A really bad dream

Really bad dream last night. What was so bad about the dream, it was RELENTLESSLY bad. It just kept going from bad to worse.

It starts out with me spilling coffee on my cellphone. The screen actually dissolves, ruining the cellphone. Then I drive to the hospital to take care of some illness. I wander through the hospital for a long time trying to connect with a doctor, but everyone ignores me or gives me a bum steer. Then this violent lunatic attacks me. I keep pleading with him as we’re grappling, “I don’t want to fight you!” I run down the hallway and lock myself in the restroom. I hear him outside trying to break the door in. I push off the screen on the window and escape out the window. Then I’m wandering around in the parking lot and the streets trying to find my car. I forgot where I parked it. I ask a cop who’s passing by if he’ll help me but he just brushes me off. “It probably got towed.” But I have no idea how to get ahold of the towing company. I can’t even remember what kind of car I had. The psycho returns and attacks me again. I grab a big metal pole and whacked him over the head. . .

The dream continued on like that for a LONG time. One bad scene after another. Finally I woke up. . . I did what I always do when I have a bad dream. I went right back to sleep. And I kept sleeping until I finally got a good dream.

Woke up again. Mini Scaredy rushed over to me to say good morning like she always does. Mini Scaredy never seems to have bad dreams. Always wakes up in a chipper mood. I don’t know how she does it. . . Of course she doesn’t drink 100 ounces of malt liquor every night.

A bad dream

When I wake up from a bad dream my cat are always laying there sleeping peacefully. And I think: “I’m supposed to be the human with the large brain, but in a lot of ways those cats are smarter than me.”

Wake up from a terrible dream. I’m over at a friend’s apartment late at night, and we’re doing lines of cocaine and drinking hard liquor and having an enjoyable time. When he tells me in this confessional voice: “There’s something I should probably tell you. You know all those boxes of your stuff you’ve been storing at my place? Well the other night somebody broke into the building and stole some of your stuff.”

“Oh no,” I said. “What did they take? Is this going to upset me?” I want to prepare myself for the worst because I store all of my valuables there.

“Yes it’s pretty bad,” he warns me.

“Well what did they take?”

He mumbled something but I can’t make out what he’s saying.

“What?” I said.

But he keeps mumbling and whispering like he can’t face telling me the bad news.

“WHAT??!!” I shouted, getting more frustrated and angry and alarmed by his inability to communicate.

“WHAT DID THEY TAKE!!!!!!” I screamed.

“They took your textbooks,” he said.


But he refuses to elaborate.

So it keeps going back and forth like this. Me trying to find out what I lost. And him — for whatever reason — refusing to tell me. This failure to communicate.

I’m so angry and frustrated, I’m on the verge of grabbing him and shaking him to try and get the truth out of him.

Finally he says: “I’m not going to take any more of your abuse,” and storms out of his place and down the road.

So now I’m standing there alone in his apartment. Not sure what to do. Finally I pack up my stuff and leave.

But as I’m walking down the street I realize I’ve accidentally taken some of his stuff. So I go back to his place.. He’s back inside his apartment, I can hear him in there loudly carrying on, he’s drunk and shouting, like he’s partying wildly. When he sees me he shouts “YOU AGAIN!! GO AWAY!!”

“I came back to return your stuff,” I said. He’s in there with a beautiful petite young Asian woman who he’s partying with, doing more coke and drinking. And he’s way drunk, speaking very loudly, almost out of control, which is uncharacteristic for him — he’s usually very mild-mannered..

“I apologize for getting upset with you earlier,” I said. My friend is a nice guy so I feel bad about being abusive. I leave his stuff by the door and walk off.

And then it starts raining as I’m walking. “THIS IS UNBELIEVABLE,” I say to myself. “HOW CAN IT BE RAINING IN AUGUST???” I start crying. It’s like everything in my life is just set up to go against me. And there’s nothing I can do except be punished over and over.

This dog is walking alongside me, looking at me with compassion. These big, brown doe eyes. He starts rubbing against my legs and nestling against me. I hold him in my arms and start petting him. And then I wake up


A Weird Dream (aren’t they all?)


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Weird dream. I’m living on the second floor of this rundown boarding house. My next door neighbor is this porn star who I’ve had problems with — some kind of running feud. She’s living with this dwarf who is self-centered and malevolent. I can often see them having sex on her bed — she leaves her front door open.

The dwarf starts hanging out in my room, making himself at home reading my books and watching my TV. He sits right in front of me, blocking my view of the TV, which enrages me. I pull him and his chair out of the way and shout “I NEVER INVITED YOU TO BE IN MY ROOM!!” He leaves, his feelings hurt, and indignantly complains about me to the porn star.

Everything in my room is in a state of disarray and starting to fall apart. When I go to pull the window shade down the whole thing falls apart. So now people outside on the street can see me. I try to nail the shade back to the wall, but the wood is rotting and I can’t get the nail to stick.

Hate Man shows up. He’s all business. He wants to sell me a pair of mittens for 5 dollars. I tell him I get my mittens at the Dollar Tree for a buck. We go downstairs to the kitchen, Hate Man starts cooking his dinner. I’m in anguish over all the problems I’m having and am hoping for guidance and help from Hate Man. But I can’t find the words to articulate my problems. I stand there with my back to Hate Man hoping for an answer. But he says nothing. Finally as I’m leaving Hate Man cheerfully calls out: “Well if they drop the nuclear bomb and there’s a nuclear holocaust and the whole planet gets wiped out, you won’t have to worry about your problems then.”

I wake up. Lay here thinking about the dream. But none of it really makes sense.

How to deal with nightmares



Woke up this morning from a really bad nightmare. The kind of nightmare where you lay there going “UGGHH!!”

What I do when I have a nightmare, I go right back to sleep. And keep sleeping until I get a good dream. As a way of cleansing my mental palate. Ended up sleeping until 2 in the afternoon.

It’s one of the fringe benefits of being a bum. You get to sleep in late.


My main recurring dream

. . . . . . . . .


I had my main recurring dream again last night. I call it my “Curious George” dream, after the mischievous monkey character in the children’s books. And, like in the books, I start out trying to reach some goal, only to, step-by-step, be pushed farther and farther away from my goal. It’s like moving backwards.

The dream starts out with me riding on a BART train trying to get to some place. But I fall asleep and miss my stop and end up at the end of the line. The train is completely deserted except for one person who is sitting in the seat right next to mine. I’m annoyed by this violation of my space, and get up to push him away from me. But I realize it’s not actually a person, but a big bundled sleeping bag that someone had left for me. I guess they saw me sleeping there, realized I was homeless, and left it out of pity.

I get off the BART train, and get into another train that is headed back in the other direction. Then a big group of boisterous, obnoxious high school kids get on the train. I’m hoping they don’t come back to where I’m sitting. But that’s exactly what they do. They surround the area where I’m at. This one young guy — who’s face is peeling from being in the sun too long — gets in my face and starts acting derisive and mocking. He makes fun of my face, which, apparently is very red. Then he tries to stick his hand into my pocket to steal what I got in there. I want to smack the guy, but I have to treat him gingerly because I’m afraid if I get heavy with him, the whole pack of kids will turn on me.

Then the BART train transmogrifies into a Greyhound bus (you know how dreams are) that is barreling down the highway. I start packing up all my bags of stuff to prepare myself for when I reach my destination. Two of my feral cats — Blondie and Mini Scaredy — have also been accompanying me for this whole misadventure. The bus stops at a red light. And, for some reason, I decide to get out of the bus for a moment to take care of some business. But before I can get back on the bus, the bus takes off down the road. I’m chasing after the bus, hollering at the bus driver to stop. But it’s no use. And pretty soon the bus is gone.

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. . . . . . . . . . .. ..

So now I’ve got to figure out some way to contact the bus station, to get all my stuff and my feral cats before they get rid of them. Even worse, I realize I have no clothes on. I’m standing there on the side of the road completely naked. So now I’m really in a jam.

I wander down to the beach by the ocean. A large group of people are hanging out there in their bathing suits. So at least I won’t be too conspicuous in my nakedness — maybe I can pass for a nude beach-goer. I ask one of the men where I am, and he tells me I’m in some town I’ve never heard of. And I’m at least 70 miles away from Berkeley, my destination. He, too, is mocking and derisive towards me, makes fun of my red face. I realize these people will be no help. So I head off down the road trying to figure some way out of my predicament.

I come across a big house and sneak in the back door. Nobody seems to be home, so I steal a shirt and pants and head back towards the highway. I suddenly realize I have my cellphone — so for the first time I start to feel hopeful. I can contact help on my cellphone. And I got clothes on. So things are finally looking up. I get to the freeway — I’m thinking of hitching a ride to the next town so I can figure out where I am. But there’s a barrier that separates me from the freeway. So I’m running alongside the freeway, trying to somehow get on it.

And then I woke up.

As I usually do when I have a bad dream, I went right back to sleep. I like to keep dreaming until I finally get a good dream. I ended up sleeping until 2 in the afternoon, when I finally got a good dream. I’m hanging out with Hate Man and the Hate crew down by his garage, eating slices of apple pie. THE END




A dream within a dream within a dream within a dream . . .



I woke up this morning at my campsite and I realized these people were camping right nearby me. They had lugged up these big mattresses and all this other stuff, and it was like they had set up their living room right in the middle of my campsite. I got up and walked down the trail to confront them. “So what are your plans?” I said, coldly. But they just glared back at me, not saying anything. So I knew this was headed towards an ugly confrontation . . . .

But then I woke up and realized I had just been dreaming. But when I looked up, I realized there really were people camping nearby. So I got up and walked down the trail to confront them. “I’ve been camping here for 10 years,” I said, coldly. “We’re just looking for some space,” they said. “Well this space is already taken,” I said. But they just glared back at me, not saying anything. So I knew this was headed towards an ugly confrontation . .

But then I woke up again, and realized I had just been dreaming. But when I looked up, I realized there were still people camping nearby. So I got up and walked down the trail to confront them . .

It was really weird. I repeated the same basic scenerio 4 or 5 times in my dream. Dreaming that these people were camping nearby, but when I confronted them I would wake up and realize I was just dreaming.

FINALLY I actually woke up for real. I looked around and, thankfully, there were no people camping near by. But I got up and walked all the way down the trail just to make sure.

At least I HOPE I really woke up for real this time. I sure don’t want to go through this bullshit all over again.



A dream within a dream within a dream. . .



I remember one of the scarier dreams I had when I was a kid.

I was lying on my bed in my bedroom. And there was a window in my bedroom directly across from my bed. So I fall asleep. And I started to dream. But then I suddenly I woke up from the dream. Somebody was outside in the darkness,  opening up the window to my bedroom. You could walk out to the roof from my bedroom window, and there was some man standing out there. And then the man climbed in through the window, and he started walking towards me, real slow. And right when he was standing right over me, and was about to reach down and grab me!!! I woke up from the dream.

So now I’m lying there on my bed in my bedroom. Sort of shivering from the dream. The nightmare. And I’m staring right at my bedroom window across from me. And the window is wide open and the curtain was flickering in the breeze. . . . And I’m hoping I really woke up from the dream this time.


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One of the weirder dreams you can have is when you dream that you’re dreaming.

I remember this one night at my campsite I had this really weird dream. Then I woke up the next morning. Got up. Fixed my feral cats their breakfast. Then I packed up my campsite. And headed down the trail.

But then I woke up a second time. Realized the previous stuff had just been a dream

So I got up. Fixed my feral cats their breakfast. Then I packed up my campsite. And headed down the trail.

But as I’m walking down the trail I’m wondering: “Did I really wake up this time? Or am I still dreaming?”








A bad dream




I keep having these disturbing dreams.  Last night I dreamed that my life was a series of unhappy and unsatisfying scenes.  An endless series of them.  Like my life, and this world that I live in, was just no damn good.  Near the end of the dream I’m walking through this strange town.  In the middle of yet another unhappy, pointless scene.  Like a Myth of Sisyphus deal.  And I’m finally just worn down by the pointless toil of my life.  I feel myself running out of gas.  Like I’m on my last legs.   Like I don’t have enough energy or motivation to keep trudging onwards in these pointless circles.  I just want to lay down right there on the sidewalk and give up.  But knowing that I can’t stop here.   In this strange place, in this strange town.  Knowing I have to keep moving forward.  Even as there isn’t anything to move forward to.  I’m a zombie trapped in a zombie world. . . .  And then I woke up.   And it wasn’t just a dream.  It was my real life, too.


Signs from God

Throwback Thursday: This is how I used to look several minutes ago.

I’m actually thinking about quitting drinking.  I’m not actually going to quit drinking.  I’m just gonna’ think about quitting.  That’s a lot easier than actually quitting.


The reason I’m thinking about it is because I had the WORST nightmare last night:  In the dream, I’m sitting in this chair having a complete nervous breakdown.  I’m sobbing and crying and wailing.  People are walking around me, but nobody tries to console me.  Either they don’t care, or they don’t know what to do to help me.  And I can’t stop shaking.  It’s like I’m having uncontrollable convulsions or something.  But the worst part is:  I can’t find the words to describe or explain what’s wrong with me.  Finally they come to me.  Three words.  Which I shout out amidst my sobs:  “THERE’S . . . NO . . . ESCAPE!!!”

I wake up feeling stunned.   And drained.  Not just because of the nightmare.  But because the dream exactly mirrored my waking state.  And the sad, sad state of my world.  It’s that feeling you get when you feel that everything in your life  — everything — has gone wrong, wrong, wrong.  Even my cats weren’t around to console me.  Usually, every morning when I wake up, they’re sitting there waiting for me.  But on this morning, even they had deserted me.  Adding to my feelings of rejection and total loserdom.  I figured I had probably scared them off when I was making weird noises while I was having that nightmare.  The scaredy cats.

I took this as a sign from God that I needed to make some serious changes in my life.  Needed to seriously clean up my act.  To be in such a state of despair and agony was a sign that I must be doing something terribly wrong.  And certainly all the drinking I was doing wasn’t helping my situation.

Then Rachel pointed out:  “The cats were probably freaked out by the quake.”

“That’s right!”  I thought.  And it all came back to me.  I remember feeling the ground trembling while I was lying in my sleeping bag last night.  At the time I wasn’t sure if it was an earthquake or the malt liquor.  And in the morning, it was one of the many late-night events that had been erased from my memory by all the malt liquor. But now it came back.  It turned out there had been a 6.0 earthquake in nearby Napa Valley.  And somehow, that explained everything.  Why I had been dreaming of shaking.  And why my cats had seemingly “deserted” me. It wasn’t because of me.  It was because of the earthquake.  This act of God.

I took this as a sign from God that I should continue on as an alcoholic for the time being.  I went to a bar and ordered a pint of beer.  And after the third beer I started feeling a little better.

I sat there at the bar.  Awaiting further signs.