First, a nightmare that scared me so much that I sat up and said “so scary! so scary” as I’d said in the dream itself, though in the dream it didn’t happen to me or even when I was present, but only to a random guy in an instructional film! It was a promo film for some kind of training program, with very fit-looking twentyish people doing things that would be done in the training (like dancing and martial arts) and at the end a voice-over said “and if you don’t have enough water of your own, there’s The Descending” and the film showed a young man being lowered prone into a water-filled basin two by two meters square and about six meters deep. It was brightly lit from the bottom and the sides, and I think he was on a rope so he could be hoisted out at any moment, but it still scared me stiff and woke me up shaking.
Then I had to read a few pages to put my mind off it, and when I went back to sleep what I dreamed didn’t make much more sense though it was a lot less scary.
Spouse and I were going to take recycling stuff to the recycling station, wheeling our bikes (in waking life only I have a bike) because the load was too big/awkward to actually cycle with it. We came to the normal entrance, but behind that there wasn’t the recycling station but a mud path between fields, very wet and squelchy. We plodded on for at least a couple of kilometers. There were goats in the fields on either side, including some very cute baby goats. One black baby goat had completely covered itself in mud. Finally we came to a round raised area that turned out to be at the seaside, and it felt like we’d been going there deliberately all the time. It didn’t look possible to leave the area at first, but we found an exit, and ended up in a somewhat generic seaside town where Spouse changed phone providers on the fly in a phone shop because she couldn’t get a signal from the old provider, which had been a problem for ages. “Are you done with KPN?” I asked (note: her current waking-life provider isn’t KPN). There was some community/church stuff which I don’t remember; I do remember noticing that my left hand was partly dyed light purple as if I’d briefly dipped it in a vat of diluted purple dye, and my right hand left dark purple stains on things because there was powdered purple dye on it. “It’s months since I’ve dyed something purple!” I said, but there was a cupboard in which we’d thrown bags of stuff from old projects and one of those was apparently the dyeing-things-purple project and I’d taken the bag off the shelf to look what was in it.
 The recycling station has in fact moved from where it used to be (the old location was the one I dreamed). I haven’t been there since it did, and I’m not completely sure where it is now. But it’s certainly not just a few kilometers from the seaside, we live much too far inland for that!
 Years, in fact. The purple dye left in the washing machine was the nemesis of several articles of clothing, including the NEW buff linen dress Spouse bought because I’d dyed the old one purple when there was an indelible purple nail-polish stain on it. Also, a pair of pajama pants which are still lilac with forest design.
Leave a Reply