Dreamlog

I had more crazy dreams last night. Our apartment had been moved two doors down. There was a hole in the bathtub, and a secret room. I was on the run from some people who were trying to shoot me, but I’d occasionally stop to make myself a sandwich.

I often dream of secret rooms, and I’ve been told that these are hidden parts of my conscience that I need to explore. The hidden room in this particular dream was filled with children’s toys, and then it led to a long hallway in some kind of warehouse.

There was another part of the dream that involved several different trips in different airports. First, I was going to Orlando, and there was this bus I had to take to some airport out in the boonies near Pensacola, which is nowhere near Orlando, btw. And in the bus, both ways, I was behind this fat kid in a weird, furry hat who struck me as somewhat effeminate.

Then I was supposed to go to Birmingham, and M was with me, but we missed the plane, along with several other people. Helicopters showed up to transport everyone else, but we were left behind, presumably because I didn’t ask the airport staff the right question. And that fat kid in the hat was there again also.

This is all similar, in ways, to the Fisher King myth, which I was reading up on yesterday and trying to incorporate a little more into ZMS 3.

Since I’ve been on the antidepressant, I sleep more, and I’m remembering my dreams more. Much like I used to when I was a teenager. I wonder what this is bringing up for me. It seems like something I’ve long neglected. I did find a shrink to see, but I won’t have my first appointment until Feb. 1. In the meantime, I suppose I’ll be able to explore these questions a little more deeply at that point.

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