/*scrolling menu script*/ /*End scrolling menu script*/ What Dreams May Come: June 2009
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Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Nightmare on Cedar Springs

The following post is the first part of two, connecting with the post after this one. I had two dreams last night that provoke two separate stories.

Did you ever have a family member who owned a house that had a creepy wing or basement to it that seemed to always unsettle you when you went through it? I did, in fact there were two separate houses owned by people on my father’s side of the family that creeped me out, and both of them were in my dreams last night.
My grandparent’s basement was finished, but had many doors and took a long time to escape (if you were a little kid), running through the “L” shaped corridor. The basement was harmless when three or more of us were down there, but as soon as one of us left, the rest of us would run upstairs before the proverbial boogieman could get us. We imagined that the last person up the double set of stairs would be caught by invisible hands that would drag them back down into the dark corners of the basement. There was even a room that had a door leading to another room that you could barely fit in without ducking, which in turn led to another room that you had to duck to get into. That room lay under the front veranda and was meant for storage, but we all knew that was the entrance to some sinister and evil land where children go to die. I think that was also where all the socks went when they had a falling out with their other pair.
Anyway, I dreamt that I had to change a beer keg, because the taps in the kitchen blew. I think it was Guiness.
I went downstairs, knowing full well of my peril. Who’d have known that just one floor below the main one, gravity would lessen significantly. It made for a slower escape, should the ghouls and goblins try to get me.
I looked for the keg room. I opened every door along the corridor (except the one to the right, which you could see from the crack that the light was on. It was never on), but I couldn’t find the kegs. So I went back upstairs, but to get there one had to crawl through a space where all the vents and pipes were. This, obviously, wasn’t part of reality, and I might have guessed that. But still, I crawled through the space and went to the kitchen.
“I can’t find the keg room,” I said. They sent me back down again to look harder. I went down again, but there was no way in Narnia (which was probably close by, considering all the doors and portals to other rooms) that I would be spending much more time down there.
The place gave me the shivers. I could feel my veins pump blood that came from an oversensitive heart. I couldn’t see very well.
I went down the corridor once more, but by then I had had enough. I ran as fast as my anti-gravity feet would let me, back up the stairs as I tried again to crawl through the pipe and vent space. It was getting smaller. I had to try really hard to get through this time. But I made it!
No ghoul caught me, and I braved the basement on Cedar Springs all by myself. Twice.
My mother and grandfather were in the kitchen when I told them that there were ghosts down there. My grandfather just smiled and nodded like he was excited about it. That too freaked me out. What kind of person is okay with harbouring the undead in his basement? How does that not even phase him?
I wrote it off as a normal attribute of a man in his eighties. As creepy as it sounds, I just figured that as one gets closer to death one becomes much more accepting of it, and isn’t disturbed anymore by apparitions or spirits that dwell in the living world.
I woke up with a bit of a start, and got mad at my bed for placing me into such a situation.
The other house that gave me nightmares was my Aunt Min’s place, not far from my grandmothers. You’d appreciate the eclectic design of the place if you saw it, but it too had a basement with a long long long hallway that one needed to cross to reach. I know that this house was in my dream too, but only for a moment. Perhaps it was a precursor to what was to come.


Why Can’t I Take a Proper Dump in This Dream?

This post is the second part of the post above, as they happened one after the other on the same night.

I don’t know about you, but whenever I have to go to the bathroom to relieve myself of some serious weight, I can never seem to do it properly.
Usually it begins with that turtling (or gophering) feeling that you get when it threatens to poke its way through before you can reach a proper extraction point. You know it’s going to come, whether you want it to or not, and most of the time your dream offers you a receptacle.
Now, I didn’t say a “proper” receptacle. I remember one time we were on a road trip. Don’t ask me who “we” was; I don’t remember now, but I think my dad was there. We were driving home from somewhere far, like Halliburton, or Florida. I was driving, but suddenly...
Turtle, turtle...
I saw a house by the lake that we were driving by, and it was my best bet. It turned out to be a small cathedral for nuns who happened to have the best washroom in the world. They offered an old wooden shack, but I knew that that wouldn’t work for me. I knew that oftentimes in my dreams, tiny, cramped spaces would not suffice for a proper delivery station for my... stuff.
I looked around and saw through a half opened door that there was a washroom the size of a family room. It was huge, and beautiful. The floors and walls were elegantly tiled or marbled, and the toilet was made of glass or something. I knew that this would be perfect.
I sat down, but for some reason I wasn’t comfortable. At first the toilet hole was too small, and then too big. It was slippery, but then it was not. At one point it sat too low. Tried as I might, I couldn’t relieve myself.
And then something happened.
I think I must have flushed the toilet, and somehow clogged it – with nothing – because water started to flow everywhere. The water rose high, and I had no way of escaping. The nuns we banging on the door, asking what I was doing in there. Normally, that’s a stupid question.
I think I totally ruined the greatest washroom that ever was.


Not too long ago I dreamt of needing to drop off some brownies at the way-station while I was at my friend Michael’s house. I began to gopher, but quickly, I made it to the washroom and closed the door.
I looked up. Ten feet up and there, above a shelf full of linen sat the toilet.
How eclectic.
I climbed the shelf and pulled down my pants, but this thing wasn’t built for me. I teetered as I tried to find a good spot to sit, and I must have let some out before resolving my sitting issue because it started to go everywhere!
Serves them right for putting a toilet so high up.
I found another one that sat so low to the ground that it was probably made for their dog or something. Whatever. So I’m not potty trained in the dream world. Maybe next time my mind will be gracious enough to provide me with a diaper and a hot nurse to change me.


Last night I dreamt of having to go again. This was after I had the Cedar Springs nightmare, and after I woke up and finally went back to sleep whilst trying to get the song “too young to fight it” out of my head.
I was at work, or at least, I was with my work friends. Actually, the only ones who were present were the girls I’ve had crushes on for the past year or so. Not a good crowd to be around when you’re about to have an I-can’t-poo-properly dream.
I had to go, and my friend Stacey knew it (or was it Sasha?). She dragged me along the corridor as we tried to find a washroom, but the only one available had like five kids bathing and playing in the tub with their figurines (which happened to be Army Ants and M.U.S.C.L.E. men if anyone who grew up in the eighties remembers those).
She said, just go in there. Common, I’ll go with you.
I thought she was nuts. She knew that there was nowhere else to go, but I thought it wouldn’t be right to pull down my pants and take a dump while the kids were watching. And somehow I got it in my head that we might also be doing something erotic with each other, and again, that wouldn’t be right in front of the kids.


Geez, now the floodgates have opened. I remember another poo dream where I was at this community center and I had to go pretty bad (badly?). I ran for the community washrooms, and you know how those are. Even in real life you can never find a relatively clean one, without paper or poo sitting on the rim, or with yellow water and a log in the middle, or having the stall look like a monster just tore a Poo-animal to pieces and smearing its poo-blood all over the walls and floor...
Well these stalls looked exactly like that. And even if I actually found one that was doable, it took so long to just place the toilet paper down onto the rim so that I could sit without feeling like I’ve been infected with poomydia. You know how you have to strategically fold and place the TP onto the rim of the bowl so that absolutely no ceramic can touch your behind? Yeah, well in dreams that takes forever! Half the time (and not unlike reality), the paper falls to the floor. And there is no five second rule my friends... This isn’t your kitchen, and you didn’t just drop a twelve ounce medium rare porterhouse steak on the floor. This is a COMMUNITY TOILET!!! The paper is sullied if it so much as hints that it touched the floor – or the inside of the bowl for that matter.


I kinda’ hope I’m not alone on this can’t-poo-in-dreams thing, but I also don’t exactly wish it on anyone else. It’s quite distressing, especially after dreaming about a haunted basement that could make you want to brown your pants in real life!