Posts Tagged ‘suitcase’

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dream. (f/ Mr. Clarke & Tenerife (nearly))

August 31, 2009

At first I was in some sort of computer game with a red blob where I had to collect coins around this gothic castle.  Mario much?

Then I was packing my suitcase to go on holiday to Tenerife with my father.  My mother and father were wandering around the house trying to help me, but I was doing an okay job by myself.  We were also watching television at the same time, and I remember the weather in Bristol was pretty nice – sunny and picturesque in the view outside over our patio.  I then had visions of walking around Spain taking photographs (which reminded me of another dream I’d had when I was staying at a hostel in Spain with schoolfriends, which began collapsing around us as we ran around inside looking for things to collect / explore).  Anyway, my father informed me that I would have to make my own way to the airport (I guess maybe he wasn’t coming with me after all?), which pissed me off somewhat.  But I was sitting in front of the television, which sometimes showed a programme and at other times would be off.

Then I remember I was sat in the back corner of the school classroom I was in in Year 7 (aged 11-12) in the middle of a maths lessons with Mr. Clarke.  Mr Clarke was my maths teacher for 4 out of the 5 years that I took maths in secondary school; he was pretty nice (we organised gifts for when he returned to school after paternity leave) and also very sexy – my mother had/has a big crush on him (he was gorgeous, to be fair).  So he was teaching this maths lesson, and I was sitting the back corner, and I had somehow acquired a dark blue napkin, which I was folding like origami.  Somehow, I made a paper aeroplane (which I can never do in real life) so I held it in my hands, but the temptation was to great so I let it fly.  It sailed across the classroom and landed in the opposite front corner of the room.  Mr. Clarke stared at it, then pretending to ignore it, while I went to the front of the room to pick it up and put it in the bin. I then sat down in a seat at the front corner, behind one of my friends Ben Conrad (who was a skinny boy I was pretty good friends with around that age).  We were trying to copy things off the board, and Mr Clarke had written a list of things. However, my eyesight made them really blurry, and he’d written them in a green pen which meant that I couldn’t read his writing properly.  I asked Ben what the penultimate word said, and he replied “it’s hydration”.  I thought that he was wrong and told him so, as I could make out too many loops in the word for it to be “hydration”.  Mr. Clarke heard us disagreeing and said “instead of asking him, why don’t you put your glasses on?” and pointed at the glasses sitting on the edge of my desk, which I hadn’t noticed until this point.  So I put my glasses on, and I saw that the word said “H500000”, and Ben had been right. (Apparently, in my dream, “H500000” was equivalent to “hydration”, because that’s obviously the correct formula!)  I just remember Mr Clarke looking at me and smiling, and then I woke up.

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another dream.

August 23, 2009

If you know me, you know that I quite often have very strange dreams.  This is the third vivid one I’ve had this week, after one where my French assistant from university, Anna Winterstein, had come to take me to France in her truck with her boyfriend, except we drove through Clifton to get to Moscow, and from Moscow we were going to drive to France in this truck.  Dreams ≠ logic.  And the worst part was that in the dream, Anna Winterstein was a murderer and a child molester, having slept with a 15yo girl in one of her classes (this is clearly taken from an article I’d been reading in the Metro during the day, where a female music teacher had been convicted of the exact same thing); I pleaded with my dad not to send me with her, but he wouldn’t listen!

Then, I had another dream also set in Moscow (added scenes set in St. Petersburg) where me and my father had to pick up all the rubbish off the streets.  I don’t know why I have been so fixated on Russia in my dreams lately, I’m not reading anything to do with Russia, and I haven’t really come into contact with anything Russian over the last few days.  But last night’s dream was not related to Russia, but instead had elements from Italy and Spain, combined with Bristol (of course).

I was at home with Dad and it transpired that I was supposed to be on holiday in Italy somewhere, but we’d come home for a couple of days in the middle of the holiday for a break from the holiday.  However, I was secretly going to sneak away back to Italy.  Me and my friend Tom Main (from school, I haven’t seen him for years) were on the patio outside, and we had to distract our next door neighbour Julie so that I could get inside and pack my suitcase and leave without her seeing.  We looked through the gap in the breeze block (which was in the pattern of a flower) and then we started singing Kylie Minogue’s “Can’t Get You Out Of My Head” in eerie high squeaky voices.  Sure enough, Julie came out of the house next door and into the garden to investigate.  We crept back inside out house and I went to start packing my things.  Then Tom Main disappeared and my other friend from school Flick Waite (again, not seen or spoken to her in years!) appeared in the front driveway.  She asked me if I was ready to go, and I said I wouldn’t be a minute, just packing my suitcase.  My dad was sat in the lounge and I decided to tell him upfront that I was going, he said “fine, if that was what I wanted to do”.  I went upstairs to my room to pack my things, and I was folding up my blankets from the bed and packing my phone charger and some cds and things, and I remember thinking I had to hurry because otherwise Flick would go without me.  She called my phone after 15 minutes and asked where I was, I said that I would be down in a minute.  I shoved more things into a suitcase and then ran down the stairs and realised I had forgotten to pack any clothes, but then that all the clothes I needed would be back in the wardrobe in Italy.  I went outside to meet Flick, and we got in a taxi and disappeared.

The next thing I remember is being in a car with my dad and Nonna, driving to a Spanish airport (I think it was Spanish because the scenery reminded me of Spain).  We were in a race against time so that we didn’t miss our flight, and also because I had the vague idea another car was chasing us.  My dad was explaining the different routes we could take as he drove, and he said that it was good to go the way we were going because we could drive any direction we liked.  The motorway was gridlocked but then suddenly two parallel tunnels appeared, a round one and a square one.  My dad explained that we were lucky because we could go through either one of them.  We drove into the square tunnel, and it turned into a computer game where we had to navigate twists and chicanes and avoid crashing into the walls.  The tunnel underground was made of beige square paving slabs.  Occasionally, there would be a car (it was like a sporty sleek red stock racing car) moving slowly towards us, but we would drive around it and eventually we made it out of the tunnel and to the airport, which was on a boat (!) in a harbour.  We got out of the car, and ran onto the boat and looked around duty free (there was an M&S) while we waited for the plane.

Then I don’t know what happened to the airport but I was at my godmother Margaret’s house, and she was looking through old photos which were up on a big slide projector on the wall.  I don’t know why, but she started laughing and joking about something, and I thought it was at me.  She told me not to be so silly, but I was convinced that she thought I was stupid for some reason in the photo, so I started sulking and eventually I went home.  Mum and Dad were at home, and I sat at the table with Mum, where we had a brief conversation.  Mum asked me if I remembered the Christmas where we both went shopping and bought Mariah Carey perfume.  I said yes, but then I hid my wrist under the table because I was wearing a different perfume and I didn’t want her to know.  So I changed the subject and told them about Margaret making fun of me and how upset I was, because I felt that she wasn’t respecting me as an adult.  Dad was sat in his chair watching tv, and told me not to be so stupid, and that older relatives are allowed to tease you when they want.  Mum told me to ignore him and said she understood how I felt, and not to take it personally because there was nothing wrong with me and I did not overreact.  I walked up to Dad in his armchair and I realised that his arm and his foot were deformed, like a thalidomide baby.  He looked quite grumpy and tried to get me and mum to shut up so he could watch his programme on tv.  I woke up a couple of times, drifted off, reminisced about parts of the dream and tried to make sure i would remember it when I finally woke up properly.

If anyone can shed any light on what any of this dream might mean, go for it!  Because honestly, I have no idea 😉