Subconscious uproar 10(0)2.
Saturday, 04/24/04 - 12:55 pm.

Well, I don't feel like studying about all the sorts of hypothesis there are. I will, however, share a quote:

Miller thinks humans can be as smart as rats, but this hasn't been completely demonstrated. God, I love psychology.

I'm writing earlier today because the dreams I had last night are killing me and I need a place to pour them out. I usually don't do this, but this is a special case. The dreams were long and full of details, and, as I discovered when I was conscious in the morning, they all had to do with the things that happened to me yesterday.

Since I learned how to interpret dreams (pulling a Freud) my dreams make more sense to me. There are three elements: the things you see in your dreams, what those things really mean, and the things that happened to make you dream what you dreamed.

Two nights ago, I dreamed of *cough* D. We were two years ahead from today and we'd met again, and he was all cuddly toward me and wanted us to get back together, the stupid wretch. I, of course, didn't put up any fight when he tried to hold me. And we lived happily ever after. And that was it.

When I woke up, I remembered what I'd seen the day before. It was a similar scene: the night before I'd seen Victor and Angie all cuddly, Victor putting his arm around her waist. And I thought with hope: "maybe they're back together". So my remaining kind-of feelings toward D, mixed up with the hope of my friends getting back together caused the dream. And both things, I assume, will never happen.

But that's a tangent. I came to talk about last night's dreams. As soon as I fell asleep all I heard was voices, repeating all the things I learned for my BBB midterm yesterday. Voices, three-dimensional voices (you just had to be in my head, seeing is believing) and pages of my book, I could swear I read the entire BBB text book. And the voices, and myself too, kept talking about injuries of the left hemisphere.

There's no need to think about that dream, though. I obviously have an acute obssession with the topic. But it feels like I didn't sleep at all because of the voices that NEVER SHUT THE FUCK UP! I decided to wake up when I got tired of all the psychobabbling, and to my disappointment, it was 3 am.

I tried to make the voices go away by thinking of D (thinking of him is like counting sheep), but it seemed my I didn't want me to do that, so it kept shoving the voices back in my head. I consider that a dirty trick involving Freud's defense mechanism (it's about doing half obsessive-compulsive actions in order to annul thoughts, in this case being with D, that threaten the mental well-being). Everytime I closed my eyes, the voices began again.

Supposedly, if your secondary auditory cortex is stimulated, you hear voices and conversations and other complex sounds. I'm thinking my cortex likes to play with itself. Too often for my taste.

I finally fell asleep. And I dreamed again. That dream was ok. It refered to the good times I had with my four friends yesterday afternoon. It was a little more than that, we were starring in a movie, the five of us, being ourselves, going on holiday. I remember myself talking about the "movie" in the dream.

The third dream was one of the most awful things I've ever dreamed. My mom called it a nightmare, but I consider it too short to be a nightmare.

Actually, the first part was really nice. I was with my nephew and niece (Renan and Rebeca), holding puppies and kittens (aaawwww). But then a man came out of an apartment and started filming us, like a paparazzi (isn't "paparazzo" for singular, though?). I guess that had a lot to do with my speaking of celebrities and my being famous by association I talked about yesterday. A fat 10 year old threw himself at me saying he was my fan. I was disgusted and I started to yell at him in tongues. No, really.

Suddenly I was at home. It was a particular saturday night in which my whole family (parents, siblings and sibling's attachments) gets together for a meal (to keep the family ties, you know?). We were looking at my brother's new book. He'd published a book like the one I want to write, sort of Lennon-esque, with writings and drawings. And I was proud of him. Remember I said yesterday I was proud of my brother?

This is where it gets macabre:

I heard a explosion in the sky and we all looked out the backyard door: an aircraft, a plane, was flying dangerously low, and it flew over my house. Then it turned around, and I could see it was on fire and it was missing a wing.

My sister started to scream. And then I started to see dots falling off the plane: people were jumping off the plane. And my whole family were screaming in tears "No, don't jump! Don't jump!, don't jump! don't jump!" (as if that made any difference).

And I looked up and a woman was going to crash in front of me, in the backyard. It happened so fast, I could only see a human figure falling off. And as she was a few inches from touching the ground at a vertiginous speed, I covered my eyes with my hands. I just heard a splat, I felt my hands splashed with blood and chunks of flesh. I saw red and then I woke up. Shaking, almost in tears. I was so stressed my shoulders muscles were aching (or maybe that was still from yesterday's tension, because of the midterm).

Maybe it sounds funny now, but I was horrified. It's one of the most horrible things I've ever dreamed. Maybe it has something to do with 9/11, now that I think about it.

No, wait! I remember now! My dad has this habit of watching movies every night, and last night while I was typing the previous entry, I turned my head to see what he was watching and I saw a man jumping off a building. They didn't show when the man landed, of course (they showed the faces of cops closing their eyes) makes sense.

Ok, so that was a concise analysis of my dreams. I've always wanted to do that. But Freud's analysis are much longer and complex, and I have not bothered to analyze element by element. In any case, I guess that kind of dreams is what I get for having intense days such as yesterday.

It's stupid, though. It's dumb that my mind puts me at such emotional stress over a 5-second movie scene.

prev / next