Dreams: By Tag: Chair

Tuesday, February 02, 2010: Strange House

He was lying in bed with his wife, trying to sleep. The room appeared unfamiliar to him. He got out of bed and walked into the unfamiliar kitchen. He pulled a chair out and away from the kitchen table and sat down. He thought to himself, Am I dreaming or am I awake? He remembered to look at his hands. He looked at his right hand, and it looked normal. He looked at his left hand, and his fingers faded. I am dreaming, he thought. Family members and friends entered, spoke briefly, and exited: his son and his daughter, his father, his friend Jeremy, his friend Bob. He stood up and walked back into the bedroom and laid down next to his wife.

Thursday, January 31, 2008: Pressure points, tornado

I had a dream that a martial artist lightly struck a man at four points on his body and paralyzed him. The man had been very agitated, and now sat completely still in a chair.

In another dream, my wife and I are aware of story weather outside of our bedroom. A tornado is approaching. We seem to know that the tornado is not like other tornadoes, but we think it could still be dangerous.

In the last dream I had, my wife and I were in bed, and I unhooked my wife’s bra.

Saturday, January 19, 2008: Dinner party

I entered a wide room. Candelabras and candle sconces lit the room. In the center of the room stretched a long table, with a tablecloth, set for an elegant dinner. The host was an aristocratic man, the guests who seated themselves were also members of high society. I recognized none of them. But I was the guest of honor, so my wife and I seated ourselves. Before dinner, we played a game, but I misplayed my turn, and time skipped ahead two hours. We ended the game and sat down again, as dinner was being served. I passed my wife a crab puff. My champagne glass was filled and sparkled like gold.

Friday, October 12, 2007: Class Room Anxiety

I sat in a chair at the front-middle desk of a cramped and dim classroom. I wore a dull green winter coat, a gray wool hat, a dark blue scarf, black gloves, and black boots. I arranged a heavy load of books and a backpack on my desk and under my chair. I thought that I must stand out; not only was I encumbered more than my fellow students, but I was also the only adult in a classroom of teenagers. The teacher spoke up; she reminded me of my high school French teacher, a large, pale, light-haired old woman. She told us to begin our assignments.

I shuffled through a stack of mimeographed papers. Upon examination, the assignment seemed to be a comic strip about aliens, written in their language. But there were no blanks to fill. The teacher, to clarify, held up a copy of the assignment; it was a different one that I was looking at. I shuffled through my papers again and found the correct assignment, which had a lot of blank space for writing, and appeared to be a geometry assignment, with diagrams of circles and triangles. But as I was writing my name at the top of the page, the teacher said to hand them in.

As I handed her my incomplete assignment, she said that my mother had called to ask if she needed to pick me up at 6:45. I thought for a moment and said yes, though in the back of my mind, I wondered how she was going to pick me up, because she was dead.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007: Driving a Truck

I was sitting in an armchair. Next to me was a side table, a lamp, and a book. I stood up and walked to the driving cabin of an 18-wheel truck. I sat down and drove the truck. The roads were snowy and slippery. Steering became difficult, so I pulled over to avoid jack-knifing.

Tuesday, October 24, 2006: Hard Times at Work

I sat in a meeting with two co-workers. The room was brightly lit, with white walls, a large table, and functional chairs. We were looking back on hard times the company had gone through, and how we had little choice but to remain loyal, given our family situations, the economy, and the job market.

Saturday, September 23, 2006: Nuclear

I was in a house that I felt was my home, but looked different than my current house. I went down into the basement. It was finished in honey-colored wood and the lighting was pleasant. I was looking for my daughter; apparently, her room was in the basement. But she was not there. I opened a door and discovered a new room. In the room was a dark-haired young woman. She was sitting on a chair or the edge of a bed. I sat down on the floor in front of her. As she spoke, rising around and above her was a brilliant orange mushroom cloud. It was as if I could see it through the house.

Monday, December 12, 2005: Sinister House

I was was a young boy. A young girl was with me. It was daylight, but everything seemed washed out and dull. We were investigating a strange house. The house was surrounded by a chain-link fence. The ground was dry, dusty, gray-brown dirt. The house was a three-decker sided in gray sandpaper. There was always a feeling that mean dogs were nearby.

We were confronted by a young shirtless boy and a young wavy-haired girl. They seemed threatening, and we dare not turn our backs on them for fear of harm. They had implements on them that could be used as weapons.

When the boy turned his back, I threw a rectangular piece of shiny metal at him. The piece stuck into his back, on the left shoulderblade. I felt terrible about what I had done, but the boy did not seem hurt. He wasn’t even bleeding. The girl pulled the metal from his back and handed it to me. I examined the metal. The metal was dull, except for one corner that was sharpened.

The boy and the girl went into the house. I followed them in, but the girl who was with me did not follow me in.

Suddenly, the hall was completely dark. As I felt my way down the hall, a blanket was thrown over me, and I was pushed down the cellar stairs.

I removed the blanket, and in the dim light of a small television, I could see a bedridden, morbidly-obese, retarded boy. I could also see my father in a chair nearby.

I left the room, trying to find my way out of the house. Upstairs, downstairs, down halls, nothing gave me a sense that I was near ground level.

I found a kitchen. The mother of the boy and the girl was there. She had wavy dull-brown hair, like her daughter. I tried to distract her with conversation, as I tried to find a way out. She agreed with what I was saying, but I didn't know if she was agreeing with me, or pretending to agree to stall me.

There was something religious but sinister about the whole family.

Eventually, I found my way out of the house, and we ran away.