A Dream …

… ripped from the pages of The Daily Drivel!

Another one of those dreams. We’re living in some urban place, like our old home in Arcadia, but not that specific. Some sort of disaster has happened or is about to happen, maybe economic, maybe nuclear … not clear … but society is breaking down and the people in our vicinity are leaving their homes for points unknown because it’s generally perceived that it’s dangerous to continue living here.

Dystopian. Maybe this is what the Syrian refugees feel, but worse. In the dream I plan us to leave home in two days, but a woman that we know tells us she and her family are leaving tomorrow, and I ponder whether we should leave with them or wait another day. There are  dangers to balance against actions.

Here’s another one of those incidents in a dream which makes me wonder: A man walks toward me, and I expect him to continue walking by, but instead he surprises me and stops and engages me in a conversation that I can’t anticipate. Did I—the objective I experiencing the dream—put this in it? If so, I totally surprised myself. How did I do that? How can you possibly surprise yourself?

This makes me wonder if maybe there are personalities—characters—walking around in my head (probably everybody’s head) independent of the objective I. That’s as hard to grasp as the notion of me surprising myself. But I wonder if it’s true—that the subconscious is walled off into partitions in most of us, and the characters inside only come out to play at night in dreams. Except for the schizophrenic or multiple personality folks (or those prolific authors who arouse my jealousy) whose characters come out in broad daylight to take over.

That’s my idle speculation for the day, my daily drivel, but on the dystopian thing, the dream? With the world threatening to come apart at the seams over the last few years, and a narcissistic mad man poised to take over the reins of the Republican party and maybe the country, I wonder if we should be collecting more canned goods and stocking a “getaway container” in our storage room.

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