thoughts

DREAM — OCTOBER 24, 2019

Hello, my dear readers!

Today’s post is going to be a little different than normal. If you read the title and wondered, “What in the world does this mean?” then you’re in for quite the surprise. Today I’m going to recount a weird dream I had a few days ago.

Hold on, what?

Yes, you read that correctly. We’re diving into a dream I had a few days ago, since I believe there is some interesting information to glean from it, and this blog could do with a unique post that will hopefully fascinate you and challenge your own self along the way. And as my wise Momma J said, “Put it on the blog. See what your readers have to think about this dream.”


THE DREAM.

I am standing in a college auditorium. I have no idea what class this is, or who the professor is, or anything at all (the magic of a dream, I suppose).

But eventually it becomes clear that this class has a guest speaker, who turns out to be an old man lecturing on science. He asks the class a few questions, but no one knows the answers, and suddenly he starts to look very sick. His words are slurred, his eyes glaze over, and then he falls down, hits his head, and dies.

No one does anything. All these college students just stare, uncaring, as if they’d rather be somewhere else to avoid this “embarrassing” situation. Realizing that no one is going to do anything, I jump up  and run to him, screaming that someone needs to call 911. I look up in horror and notice the old man’s wife sits in the back row, her head buried in her hands.

Two friends then appear: One who is studying to be a doctor, and another who is studying to be a nurse. They jump into action and hurry off to find help. Eventually, they return with a group of doctors who pronounce the old man dead and place him in a body bag, but ask if anyone in the room wants to do CPR on him.

My friends and I volunteer, but when I step up to him, there is now a brain on top of the body bag. And yes, I perform CPR on it.

This does nothing (of course), and then we are shooed out of the auditorium, where the college kids are laughing, joking around, and taking pictures of nothing. They’re excited we’re out of class, even if it means an old man is dead.

I get fed up and go back into the auditorium again, where I find my parents. My mom looks at me in horror and says, “Let’s get out of here.”

Then I wake up.


WEIRD.

So very weird indeed, but I thought it would be interesting to hear your perspective on this dream. Obviously we shouldn’t take dreams to be literal perceptions, but it is very interesting to analyze what our brains produce in our sleeping state.

Luckily my dreams have been happier since then, but this one was definitely one to write down. Maybe one day I will come back to it and understand everything, but as for now… I’m mystified!

Anyhow our next post will be a little more normal. (Hopefully!)

And in the meantime, try not to do CPR on any brains out there. 😉

-Katie Kay

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poetry

a dream killed me (POEM)

a dream killed me
frame by frame

echoes bound me
name by name

kismet warned me
claim by claim

this love scorched me
flame by flame

though you killed me
I’m to blame.


EXPLANATION.

Hold your horses, my dear readers. I promise that I am not brokenhearted or pining after a chico (for those of you who don’t know, chico is “boy” in Spanish, and I say it way too much when referring to males). Nope, I’m quite happy, and this poem was borne out of a humid midnight at home.

Though I am an emotional soul, I challenged myself to write this poem despite the fact that I have no idea where it came from or what it is really about. When I read it for the first time, it sounded like a bad break-up song. While this poem can be analyzed through that lens, I think there a billion other things that can relate to that killer dream. For me personally it could refer to my writing career. I went to school in order to pursue a creative writing degree that did not fulfill me, and I am the only one who holds the blame in that regard.

But I don’t think it’s about writing, and I’m quite certain it is not about a chico. Therefore, this poem can be left to your interpretation. And I really want to know what you think, and… Maybe there is something here for you too. Maybe you have a dream that has killed you, and you know that you’re the only person to blame.

Anyway, I thought this beautiful May day would be perfect for a little snap of poetry. As always thank you so much for reading!

Until next time,

-K.

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A sunset drive through nowhere (Goodland, Kansas // April 2019)
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