Dream Oddities #3: Psychological Insights

Setting: Me, a Former Roommate and a Friend, on our way to a party from the apartment. I suppose we're all roommates now, though in the Waking World my Friend would not move back from where he is and I would rather french a rat than have any business ties with the Former Roommate ever again (and not just because he smelled bad).

So... FR and F and me, going to a party. Walking down a Carroll Gardens-type street than incongruously is lined with mini versions of Midtown Fifth Ave buildings. While waiting for them to catch-up, I'm looking at a building across the street. I hit it with a Mighty Hammer (it's shiny and has "Mighty Hammer" on it).

I hit upon its roof because, apparently, I'm a Congo jungle-bound pygmy who doesn't have depth perception. But the hammer reaches over and up to the roof somehow. But the building doesn't collapse, which I find frustrating. It's exactly the feeling anytime I want to do something extraordinary in a dream but cannot because, of course, such extraordinary things don't happen. I try my best to use Dreamland physics and I get the Waking World.

Anyway, it doesn't fall and I briefly wonder how it would have anyway. All these dramatic battles and only one building falls (I don't know what that means either, I'm just reporting). FR catches up, F is still behind. We're now waiting to go into the party. I'm making Gabberty clever small talk and having a faux tirade about the building not collapsing. To make an amusing point, I swing the Mighty Hammer and smash the terra cotta pot and lid that FR was carrying. Oops. No problem for Might Hammer there, apparently.

He's shocked and I'm a little mystified too as I know it wasn't right. I did a lot of strange things as a kid (set the living room on fire, slept in the bathtub, etc.) and this has that same I-Can't-Explain-My-Odd-Behavior feeling. Unfortunately inside was a Fiestaware lime sherbet salt shaker, formerly very lovely. It was a Thrift Store score and gift for the person who's party we're going to. Despite the fact that I'm again aware that FR's an asshole and owes me a month's rent, I feel bad... stupid... thoughtless.

I offer that we go back to the apartment and get something of mine from my Kitchen Weirdness collection to fill-in. FR agrees and I'm gritting my teeth because my stuff is... well, my stuff, and much cooler to boot. But what's done is done and I wonder what he'll pick: the 18th Century tankard head, the rooster from Tot's house? Lord knows.

F catches up and we tell him we're heading back. He's game. So, why do return journeys in my dreams take so much longer? Am I Odysseus or something? It seems that the way back is fraught with distraction, longer routes and nearly always one form of public transport that will take the long way this time. A mystery.

So we walk back past blocks, cut through a museum, cut through KU bookstore, cut through a bar in Brooklyn full of Lawrence ex-pats (includes a reconstruction of the Replay), out through the front door this bar against the line in, and on to a bus. On the bus ride there, F and I are amused by Talky Dad, Clueless Child and Not Listening Mom. Talky Dad is gregarious and proud of his... everything. Has to verbalize all thoughts, a recap of recent and near-recent history, and maybe even A Speech about some fascinating topic.

He does all this: stepping on a gang banger's foot, getting the baby carriage in, settling down, and then proceeding to tell Clueless Child and Not Listening Mom (who's trying to change Clueless Child and knit new clothes for them all) about the computer repair he did last night. F and I exchange glances as we had done the same thing last night, me fixing his system and reloading his drive. Talky Dad is detailing almost exactly what I did on F's system, only for another architecture.

Talky Dad takes offense when he hears us laugh, me or F saying, "I hope he gets through it in one piece" about the kid. Talky Dad declaims his kid thinks he's great (mother and child's miens to the contrary) and what do we have to say. I say we were laughing at the fact we had just had a similar experience last night, right down to the hard drive swaps, only on a Mac. Talky Dad seems taken aback and settles back down to talk to the kid again, only not so loud this time.

Finally, thankfully, I just wake up and escape this drear dream.