Last Night’s Shoplifting Dream

Last night, I dreamed that I was at Target, walking through the makeup department.  Every few seconds, I would stop and check to make sure that no one was watching me.  Then, I would quickly grab something and drop it in my purse.  I stole some eyeliner.  I stole some eyeshadow.  I grabbed some purple lipstick and thought about stealing it as well but then I changed my mind.  I put the lipstick back, turned around and…


“Uhm, hi,” I said as I looked up at the towering, unhappy-looking rent-a-cop.  I could see my reflection in his mirrored sunglasses.

“Come with me,” he said.

He dragged me to the manager’s office.  The manager was a short, harried looking woman.  She took one look at me and said, “Empty your purse.”

“I want my lawyer!” I replied.

(I know, I know.  The dialogue could use some work but it was a dream.)

The security guard suddenly grabbed my purse and, before I could protest, he turned it upside down.

To my relief, it turned out that I had about a thousand things in my purse.  As I watched them all pile up on the manager’s desk, I confidently thought to myself that there was no way the manager would be able to find any of the makeup that I had stolen.

The manager looked at everything that had fallen out of my purse.  Suddenly, she held up a lipstick tube.

“Here it is!” she announced.

“No, I didn’t steal any lipstick!” I protested.  “I only stole eyeliner!”

Suddenly, I was standing in an absolutely filthy apartment.  The manager and the security guard were standing beside me.

“I want this place cleaned before you leave,” the manager said.

I sighed and rolled my eyes.

And then I woke up.

A Dream of Death: A Poem By William Butler Yeats

Since I didn’t have any interesting dreams last night (which, admittedly, is the risk that you take when you start an online dream journal), I decided that I would share a dream-themed poem from one of my favorite poets.

A Dream of Death

by William Butler Yeats

I DREAMED that one had died in a strange place
Near no accustomed hand,
And they had nailed the boards above her face,
The peasants of that land,
Wondering to lay her in that solitude,
And raised above her mound
A cross they had made out of two bits of wood,
And planted cypress round;
And left her to the indifferent stars above
Until I carved these words:
She was more beautiful than thy first love
But now lies under boards.

William Butler Yeats

Last Night’s Nightmare

Last night, I dreamed that I was visiting the house where my family lived when I was 12 years old.  The house was now owned by one of my former dance teachers and her husband.  They were both really happy and excited when I showed up at the front door.  My former teacher gave me a tour of the house and I discovered that it still looked exactly the same as when I had lived there.  Even the furniture was the same.  Even in the dream, I found that odd.

My teacher took me to my old room and told me to get some rest and that dinner would be ready soon.  She left, closing the door behind her.  I looked around my room and I was again surprised to discover that it looked exactly the same as when I had lived there.  It was as if I had never moved out but, obviously, I had because otherwise, why would my teacher and her husband be living there?

There was a knock on the door.  I opened the door.  My teacher’s husband brusquely said it was time for dinner and then walked away without saying anoter word.  I started to wonder if maybe I was imposing.  Maybe they actually weren’t happy that I dropped by.

I went downstairs to the kitchen, which again was unchanged since my family last lived there.  I ate dinner with my teacher and her husband.  Neither one of them said much so I started talking about movies.  Mostly, I wanted to get some sort of response out of them, something that would let me know that they weren’t angry that I was visiting.

After dinner, the husband again left the room without saying anything.  My teacher started washing the dishes.  I offered to help but she told me to just go upstairs and get some sleep.

I left the kitchen but, instead of going upstairs, I went into the den (which, like every other room in the house, had not changed at all).  The teacher’s husband was sitting in a chair, looking annoyed.  I walked up to him and I again tried to talk to him.

Suddenly, he reached up and grabbed me by the throat and started to choke me.  In my dream, I could actually feel my windpipe getting crushed but I still managed to shout for help.

(I know, I know.  I probably shouldn’t have been able to shout if I was being choked but it was dream, remember?)

As soon as the teacher came running into the room, her husband released me and sunk back into the chair.  My teacher asked me what has happened.

“He tried to strangle me!” I said.

My teacher shrugged and coldly replied, “He’s had a long day.”

And then I woke up.


Last Night’s Dream (A Fragment)

Last night, I know I had a very long and very complex dream but, unfortunately, I can only remember a fragment of it.

I was sitting in an extremely ornate church, watching a woman and a man getting married.  (Because their backs were to me, I can’t tell you who they were.)  There was an old woman sitting next to me.  She leaned over to me and whispered, “Do you recognize the priest?”

I shook my head.

“That is Francois Truffaut’s son!” she declared.

And that’s all I remember.

(In real life, Truffaut had two daughters but, as far as I know, no sons.)

(Jean-Pierre Leaud and Francois Truffaut in Day For Night)

“Who is dead in the White House?”: Abraham Lincoln’s Dream

In 1864, President Abraham Lincoln told his wife and his friends about a particularly vivid dream that he had.  Here’s Lincoln’s own words, as transcribed by his friend, Ward Hall Limon:

“About ten days ago, I retired very late. I had been up waiting for important dispatches from the front. I could not have been long in bed when I fell into a slumber, for I was weary. I soon began to dream. There seemed to be a death-like stillness about me. Then I heard subdued sobs, as if a number of people were weeping. I thought I left my bed and wandered downstairs. There the silence was broken by the same pitiful sobbing, but the mourners were invisible. I went from room to room; no living person was in sight, but the same mournful sounds of distress met me as I passed along. I saw light in all the rooms; every object was familiar to me; but where were all the people who were grieving as if their hearts would break? I was puzzled and alarmed. What could be the meaning of all this? Determined to find the cause of a state of things so mysterious and so shocking, I kept on until I arrived at the East Room, which I entered. There I met with a sickening surprise. Before me was a catafalque, on which rested a corpse wrapped in funeral vestments. Around it were stationed soldiers who were acting as guards; and there was a throng of people, gazing mournfully upon the corpse, whose face was covered, others weeping pitifully. ‘Who is dead in the White House?’ I demanded of one of the soldiers, ‘The President,’ was his answer; ‘he was killed by an assassin.’ Then came a loud burst of grief from the crowd, which woke me from my dream. I slept no more that night; and although it was only a dream, I have been strangely annoyed by it ever since.”

Three days later, Lincoln would be assassinated by John Wilkes Booth.

Last Night’s Dream

Last night’s dream started with me driving down a dark street.

I drove for a while.  The radio was on and an officious voice was talking about explosives.  I can’t remember what exactly was said about them but I do remember there was a lot of laughter.

Eventually, I pulled into a parking lot and got out of my car.  I was standing in front of my old high school.  As I walked towards the high school, it started to rain.

Despite the fact that it was very late at night, the front door of the school was open.  I entered and walked down a dark hallway.  I stopped in front of a door.  I opened the door and stepped into what appeared to be a living room.

There were about seven people in the room, six men and one woman.  Though I didn’t recognize them, they knew me and they were very happy to see me.  I closed the door behind me and sat down on a couch.  Everyone was talking about people who I had known in high school and, as I listened to them, I realized that I was at a class reunion of some sort.  I asked if anyone else was coming.  One of the men, who was short and balding and wearing a tuxedo, shook his head.

My high school creative writing teacher stepped into the room and said she was happy that we could all get together.  I sat there and politely listened to all of these strangers who were convinced that we had been friends in high school.  I showed them the Facebook profile of an actual friend of mine from high school.  They said they remembered him but hadn’t thought of him in years.

Finally, it was time to go.  One by one, the people in the room would hug each other and then step out the door.  I politely accepted each hug, even though I still wasn’t sure who any of these people were.  Finally, I was alone in the room.  I looked around for a little bit and then, suddenly feeling very sad, I stepped out of the room, went back down the hallway, and eventually stepped back out into the rain.

I stood in front of the school and realized that I wasn’t sure where my car was.

That’s all I remember about this dream.  My memory of it is fairly fragmented so I’m sure there’s all sorts of interesting stuff that I’m forgetting.  Dreams are odd.  It’s strange how certain details just stick in your mind but other details just fade away.