Covid Dreaming
Nov. 18th, 2020 08:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tealinMy dreams are usually not very reflective of reality – or at least, not the parts of reality you'd pay any attention to; they frequently involve errands and passports and train timetables, but almost never real people, significant life events, or even actual places. On the rare occasion I do remember them, they are usually so boring I throw them away after first recollection on waking up.
Lately this has shifted, and I'm not entirely sure why. Three dreams in the last couple of weeks have featured real people in real places and even something I'm actually interested in, another rarity. In one, a mostly-online and politically active friend was very excited about a book of 19thC Russian short stories and, at a party, was starting a political conversation with my very Republican dad. (Alas I woke up before I saw how that turned out.) In another, I had Wilson's freeze-dried hands in a paper bag in my actual kitchen – they were beginning to leave grease stains on the paper – but when someone came by to take a look, they turned out to be brown leather gloves. (In fairness, I had been colouring a page with a closeup of his hands the day before, but neither my work nor the Terra Nova Expedition usually make it into dreamspace.)
Last night I had only my second pandemic dream since March: I had gone in to Cambridge for some reason, and it was packed, mostly with rowdy young people, no one wearing a mask. I have made it a point to put a mask in the pocket of every coat because I am a very absent-minded person, but it was a mild day so I hadn't worn a coat and therefore didn't have a mask. I did have three kerchiefs on hand and tried to tie one or another around my face bandana-style, but they kept slipping down and I couldn't figure out a way to get them tighter. My sister, unusually, was there, and offered me her scarf, but it was a very loose weave so not much better than a placebo. I also stopped for an alfresco lunch with my ex-BF (who lives in Vancouver, not Cambridge) who'd just had a proper kitchen sink installed under a panoramic window overlooking Midsummer Common (in Cambridge, not Vancouver).
In marked contrast to the last time I lived alone, I have been remarkably happy rattling around this big house on my own, and never lonely. I do wonder, though, if my nocturnal brain stocking dreams with real people, instead of NPCs as it usually does, might have something to do with not seeing anyone I know most of the time. I have long theorised that the prevalence of boring everyday dreams is compensation for spending most of my waking hours in my imagination; perhaps real people are turning up now to compensate for not appearing during the day?
Lately this has shifted, and I'm not entirely sure why. Three dreams in the last couple of weeks have featured real people in real places and even something I'm actually interested in, another rarity. In one, a mostly-online and politically active friend was very excited about a book of 19thC Russian short stories and, at a party, was starting a political conversation with my very Republican dad. (Alas I woke up before I saw how that turned out.) In another, I had Wilson's freeze-dried hands in a paper bag in my actual kitchen – they were beginning to leave grease stains on the paper – but when someone came by to take a look, they turned out to be brown leather gloves. (In fairness, I had been colouring a page with a closeup of his hands the day before, but neither my work nor the Terra Nova Expedition usually make it into dreamspace.)
Last night I had only my second pandemic dream since March: I had gone in to Cambridge for some reason, and it was packed, mostly with rowdy young people, no one wearing a mask. I have made it a point to put a mask in the pocket of every coat because I am a very absent-minded person, but it was a mild day so I hadn't worn a coat and therefore didn't have a mask. I did have three kerchiefs on hand and tried to tie one or another around my face bandana-style, but they kept slipping down and I couldn't figure out a way to get them tighter. My sister, unusually, was there, and offered me her scarf, but it was a very loose weave so not much better than a placebo. I also stopped for an alfresco lunch with my ex-BF (who lives in Vancouver, not Cambridge) who'd just had a proper kitchen sink installed under a panoramic window overlooking Midsummer Common (in Cambridge, not Vancouver).
In marked contrast to the last time I lived alone, I have been remarkably happy rattling around this big house on my own, and never lonely. I do wonder, though, if my nocturnal brain stocking dreams with real people, instead of NPCs as it usually does, might have something to do with not seeing anyone I know most of the time. I have long theorised that the prevalence of boring everyday dreams is compensation for spending most of my waking hours in my imagination; perhaps real people are turning up now to compensate for not appearing during the day?
