
"Calm down, girl. We wouldn't want to hurt you."

I elbowed the man restraining me, in the groin, hard. He let go of me, and doubled over. I ran at the man holding my painting. I hardly knew what I was doing. I acted out of a half-insane, animalistic desire to get the painting away from them. I clawed at the man. He swore and tried to fend me off with one hand. The other man came at me, shouting, but in my wild state, I could not understand him. I went for the eyes of the man holding the painting.

Suddenly I felt a sharp pain in my side. I looked down, and saw that the 3rd man had stabbed me with a dagger. All three of us paused, gawking at my wound. I knew I would die. My only thoughts were that the painting would be taken from me. I looked back at the man I was attacking. With my last strength, I punched my hand as hard as I could through my own portrait's face. I tore as much of the painting off the canvas as I could, and ripped it into several pieces. Then blackness overtook me.

I awoke in a soft bed. My head felt heavy and I ached all over. There was a strong, dull ache in my side. A woman in the room hummed softly as she bustled about. I coughed softly, and she came up to the bed, concern written all over her kind face.
"You're awake! Lord in Heaven! We didn't think you'd make it."
She told me I was in the Twofeather Inn. I was found on the road about a mile away, half-dead and bloody. I had been asleep for 6 days. Before I fell back into a painful sleep, I asked her about the painting. She patted my head affectionately and didn't answer.

Then I woke up.
I suppose it's been a while since I've had a dream as detailed as that. I woke up feeling dejected and achy. What a strange story. Unlike most of my dreams, it almost has an ending, even if it is a depressing one.

(*I have never heard of Fiesole before. But it was a very clear name in the dream. I looked it up, and found it to be a real place. O_o ).

Sleep Texting on my New Phone!

Sleep Texting is back! ...Almost.

I was afraid I'd never do it again, now that I have a new phone. But apparently my impulse to text in my sleep is so strong, not even new technology can hinder it.

Except that it can...
My old phone automatically defaulted to T9 word. My new phone does not. So my text to Catheryne last night came out like this:

"Wgdp gm tgd wmpjd bm wd gdt a gmt agp aajjmmm mm ptag pgmpt mmtag?"

After much amusement this morning over this text, my friends and I decided to crack the code by re-typing all these letters back into my phone using T9, and see what it comes up with.
The result is this:

"Where in the world can we get a hot air balloon on such short notice?"

That definitely sounds like something I'd say in my sleep.
The only word that doesn't work is "can." But that's my best guess as to what that's supposed to be. I probably missed a letter while asleep. (And I would have to push 2 twice to get b, which probably means I wanted two letters from that number. Confusing, I know.)

I wonder if this will continue. I'll not only be texting in my sleep, but now in code. O_o