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Sep. 30th, 2007 09:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
adiva_calandiaI had a running dream last night.
Normally when I have running dreams, they're of the "I'm running from something horrible and my legs won't move fast enough."
This wasn't like that. I can't remember the set-up exactly, but I'm fairly sure I knew when I started that I was running in a race. I took off from the starting blocks, or starting line, and I was running so fast, faster than I can in real life, certainly.
And then it got unpleasant.
Somehow, there was another woman coming along with me. I'm not sure if I was carrying her, or if she was speaking in my head, or if somehow she was at every corner I turned, but she was always there. She was verbally abusing me, haranguing me into moving faster and faster, goddammit! And I did, because I was mad at her and scared of her, until I was moving so fast that I couldn't see anything.
I rounded the last corner and came to a halt, almost collapsing, in a medium-sized open room, where a few other women were waiting, one with a stopwatch. There was also a guy -- big guy, body-builder type, but with a round face and blond hair.
As I sat there panting, three more runners came in, but it was obvious that I'd beat them all. The woman with the stopwatch said I'd run it in five seconds.
A little while later (presumably after I'd recovered enough so that I was not lying on the floor wanting to die, which is how it would've gone in real life), the guy came over to me and thanked me, saying that I'd helped him get data that he needed (for what, I don't remember).
At this point, the dream went off into "Adiva wants a boyfriend" territory, and I will attempt to write it with as little purple prose as possible to save your sensibilities.
He wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, and I leaned back on him. "I should hate you," I said, and hugged his arms closer.
"You're not touching my body," he commented.
"I know," I said, and we walked over to the stairs up to the door like that. It was nighttime out there now.
About there, I turned around with a sort of well, if you insist attitude and hugged him. ... And hugged him. And tilted my face up so I could look at him, but because he was tall, I kind of ended up looking at his chin.
"Well, now you are," he said, laughing, "and you're doing that head thing, too."
"Yeah, yeah," I said, and kissed his cheek. We broke the hug and did that awkward standing around no-you-leave-first thing. Finally I smiled and turned to leave, saying "I'll call you. --No, seriously, I will."
He laughed. "Okay."
"--Actually, do you have an e-mail?" I asked, because even in dreams I know myself. "Because I'm about 80 billion times more likely to e-mail you than call . . ."
So one of the other women came out with a pen, and I tore some paper off a nearby bulletin board, and wrote down his e-mail (I don't remember it; it was an @geico.com address).
And then I woke up.
While I was lying there trying to recreate it so I could write it down, I fell asleep and re-dreamed the running part in some context that involved 6-8 year olds and Winnie the Pooh and Piglet and by winning the race, I won some kind of throne for Pooh from a usurper.
Yeah, the second one was . . . infinitely weirder.
Normally when I have running dreams, they're of the "I'm running from something horrible and my legs won't move fast enough."
This wasn't like that. I can't remember the set-up exactly, but I'm fairly sure I knew when I started that I was running in a race. I took off from the starting blocks, or starting line, and I was running so fast, faster than I can in real life, certainly.
And then it got unpleasant.
Somehow, there was another woman coming along with me. I'm not sure if I was carrying her, or if she was speaking in my head, or if somehow she was at every corner I turned, but she was always there. She was verbally abusing me, haranguing me into moving faster and faster, goddammit! And I did, because I was mad at her and scared of her, until I was moving so fast that I couldn't see anything.
I rounded the last corner and came to a halt, almost collapsing, in a medium-sized open room, where a few other women were waiting, one with a stopwatch. There was also a guy -- big guy, body-builder type, but with a round face and blond hair.
As I sat there panting, three more runners came in, but it was obvious that I'd beat them all. The woman with the stopwatch said I'd run it in five seconds.
A little while later (presumably after I'd recovered enough so that I was not lying on the floor wanting to die, which is how it would've gone in real life), the guy came over to me and thanked me, saying that I'd helped him get data that he needed (for what, I don't remember).
At this point, the dream went off into "Adiva wants a boyfriend" territory, and I will attempt to write it with as little purple prose as possible to save your sensibilities.
He wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, and I leaned back on him. "I should hate you," I said, and hugged his arms closer.
"You're not touching my body," he commented.
"I know," I said, and we walked over to the stairs up to the door like that. It was nighttime out there now.
About there, I turned around with a sort of well, if you insist attitude and hugged him. ... And hugged him. And tilted my face up so I could look at him, but because he was tall, I kind of ended up looking at his chin.
"Well, now you are," he said, laughing, "and you're doing that head thing, too."
"Yeah, yeah," I said, and kissed his cheek. We broke the hug and did that awkward standing around no-you-leave-first thing. Finally I smiled and turned to leave, saying "I'll call you. --No, seriously, I will."
He laughed. "Okay."
"--Actually, do you have an e-mail?" I asked, because even in dreams I know myself. "Because I'm about 80 billion times more likely to e-mail you than call . . ."
So one of the other women came out with a pen, and I tore some paper off a nearby bulletin board, and wrote down his e-mail (I don't remember it; it was an @geico.com address).
And then I woke up.
While I was lying there trying to recreate it so I could write it down, I fell asleep and re-dreamed the running part in some context that involved 6-8 year olds and Winnie the Pooh and Piglet and by winning the race, I won some kind of throne for Pooh from a usurper.
Yeah, the second one was . . . infinitely weirder.
