I often incorporate real-life atmospheric elements into my dream, but they manifest in strange ways.
I used to have an alarm clock that would blare a gratingly dissonant "BWARRRR!" for a full second, followed by a half-second respite. In dreams, this sound would become a critical element to the plot of my dream, most memorably a video conference call screen that would alternate between a half-second image of the concerned CEO's speech and a full second of annoying snow, like the visual connection was bad.
Music playing in the same room where I'm sleeping sometimes becomes music I've composed and am conducting at a rehearsal. Dan's occasional sleep-laughing (if you haven't had the pleasure of watching someone uncharacteristically giggle in his sleep, I highly recommend it) is the gurgling voice of a gigantic caterpillar.
Early this morning, I dreamed that I pooped my pants while among fellow posh cruiseship travelers. It wasn't just a poop: It was a mess to the top of my crack, an epic poop for the ages. Unlike most dreams where the audio stuff works in, I woke up quickly and frantically checked to make sure "it was only a dream." (My first thought was that an ant was in my pants.) I'm sure being a houseguest right now had something to do with my quickness: Emily Post advises that defecating in a host's bed is impossibly bad manners.
Of course, I didn't actually soil myself, for I am neither a three-year-old nor a ninety-year-old, but I was disturbed enough that going right back to sleep was not going to happen. I lay for a few minutes before deciding to get up and use the bathroom, so I could crawl back in bed and sleep in as long as possible--my favorite vacation benefit.
I sat on the toilet and, still in a drowsy daze, scratched at an itch on the back of my right shoulder. It persisted, so I moved my hand into the neckhole of my pajamas to get to the skin, and in the gaping fabric on the inside of the top, I saw a dark, long bug. Inside my pajamas! On my back. Only a couple of feet from the buttcrack where I had felt something crawling a minute before.
My instinct was a skillful combination of shrieking (like what can only be described as a ninny) and ripping off all of my clothes (within a quarter-second). I shook out the clothes and found an earwig, which I fortunately know isn't harmful--just scary looking with its long hooks!--and isn't as gross as something like a roach or centipede. I think if it had been a roach, I'd have wished for the dream to have been real!
So I woke up Dan and the dog, and instead of sleeping in 'til 9:00 or 10:00, I'm wide awake and ready for the day to begin at 5:00am. Maybe I'm a ninety-year-old after all.
I used to have an alarm clock that would blare a gratingly dissonant "BWARRRR!" for a full second, followed by a half-second respite. In dreams, this sound would become a critical element to the plot of my dream, most memorably a video conference call screen that would alternate between a half-second image of the concerned CEO's speech and a full second of annoying snow, like the visual connection was bad.
Music playing in the same room where I'm sleeping sometimes becomes music I've composed and am conducting at a rehearsal. Dan's occasional sleep-laughing (if you haven't had the pleasure of watching someone uncharacteristically giggle in his sleep, I highly recommend it) is the gurgling voice of a gigantic caterpillar.
Early this morning, I dreamed that I pooped my pants while among fellow posh cruiseship travelers. It wasn't just a poop: It was a mess to the top of my crack, an epic poop for the ages. Unlike most dreams where the audio stuff works in, I woke up quickly and frantically checked to make sure "it was only a dream." (My first thought was that an ant was in my pants.) I'm sure being a houseguest right now had something to do with my quickness: Emily Post advises that defecating in a host's bed is impossibly bad manners.
Of course, I didn't actually soil myself, for I am neither a three-year-old nor a ninety-year-old, but I was disturbed enough that going right back to sleep was not going to happen. I lay for a few minutes before deciding to get up and use the bathroom, so I could crawl back in bed and sleep in as long as possible--my favorite vacation benefit.
I sat on the toilet and, still in a drowsy daze, scratched at an itch on the back of my right shoulder. It persisted, so I moved my hand into the neckhole of my pajamas to get to the skin, and in the gaping fabric on the inside of the top, I saw a dark, long bug. Inside my pajamas! On my back. Only a couple of feet from the buttcrack where I had felt something crawling a minute before.
My instinct was a skillful combination of shrieking (like what can only be described as a ninny) and ripping off all of my clothes (within a quarter-second). I shook out the clothes and found an earwig, which I fortunately know isn't harmful--just scary looking with its long hooks!--and isn't as gross as something like a roach or centipede. I think if it had been a roach, I'd have wished for the dream to have been real!
So I woke up Dan and the dog, and instead of sleeping in 'til 9:00 or 10:00, I'm wide awake and ready for the day to begin at 5:00am. Maybe I'm a ninety-year-old after all.
