Dream away

Yesterday I was reading in Sandman's blog. He wrote a post called "freud the dreamman".

Last night I had a dream. I was away somewhere, I believe my family was there and so were some other relatives. I was staying in a building, a tall one. I was wearing white clothes; a long white skirt, a white top, white shoes. I wanted to have a white purse but ended up with a black one. A little spot of black in between a lot of white.

I killed someone. Or I had killed someone, but it was like I was a man when I did it. It was like I wasn't conscious when it happened, I just knew I had done it and had to get rid of the body. I was meant to do it, I was killing the people staying there one by one. And nobody noticed. I offered to be the one to take out the trash and that was when I dumped the bodies. I was very careful not to let anyone notice what was going on, I don't remember feeling guilty about killing them, I didn't remember killing them, I just felt I had done it, knew I had done it, and the only feeling I had was a quiet worry that someone might find out.

Then something changed. I was to kill this girl.. a young woman. For the first time I was myself when I was doing it, I was conscious, I was aware what was going on. I gave her two Smarties (or the Norwegian equivalent), I seemed to believe she'd die from them but she just fell asleep. I realized it was just a dream. The woman, who must have been about my age, was coming to herself. I knew it was a dream but was still worried someone would discover what I'd been doing. I knew I had to kill her.

I had been very careful all along not to leave anything that might tell someone what was going on. I remember thinking I didn't have to wash off my fingerprints because I was staying in the building and it was only natural that my fingerprints were found there. The woman woke up and I had to knock her out. I saw a flower pot of glass but I couldn't use it because it might break. I saw something of wood or metal on the table, some kind of short, thick candle holder of some kind. I didn't use it though, I hit her in the face with my right fist. Then my left, then my right, then my left... I realized I didn't hit hard, she couldn't possibly get hurt by that, even though that was my intention. I realized how stupid it must look, how hard it is to keep your balance and not let your hands fly around.

I hit her so many times she fell over. I knew it was a dream, I thought it was a dream, she fell to the floor, a knowing smile on her face while I kept pounding. She must have died at last, I remember thinking I had to get her out. Then suddenly I was leaving, or I was in another room, holding something small I had to get rid of. I had the feeling it was a head. But it couldn't be, I'd have to get rid of the whole body, not just a head. Or a face. That's how I thought of it. A face.



The hitting might be easy enough to explain. While walking down from a mountain yesterday, my sister asked me how high I could kick so we were walking down the hills kicking our feet in the air. Then she said she wanted boxing gloves and a bag and started talking about how when someone came up behind her, she'd always used to turn around ready to punch them, that was just her way of reacting. Then we tried that and she turned around and I was gonna pretend to punch her. Unfortunately she came further back than either of us planned and my hand went closer to her face than we thought and I ended up punching her in the nose.

It wasn't hard and she said it didn't hurt (I tried punching myself in the face to see if it would hurt...) but that was the first time I almost punched someone in the face.

But what was all that stuff about all white clothes? I didn't see the clothes except in the mirror. I didn't see them when I put them on and I never saw my face. Girls and clothes, I know, but it wasn't like that, I was just wearing it all, I was putting on my shoes then trying to find a white hand bag. Instead of going all white I chose something black. Does that mean anything? It felt strange.

And why did I kill someone? Why didn't I know I did it until afterwards? Why did the last one wake up? Why did I have to kill her when I realized it was a dream? Would I have killed her if I didn't think it was a dream? Why didn't I stop to think?

My dreams have been getting more violent lately. I don't dream a lot, or if I do I don't "live" them and I forget them before I wake up. Those I have had the last months, and remembered, have been violent. I dream a bit then it skips something and I'm only there to pick up the pieces.