I don’t dream all that often, or, rather, I don’t usually remember it. My best period for remembered dreams is that which occurs when I go back to sleep after waking up in the morning, and today was no exception.
In the dream I was making cookies for Chris, chocolate chip cookies to be precise. And I had all the ingredients except for eggs (which happens to be true of my awake self as well, as I discovered to my dismay when I woke up and decided to make cookies because it sounded like such a good idea). So I was going to use the old vegan trick with baking soda and vinegar, but in the dream I became convinced that something would go terribly wrong with the cookies if I did that, so I decided to walk over to Headlands to borrow an egg. My waking self questions the wisdom of this decision, because I’m fairly certain that the Headlands doesn’t have eggs, loose, floating around.
So in the dream I walk over to Headlands and run into someone I know (a frequent waking occurrence), and I forget about the cookies entirely. (Whoever is organizing my dreams does really choppy transitions.) Instead I sat down with this person and had an almond italian soda. We were sitting at the window counter, and looking out I saw a giant glider approaching down Laurel Street. It was pure white. It also appeared to be in trouble, because it almost crashed into the Green Door Studio, before veering to the south. For some reason we sat unflinching in the window while the glider descended upon us, despite the fact that it was on a collision course with our faces. And then suddenly it gained altitude and swooped up, only to crash behind the coffeehouse. There was a dull crunching sound and for about two minutes none of the patrons moved. We all sat there, frozen.
I remember in the dream being afraid that there had been someone in the glider, and not wanting to see that. But we all went outside for a moment, drawn by the accident as all humans are, and here the geography began to change. In the dream, Headlands had a second story with a balcony, and the glider had crashed through the balcony, dragging ribbons of the latticed roof down with it. It was sticking out of ground, giant, white.
And in the dream I had my camera and was going to take pictures, but then I thought that was rather messed up, given that there was probably a person, dead, in the glider, and photographing ou might be disrespectful. So instead I just stood there for a time, staring, before running home to write an entry about it.
That’s right, gentle readers, even in my dreams I aim to serve. So in the dream I wrote the entry about it and explained why I didn’t have any pictures, and someone wrote in the comments that I should have photographed it for legal reasons, and I pointed out that the police would probably investigate it and take pictures, and then a flamewar over police methods erupted.
And then I woke up.