I woke up the other night and had to write down a dream. It was the strangest, oddest, most vivid dream I've had in a long time. I wish I could blame this on the Percocet I'm taking, but I have odd dreams on a pretty regular basis. And I almost always remember them in the morning.
Anyway, in this particular episode of weirdness, there were strange, contorted people -- mutants -- who were for some reason warehoused in these clean, sunny rooms. The people were literally folded up and stacked against each other, their bodies the shape of Rit-Dye bottles. They were in some sort of wrapper, almost like a silicone sleeve. They were blind (I think) and couldn't speak. In the dream, these weird Rit people were being threatened by something outside, I want to say vampires but that doesn't sound right. Something outside wanted to come in and get them.
Here's what I drew and wrote in my sketchbook as soon as I woke up:
My notes say:
"They can't run. Their legs have been folded up so long. And they have horrible faces and can't speak -- just wails of fear and groans. Contorted people. Mutants. Legs folded in some kind of impossible lotus. They lean against each other in stacks/piles in secure rooms full of sunshine. I don't know how they're alive. There is something menacing outside. Windows are locked and but they let in sunshine. The windows are covered in cotton batting."
I tell Charlie about my dreams, and he always gives me the "You are CRAAAAAAZY" face. He hardly ever remembers his dreams, and finds it funny that there's so much detail in mine. I think dreams are so interesting -- not so much because I think you can find meaning or hidden messages, but because they're basically the trash dump of your subconscious. Whatever random junk your brain decides to put together, that becomes the story for the night.
