Do You Dream In Movie Mode?

This post is about dreams. No, not "I dream of being a successful writer" but the actual REM sleep cycle type dreams. Everybody dreams, even though I know lots of people who say they don't. You have to dream to survive. It's actually a highly active brain time and dreams are a part of that.

I'm a lucid dreamer, meaning that many times I know when I'm dreaming and can control the outcome of the dream. I've done this ever since I was a kid and thought that everyone was like that until I got older and found out that it's actually uncommon. And most of my dreams (whether lucid or not) are "movie" dreams or story dreams, if you will. That means the dream has a beginning, a middle and an end and follows a story line, even if the story is kind of convoluted sometimes. But most of the time my dreams are really like little mini-movies in my head that star me.

Take last nights dream. I dreamed I was helping a friend (one I haven't seen or spoken to in several years) move to a very little house in a very rural setting (think cornfield in Mayberry). For a small town, the townspeople weren't overly friendly and one of them, "Hank" (who lived in the small farmhouse on the adjoining property) was downright hostile to me. This former friend (whom I shall call "Lizzy" to protect her true identity) had met up with a group of unsavory people and brought them back to the house to party. I just wanted to be left alone to sleep and was mad because they were making such a racket and they had used all of the bottled water I brought and I was thirsty. This house was really tiny, just one bedroom really and there were about thirty people in the house and surrounding yard. I really wanted a drink of water and as I poured the very last of the bottle into my glass, some random girl topped the glass of with what appeared to be Scotch. I was angry but so thirsty that I drank it anyway (Don't ask why I didn't just drink tap water, it was a dream and sometimes things just don't make sense.) I started to feel sick and there was so much loud noise and commotion that I just wanted to go in the bathroom and throw up and go back to bed but the bathroom was occupied and my bedroom had been taken over. I was feeling terrible, really dizzy and nauseous and I wanted away from all the loud, scary people so I walked to the nearest farmhouse, which was where "Hank" lived.

Now I have to say that "Hank", for all his open hostility towards me and "Lizzy", was really good looking. I mean really, really good looking. Think tanned from working outdoors, muscled from all that farm work, think no shirt because it's hot outside, all the typical farm boy stereotypes. We had only met a few times in town at the store or diner and as I said, he wasn't very friendly. He seemed to resent the 'city girls' who were invading his precious territory. Now trust me when I say that neither "Lizzy" nor I are exactly Paris Hilton and while I will admit that I know nothing about milking cows or tilling fields, I'm not completely clueless. I was pretty resentful of "Hank's" know-it-all superiority yet got the feeling that there was something else there. I suspected that "Hank" was more than he seemed and even thought he might be interested in me (here is where we know it's a dream, people. Even in the remote unlikelihood that some guy is interested in me, I NEVER have a clue when that's the case. I'm oblivious until someone points it out to me later, which really makes me mad because by then it's too late to do anything about it.)

Okay, so I stumble through the cornfields (yes, I know that's a bad idea, I saw "Children of the Corn") to "Hank's" house where he is awake (who wouldn't be with the biker gang party going on in the cornfield next door, I think at this point a death metal band had shown up and was playing). "Hank" was actually nice to me (which was good because I was really sick at this point) and concerned when I explained that I had gotten ill really quickly after drinking the Scotch/water. He made me throw up (always attractive, don't cha think?) and then put me to bed (no, don't go there yet) in a small bedroom on the first floor. I went to sleep right away and only woke up when my cell phone rang. It was "Lizzy", calling to say that she had driven with someone to buy some more alcohol and her car had caught fire and could I please come get her. I was still woozy at this point and was trying to figure out exactly where she was when some man came on the line and told me 'never mind' and hung up. I fell back into a deep sleep and woke up the next morning with sunlight streaming in the window.

When I woke up, "Hank" was nowhere to be found. I looked around the first floor and then went upstairs to check out the second floor. The bedrooms there faced towards the other farmhouses in the area. It was a good view actually and I was surprised that none of the bedrooms seemed to be in use, except for one room that was locked. A peek through the keyhole (hey, old farmhouse, of course there was a giant keyhole) revealed what appeared to be surveillance equipment. Why would a farmer need expensive surveillance equipment and why would he sleep in a tiny room on the first floor when there were several large bedrooms upstairs? I went back downstairs. "Hank" returned just a few minutes later with fresh made doughnuts and hot coffee from the diner in town. (in my dreams apparently I'm not allergic to caffeine). I confronted "Hank" with what I had discovered. He was angry with me for snooping and asked me why I was still there if I thought he was doing something wrong. I told him that even though there was some suspicious stuff going on that I didn't quite understand yet, deep down I felt like I could trust him and that I knew he wouldn't hurt me. He was a bit incredulous at my trust in him when he had been so hostile to me before and I told him it was because when he was being mean to me he always shifted his eyes to the left (a known lying signal) and when he was nice to me he looked me right in the eyes. He was shocked and then (okay guys, sorry, here is when the romance writer in me takes over the dream for a minute) grabs me in his arms and lays down a magnificent kiss. Which I return just as passionately (hey, I ain't dumb, if I can get some, I'll take it). This wild make out session leads to us heading to the little bedroom where I tell him he has to tell me his real name before we make love. (okay, I'm blushing just a bit as I write this, so forgive me, alright?) Again, he's shocked. Why don't I think "Hank" is his real name? Because, I tell him, he is obviously undercover - my guess is DEA or FBI or even possibly ATF - and that he wouldn't use his real name during the investigation. And I refuse to have sex with someone if I don't know their real name. (Apparently I have standards, even in dream land. Not high standards since I don't ask his LAST name, but standards none the less.) He tells me his name is Marcus and we...well, cut to a picture of a fireplace like in the 1960's movies. I can't write the details in my blog, after all this was a, er, um, personal experience, even if it was just a dream.

Okay, after, well, you know, we have breakfast (although it's now afternoon) where I show off my cooking skills by making a huge country style meal. I learn that he is DEA and he has been investigating a huge crystal meth operation in the area. The house "Lizzy" bought was one that had been used to cook meth and some of the 'gang' at the party were part of it too. This made me uneasy and I relayed the weird phone call I had gotten during the night. Marcus said he would check it out and I insisted on going with him (plus I needed fresh clothes although he loaned me a clean t-shirt.) We went to the house, which was trashed, including my car which had the tires slashed and windows broken. I quickly changed clothes and grabbed some stuff to take with me to Marcus' house. There was no sign of "Lizzy" and no answer on her cell when I tried. We asked around town but no one seems to have seen her. We even check out the disreputable bar where she had supposedly gone to buy more booze the night before. Our reception there is chilly and we don't stay long. We do snoop around there a bit and find "Lizzy's" car, hidden under a tarp in a junk heap out back. It had been burned.

Now it's getting dark and we head back to Marcus' farmhouse, where he lets his superiors know that something is going down and "Lizzy" is missing. They tell him they will send support tomorrow and use the information he has already gathered to make arrests. As night begins we hear noises at "Lizzy's" house. We go to the second floor to get a better look and see that there is a lot of activity. Marcus calls for backup as some of the 'gang' heads towards us. Marcus asks me if I know how to use a gun. I tell him that I may be a city girl but my dad taught me to shoot practically before I could walk (this is true, my father was a gun collector and enthusiast. We spent most weekends of my teenage years in the mountains around Las Vegas at black powder shoots where men dress like Grizzly Adams and shoot Civil War and Old West era guns. Yeah, that was fun for a teenage girl, I mean, who wants to hang out at the mall with her friends when she can watch men shoot guns in an area where there are no toilets.) He hands me a gun and an extra clip of ammunition and settles me in a crouch in the corner of the little bedroom and tells me to shoot anyone who comes in who isn't him. He heads to the front of the house and I can hear all kinds of chaos and gunfire. A huge man enters and I shoot him square in the chest. (it wasn't bloody, more like cartoonish) Another man enters and I try to shoot but the gun jams. He is laughing at me and about to shoot me when I cock the gun again and shoot him. I realize the action in the gun is what's jamming so I have to cock it twice to fire (I don't know that this would happen in real life, I'd have to ask my brother who is my resident expert in all things gun related).

Okay, this is where I woke up. Sorry if it was just getting exciting. I can't control everything. My mom says I need to write and ending so we know where "Lizzy" is and how we escape. I might just do that. But back to my original question...do you dream like that? Or am I a psychopath? Not only to I dream like this pretty much every night but I can remember the majority of them as well. I can still recall dreams I had ten or twenty years ago. I admit to a pretty vivid imagination (I could tell you some of the stories my Barbie dolls had to endure, they were soap opera like in their scope and story line.) So I just wondered if anyone else out there has dreams like mine. When you dream, what do you dream about?

Have a nice weekend...and Sweet Dreams!