Sweet dreams ’til the sunbeams find you

I’m one of those people who can always remember their dream from the night before. Sometimes that can feel pretty good (childhood memories, romantic thoughts, meeting celebs) but other times you wake up wondering what the FRICK you watched/listened to in order to dream something so…weird.

The latest instalment in my odd dream saga included fire, blood and sonic booms. Hello, my name is Charley and I’m some sort of psychopath.

It started off with me realising we had a fire in our kitchen. Running downstairs and seeing that the oven was pouring with smoke, we quick-footed it out into the street in our pyjamas to see everyone else in the street in the same situation. Each house on the road had smoke filling their kitchens and everyone was wearing dressing gowns and slippers – even the weird dubstep rave family on the corner. We all realised that this was some kind of curse that had found its way to North West London, after hitting a town in Sydney a couple of years ago and then moving on to France (watch this space readers, there’ll be a hit film with this kind of imagination).

We knew what was coming next – the sonic boom. We clung onto each other for dear life as the whole street shook and our heads went all fuzzy, forcing us onto the ground with confusing kaleidoscope vision. Then came the nosebleeds…I told you my dreams were freaky. Everyone suffered a nosebleed and miraculously had tissues in their pockets, so lay on the floor waiting for them to stop – it was just part of this ‘curse’ that had arrived in the town. After they’d all stopped we got up and peered around the street, noticing that all of our houses had swapped places. We were frantically looking for number 11 (not our house, which is even weirder) so that we could sort the whole mess out, but found it containing another family’s belongings. This was another effect of ‘the curse’, that our houses switched places and we were forever forced to live in other people’s houses with other people’s stuff. I think this quite clearly shows my fear of never owning anything of worth in my life, instead having to be careful with other people’s things.

“Well thats not good”, S was shouting, “my mum’s never gonna be able to get up these steps”. Number 11 had huge steps up into the front door, plus a Willy Wonka style porch complete with shrinking room. “We’ll have to make a ramp” I reasoned, trying to clamber into the hall but there was a dark wood cabinet in the way. “Or we’ll find Number 11’s owners and ask them to help us swap everything back”.

Then I woke up really confused, wondering how I’d managed to dream something so odd and unpredictable. I wanted my lovely childhood dreams back, full of My Little Ponies and opening presents at Christmas, none of this London Curse stuff that scared the bejeezus out of me! It reminded me of some other weird dreams I’d had years ago and never forgotten. One was that I’d had a car crash with a celebrity and died *gulp*, but something odd had happened on impact causing me to still live but only when seen through orange light. Hmmm. Orange is really unflattering, if I’m honest. It also meant my family spent an awful lot of money on coloured bulbs. I’d like to say I was worth it though.

Another one was having to get my picture taken in a photobooth, but every time I got out to pick up the photos they were blank. My friend was in her solo photo and she appeared in mine when I tested it out, but whenever my solos were printed I was missing! It’s been a while since I studied Psychology (and that was only to laugh at penis envy), so I have no idea what any of these dreams mean – but if anyone can point me in the right direction to someone who might know, it would be super interesting to see what everything works out to mean.

In the meantime, please God can I dream up the next bestselling novel-turned-film? Pretty please?

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1 Comment

  1. 22nd January 2011 / 11:33 am

    I am so glad to not be the only one having mental dreams! I always had nightmares when I was younger and still do sometimes… have woken up shouting before, or just shaking because I’ve just been shot (maybe it’s Lewisham’s influence?).

    I reckon mad dreams mean we’re creative so I wouldn’t swap with those who forget… just wish I could forget some of the more horrid ones!