Well, once more, a dream has had enough of an impact on me that, despite my recent reluctance to do the whole dream journaling thing, I feel compelled to put the damn thing down into the words in order to help process all the weirdness and wonder of it all.

In fact, part of what is compelling me to write about this in the trusty ol diary here is that my brain pulled a hell of a trick by giving me two, two, two dreams in one, and that is just so god damned fucked up that I feel I have to immortalize it somehow.

So let’s start with Dream One, shall we?

In Dream One, I lost my tongue. Literally. I didn’t suddenly find myself unable to speak, or just suffer a bout of uncharacteristic inarticulacy, my actual tongue came out of my mouth and was there in my hand.

I am not sure what came before that in the dream. I feel like something must have, because I refuse to believe that one’s tongue comes out even in a dream completely without context. Call me old-fashioned, but that is how I was brought up, and it’s how I am today.

But anyhow, yup, reached into my mouth because my tongue felt funny, and just popped the sucker right out. Didn’t hurt at all, just a slight tearing sensation and a sort of pop and there I was, with my tongue in my hand, making horrible tongueless person noises of surprise and dismay.

As one might expect, I suppose.

And yet, as often happens in my dreams, I was not nearly as upset as one might suppose. One would think I would have been at the “screaming in inarticulate horror, crapping your pants, then passing out” level of emotional disturbance, or at least the “cursing the air blue while frantically dialing 911 before crapping your pants and passing out” level, but my reaction in the dream was more like “oh wow, this is definitely going to create some problems with dining, and what will the neighbours think?” kind of reaction.

In fact, the big emotion that came with this horrible occurrence was not horror but shame. I felt like I had done something really stupid and shameful^[1], and had this incredible urge to go hide my shame from the world.

So I skulked about (I seemed to be in a sort of run-down neighborhood on a sunny hot summer day) and found this little shed attached to an old beat up gas station, and decided to hide in there.

What all I did in there, with my still quite alive and responsive tongue in my hand and, for the moment, total privacy, I shall not relate. Use your imagination.

But whilst distracted, there had been a knocking on the flimy door of the shed, and then, suddenly, there was two cops standing there. Uh oh!

Comically (in retrospect) I respond by trying to stuff my tongue back into my mouth and swallow it, sure that this would make it just click back into place. I even recall thinking, in the dream, “this will work, I have done it once before!”. I was like a stoner caught with weed, trying to swallow the evidence.

I think it must have worked, actually, even though by this time my tongue had grown to be at least a yard long (hi, ladies!), because next I remember, I am in the cop car, doing my best to sell the cops on the story that my tongue had just spontaneously come off (?), and they seem to be going along with it. They take me to the hospital, where I fall asleep on a bed in a private room.

(Admissions is way faster in the dream realm.)

So I actually fell asleep in a dream. Then, I wake up, and naturally think “Phew, that tongue thing was really weird, thank goodness it was all just a dream and I am back to reality now. ”

But I’m not, I am in another fucking dream! But because I am dreaming, I don’t know that. So I am thinking “Riiight, this is how things really are!” when I realize I can’t see anything. Just darkness, no matter how I turn my head.

So I start to panic and yell “Mom, I can’t see! Mom, I can’t see!”. While I am doing this, my vision goes from black to solid golden orange to blue and then suddenly my eyes focus and I can see like normal.

“Oh…. never mind. ”

And even though it looks nothing like the house I grew up in, somehow, I come to the conclusion that I am back in my childhood home. I say to someone “How come we’re back in the 135?” (135 Belmont Street) and they reply “Drugs, man!” and giggle in a crazy kind of way.

I think said person might have been my brother. I hope not, because he was scary.

Also of note : there is about a foot of warm water everywhere. Why? Because dreams.

So I conclude, somehow, that we are here because they found drugs in the home, and we are helping the police to find them all. So I start to wander around, and I notice this driftwood nicknack on a shelf, and I immediately get the feeling that there’s something wrong with the pattern of the wood in one part of it.

I press down on that part, and sure enough, it’s a secret button, and a drawer pops out, and there’s a bunch of metal syringes and bags of white crystals.

And I ask “Hey, is there someplace we are keeping this stuff?” then start to brag about how I immediately knew there was something wrong with that driftwood thing.

And that is all I remember.

Hopefully it is all gone from my head now.