Crazy dream:

I was walking around my old high school campus with a friend of mine. (Note: This campus was nothing like my real high school, but way to go dream logic.) We would periodically stop outside doors and just listen in to what was going on, trying to spy on the kids. Would recognize any of them?

Eventually, we walked outside, then back in another door, and found a waffle shop. It wasn’t a separate room or anything. It was just plopped in a hallway, more like a food shop that you would find in a mall. On top was a large menu of various waffle options. The counter was made of white tiles, along with a small strip of red lights. Behind the counter was just one Hispanic lady in her 40s who didn’t speak very good English.

At first, I saw an option on the menu that said “Napoleon Waffles.” I really wanted to know what type of waffle that was. When I came for a closer inspection, that item didn’t actually exist. Still, there were a wide array of mouth-watering options. Each menu option had a delicious picture of waffles smothered with different fruits and syrups. One that stood out was covered in cinnamon apples. Also, bananas and pecans. Mm. I decided against those, though, because they seemed so familiar and I wanted something new. I remembered a recent delicious trip to IHOP.

There were also some more curious, unique menu options. There were tiny, half-dollar sized waffles that were marmalade-flavored. At the counter, I also saw red waffles, about half the size of normal waffles, which were labeled “Hot!” Apparently, those were spicy waffles.

What does this dream mean? I’m pretty damn sure that the waffles are a metaphor for waffles. I am craving delicious waffles.

I’ve been having bizarre dreams lately. Dreams fade quickly, so the only thing I remember is their bizarreness. I did manage to hold onto one dream, though.

I’m on a spaceship, about to enter into peace negotiations. I’m not the captain or anything; I have the distinct feeling that I’m an outsider, some type of rookie. In fact, I’m someone from the past (frozen, a long time ago).

I start to think about what I’m going to say and realize how unprepared I am. One needs to be thoroughly prepared for events like these. But now that I’m in this situation, now that I have been given the chance, I cannot back down. I will enter the negotiations with the mindset that I will bring peace; I am confident.

As soon as the enemy spaceships arrive, one of our men begins firing. “Cease fire, cease fire, damn it!” I shout. As I shout it, it sounds ridiculous, like I’m some salty guy from a cheesy movie. The guy stops, but it’s too late. The enemy ships disappear and suddenly reappear (hyperspace jump?) on our flank, firing away. Luckily, it is not a long engagement and we survive the surprise maneuver.

Later on, I’m angrily saying to someone that I would’ve brought peace if it hadn’t been messed up. On one level, I know it’s bluster. I want others to believe in me. But on the other hand, it’s not as if there was a 0% chance I would’ve been successful.

I wonder how the negotiations would’ve gone. Bluster, force of will — these are no substitutes for preparation.

And there we go, I understand the dream now.

I woke up this morning and wandered into the common room. My suitemate said that he had done something to his elbow. I replied that I had just dreamt that I had to wear an eye patch.

Somehow, in the dream, my right eye had been “split.” I think the main reason I was wearing the eye patch was a vague sense that this injured eyeball wasn’t a very pleasant thing to look at. There was also a vague sense that the eye might somehow heal in a while.

The interesting part is not the eye patch but when I passed by someone else wearing an eye patch. We did not even acknowledge each other. What went on in my mind was some type of cruel joke involving the eye patch, which I don’t recall. (I am now reminded of making fun of my friend for temporarily having crutches.) It wasn’t until after he passed by that I realized that I was wearing an eye patch too.

In another bit, I was trying to order some food, and then I knocked a tray off the counter. I commented, “Sorry, I’m having a little trouble with depth perception at the moment.”

I wonder if the eye patch was a result of watching Battlestar Galactica.

We’re in the train. I walk into the train car ahead of me and pull out my space-age looking gun. I try to be menacing, “If you don’t give in to our demands, I will shoot every single one of you.” Yet, they aren’t taking me seriously. I decide that I have to make them take me seriously. I point my gun at the closest person. I pull the trigger, but instead of a giant laser beam, a tiny stream of water squirts out. They laugh at me.

I’m angry because they aren’t playing along. What’s wrong? In other dreams, the guns, the special attacks, don’t work, but everyone else acts as if they do. Of course, when that’s the case, usually nothing happens instead of a stupid squirt of water.

I tried to imagine the laser beam — a huge red laser beam shooting out of the gun — but still, the gun didn’t work.

I’m surprised I didn’t take control of the dream at this point, because I was semi-lucid. I was aware that I was dreaming, at some level, but not aware enough to realize the implications of being inside a dream.

I had a very weird dream last night:

C-H-I-C-K-E-N… It’s Chicken-in-a-cup!

Chicken-in-a-cup: It’s chicken… in a cup.

I was somewhere, maybe in my room. An alarm clock was going off. It kept ringing and ringing. For a long time. In my head, I was thinking, “That’s so annoying! When is somebody going to turn it off?”

Then, I woke up. I realized it was my alarm clock. I hit the snooze button and went back to sleep.

That dream happened a while ago. Not during vacation or yesterday or anything, but I just remembered it and decided to share it.

I just had the most marvelous dream where there was a man in a theater-type place, and I was spouting the most lovely BS in the universe. I talked about how this online comic strip was representative of our times. He mentioned something in comparison, evidently he knew it was a load of BS. It was a gotcha question involving the Peanuts. However, I just continued, talking about how globalization had changed things. It was so magnificent. And now, I wake up from my nap, rejuvenated. I’m ready to face the world once more. My store of BS has restocked, long ago deplenished from having to do college applications.

It was quite an odd dream. There were cut-out pictures of old presidents playing cut-out instruments set to obviously synthetic music. Then, after that, I met this guy, and he told me that he was going a better way. I think I had the vague impression that he was one of the creators of that comic strip I was mentioning.

Anyway, I’d been fumbling with my pockets for a while. I had something extra in them. Like, two wallets or something. I pulled out what was inside just as he was talking to me. It was a piece of a remote control. You know, the thing that you take out so you can put the batteries in? Well, I realized it was his right before he said, “… and evidently, you have something that belongs to me.” Indeed it was his, and I vaguely remembered some previous lending and borrowing. (Dreams are like this with deja-vu. I had also gone to that theater before and remembered it was something crappy.)

This connection established, I followed him instead of returning to my parked car. We meandered about in some sketchy areas and ended up in a Subway sandwich shop. He said there were friends here. We sat at a rather large table (I think it was a few tables put together) where there already was a sandwich at the head of a it. The guy comes over. Before I can introduce myself, he says, “Hey, Shawn, you’re a freshman, right?” He knows the new guy next to me too. The last thing I hear before I wake up is that this is a safe place against the Manipulators.

I have no idea what these Manipulators are. Just a dream-thought, I guess. However, I’m drawing connections after the fact, and I wonder if that guy in the theater was a Manipulator. If he was The Man, and I was sticking it to him. BS was my tool. Fire with fire.

In any case, instead of awakening from this nap feeling gross and disoriented, I feel ready. Hey Manipulators! I can play your game! And I can beat you!

Portion of a dream from last night:

I wasn’t sure which way to go: left or right. I went left, rounded the corner, and ended up in an odd green room. It was a normal, albeit large, room, only the decorations had at least some type of greenish hue in them. The room had a very emerald or jade feel.

It was not, however, where I had intended to be. I apologized profusely to the people in the room, a few older people: I hadn’t meant to intrude, and I accidentally went the wrong way.

I was about to turn around when something compelled me to comment on the decorations. I said I liked the interior design of the room, especially the green feel, very much. I was sincerely complimenting them because the room truly did look beautiful. At that point, I noticed some people doing work in the back, and the room wasn’t quite completed. I quickly tacked a “even though it’s not quite finished” onto my compliment without missing a beat… rushing, in fact.

My stream of talk was interrupted by someone in the room, thanking me for the compliment, and waving his hand, saying, “Come, come, join us for dinner.”

There must have been some sort of trace of reluctance on my part, but I don’t remember any. I join them. The food’s delicious. Somehow or another, other people I know are there. After we leave, I say it’s a good thing I decided to compliment them on their room, otherwise we never would’ve had this delicious food. Hooray for seizing the moment.

I’m reminded of a comment I made a while ago to Ryan. There was this rather nice looking house/castle, but the color the house was painted was just horrible. I said that I wanted to ring the doorbell and tell the owners that their house was painted a horrible color.

“Everyday’s an adventure,” like I always say. (No, I don’t always say that, but I have it written down on a post-it.) However, upon waking, I am faced with this question: Is acting on random urges the same as seizing the day?