At some point yesterday afternoon, I suddenly remembered my dream from the night before. That’s often the way it happens, actually. Either I wake from the dream still surrounded by it, enmeshed in it, or I wake in an amnesiac state that I only emerge from slowly, frame by frame, after some time has passed. Yesterday it happened slowly and late.
I was in the car with Tim at the time, so I began telling him about this strange dream as it came back to me.
We were preparing for the onslaught of an apocalyptic hurricane. Yes, a hurricane, in Phoenix, Arizona. For some reason, even though we knew about this impending disaster with enough time to make emergency preparations, we apparently didn’t have time (or the ability) to get home, because we were obliged to batten down with several strangers inside a Walmart. I don’t even know, man. And for some reason these emergency precautions involved getting all of our dog food into plastic bags where it would be safe. We had only just finished doing this when the wall of weather hit.
But then, as though this wasn’t already a strange thing to dream about, as I was telling Tim about it I suddenly remembered that I had the same dream at least twice in the same night, because we did things slightly differently the second time. And that second time, for whatever reason cooked up by my subconscious, my (many years-deceased) grandma was with us.
In The Dream take #2, my brother was there and had just sold a number of rare collectibles to a shop sharing the same parking lot as our Walmart of refuge. The shop had closed in anticipation of the world-ending storm, and my brother was so concerned about the possible destruction of a particular rare card he’d just sold that he convinced my poor old grandma to brave the edge of the oncoming storm to go out and rescue it by breaking into the shop. She never came back.
Also in the second version, the layout of the Walmart had changed and I could no longer find any of the emergency supplies I was attempting to gather. In the first dream, I took charge, got everyone involved in setting up flood barriers, managed the allocation of supplies, and waited out the storm secure in my preparations. In the second dream, I lost my grandma and couldn’t even find the flashlights, and meanwhile the other refugees were arguing over how best to store our drinking water. And that damn dog food still wasn’t bagged when the flood waters came racing in.
I don’t know which thing to goggle at more in any of this. The fact that I apparently did a re-take of a dream seems like a good thing to scratch my head at – a re-take in which everything was worse, at that. Not like a recurring dream on subsequent nights, or even a recurring dream twice in one night, but like the dream did a rolling reset and the director just kept shooting. I’m sure I’m not the first person this has ever happened to, but it still seems strange.