I dreamed I was married to…
What is this?
The first in a series of dreams where I am married to a famous person was with Denis Leary. Dreams are a surreal forum. These are real dreams dreamt by me, a real person.
My dream book tells me that when a famous person, such as an actor, appears in your dream it is your subconscious relieving itself from boredom. It is a sign that your life is too boring, not stimulating, and it finds stimulation by sprinkling a bit of fantasy hook ups into the REM. I will write about them and try to examine their meaning.
Am I Bored?
My radio is in-between seasons, I’m in-between boyfriends, my poetry book is printed and launched and my work at the mill is repetitive. I suppose I am a bit bored. Bills are slowly, very slowly, getting paid after a six-month layoff in December. Order, the everyday humdrum order of living is entering back into my life.
So my first dream in this series, I am “partnered” with Denis Leary. I’m unsure if we are very close friends, or romantic. The intimacy in the dream is rated PG, which is endearing.
It is a bright weekday morning, about 9 or 10 a.m. in a quiet city loft. The walls are brick, wood and plaster, Denis Leary and I are in bed together, fully dressed in loose sleep wear. It’s a bed big enough to hold our work, laid out over the down bedspread, with laptops, pens, paper, books. Our legs stay warm under the comforter. We are relaxed, yet focused on the projects in front of us, we’re drinking coffee, low morning-funk is playing in the living room, the only light is one lamp and sunshine coming through our corner unit windows.
“Wow. Look at this.” I lean over to Denis
“Right here.” I point to a spot on a page. He takes it and reads the short paragraph.
“Well that is a surprise,” he comments
“Right…” I add. Stretching my legs, “Luv, would you like some more coffee, I’m getting up”
“Is there juice? Also, what about those danish things we got yesterday? Any of those left?”
“Not worried about crumbs?”
“Cheese if it’s still there”
“Itchy crumbs. Remember that cookie from last week”
“Babe…just a nibble. On a plate. How about a plate?”
We talk, read and work quietly together and in our own headspace. The dream was more of a sense of place and spirit than actual conversation. A glowing dream about a moment, like minded people, sitting close together in bed and talked about nothing and everything.
Judging by the mood and clues in the dream I’m guessing I miss having a connection with someone I view as equal, an intimate equal. The sense of place and comfort level, of a rich intellectual life full of music, good food, peace is a lifestyle I hope to obtain.
Meditating on the dream, I remembered Sunday mornings at my childhood home. My brother and I were kids, like elementary school aged, someone would grab the Seattle Sunday Times from the porch (the newspapers were physically thick back then) mom made coffee for her and dad. All four of us would sit on my parent’s king sized bed in our jammies and robes (dad still under the covers, legs crossed) and read the sections, passing around the funnies. We would share interesting headlines and talk about the news. A very casual warm family moment. I don’t have that right now. Perhaps one day it will return.