14 reasons the world is not ready for a female guitarist

Such was the title of the Buzzfeed article I was reading upon it having become common knowledge that the band that was my favorite in my dream - let us call them Mystery because I forgot what they were called - had a new guitarist named Michaela. Not Michael. Michaela. And the music world went crazy. How could a woman shred, they asked? How could she tour when she needed to be home cooking? Would she ever get married?

But tour she did, shred she did, and it just so happened that Mystery's tour took them to the town just across the border from me. Very nice, I thought, and I decided I would go to their show whenever it happened, but it was quite a ways off in the future so I didn't think very much about it besides wondering when tickets would go on sale.

Choir practice was at the high school it used to be at that Monday night, so I went like a diligent little fake soprano, sang my piece, and when choir practice was over, went out to my car and began to drive home. On the way, I got a call from an unknown number. I picked it up and the voice on the other end of the line was a surprise - it was an acquaintance of mine who had talked to the manager of Mystery and said they wanted me to come rehearse with them for the upcoming show. WHAT. Of course I said yes, but I had to go get my microphone first. They wanted me back at the high school in thirty minutes. Half of my microphone and accessories were in a storage unit, so I went there first. Then I had to go to my mom's house and find the other half. I felt I was racing the clock and that if I got there after 10 PM, I would not have a chance.

Microphone acquired, I drove eastward again, only to get yet another call from A., who was eating at a restaurant and wanted me to join him. So of course I did, but I told him we had to really get going and I wasn't hungry anyway, because I needed to be back at the high school by 10. He said he had to move his truck (truck? okay) and went outside. I followed shortly thereafter to see a huge garbage truck moving forward a little too fast in the parking lot. A Dumpster fell off the back, and the truck lost control and hit another car. I got really scared and called out A's name, but no response. I went over to the truck and didn't see him inside it. No one was inside it, which should have scared me more, but I was just glad he wasn't in the truck. I didn't know where he was, but at this point I couldn't figure out what else to do - I had to go. So I got in my car, may or may not have clipped another vehicle on the way, and drove back to the high school and hurriedly ran to the auditorium.

And there is A, just sitting at a table and chatting with my friend. The band's manager is milling about and I am dying to talk to him and even more to get up there and sing backup on those fantastic Mystery songs I have loved for so much of my life. Michaela is warming up, playing scales on stage. I go over to my friend and A. and ask him how he got there so fast but he doesn't really have an answer for me. At this point, I've realized it was a dream but instead of being able to do whatever I want,  I just feel guilty that I haven't woken up yet, and everything starts moving slowly. At long last the manager comes over and flashes his million-watt smile in my direction. I hastily introduce myself to this absolute genius of a man and then before he can tell me what he wants me to do, I wake up so I can start my day. If only I had gotten there sooner...

As if I lived in a novel

In my dream, I had such a lovely house. Very 80s style, modern. The door was on the south side, and there was a wall of windows there. Next to the door was a table with my computer and keyboard on it, and chairs on either side. There was a large living room with a brick floor and at least three bedrooms.

I was at home after having gone out to a club and running into a friend I had only met on the Internet, K. When we saw each other, something clicked. It was as if we had known each other for decades. That term "on the same wavelength" ? That describes every moment of every interaction we had. What an amazing person! We talked through the evening, then at the end of the night, K. came to my home, accompanied by his bartender girlfriend with long, straight, brown hair, who was wearing a purple corset and had a name that wasn't a name. Petrichor. The three of us hung out, played music, talked throughout the night. It was a shimmering, shining time.

A. came home briefly and joined us in our revelry. The four of us seemed like we had been friends forever. Then he had to go back to the lab. Petrichor also had to leave, so they left together.

K. and I started talking then about writing music. We had discussed collaborating on a piece earlier, and put on some old songs for inspiration; songs from the sixties. At one point, he got up to dance and motioned for me to join him. We danced in such joy, as if it were the sixties and today all at the same time, and the only thing that existed was this dance and the music of the spheres. It was as if we lived in a Madeleine L'Engle novel, and this was my life. It was a gesture of simple and pure friendship with no overtones, no ulterior motives; something that does not exist outside of books. I stepped back, looking at this Friend with amazing hair and broad shoulders and told him, not I love you, but We should get to work. For that is, indeed, what love is - endless and tireless work to leave the world a better place than we found it.

We sat down at the table by the door and began to write. The song we sang was one I wrote back in college - "Don't walk into that place/Into the shadow of a newly-familiar face/I never wanted to live this way/Or it had never crossed my mind before." He strummed a guitar; I switched between the keyboard and the computer. At this point, there was a knock on the door. I opened it to see a very cute and feisty red-haired girl, who introduced herself as K's girlfriend, and walked in. I was confused; wasn't Petrichor K's girlfriend? But I had the good sense not to say anything, and over the course of the next few minutes it became apparent that this curly-haired sprite was, indeed, K's actual girlfriend, and that she didn't know anyone named Petrichor. How could this absolutely wonderful person, or someone who seemed wonderful to me, be seeing two girls at once who didn't know about each other...? People's lives are complicated, I suppose. No one is all good; no one is all bad. Perhaps, later, privately, I would ask him. But maybe it's not any of my business.

She decided she would stay the night. I was tired, so I showed them to a guest room on the northwest side of the house, decorated in ivory and flower petals, and went to rest in my own lilac-colored room. A. comes home to join me. I tell him we have guests, and we drift off to sleep.

In the morning, we all wake up and watch cartoons together. I cook breakfast and the atmosphere is bubbling over with the joy of crepes and mimosas and exuberant conversation. To be honest, I liked Petrichor better, but this girl, whose name I never quite caught, is as bubbly as the mimosas. She also reveals that K's amazing hair is actually a very high-tech wig, and he is very nearly bald! I react with a smile, but inside I'm secretly proud of A's full head of thick, natural hair.

As it approaches noon, K. says they must be leaving. I hug each in turn and they depart. I know it is highly unlikely that I shall ever have such a soiree again, but I hope for a knock on my door the following evening...

Later, alone, I turn on the TV and there's a show on about the bar where Petrichor worked. The bartender speaking on the screen is named Petrichor and she's wearing a purple corset - but she's a petite blonde. Cut to a shot taken the next day, where a six-foot tall man in a purple corset is manning the bar, and the patrons call him Petrichor as well. The regulars treated them all as the same person, asking them questions about events that happened the night before, when a different Petrichor was on duty, and getting answers as if they were there. Who was the real Petrichor? Was there a Petrichor at all? And who, indeed, was the beautiful brunette who had come to my home the night before?

Retired hockey player becoming sci-fi special agent

I was at a department store doing a bit of shopping, when I saw a very tall, blonde guy with long hair who seemed to be a little confused. After some thinking, I realized it was Pavel Bure and went to say hello to one of the stars of my childhood. He was very nice, but his thoughts seemed to be elsewhere. Then he told me he had to get back to the gym, and went to the back of the department store.

For some reason, I followed him. He went into the gym and started practicing a routine on two balance beams. Then he went to the rings and practiced some more. I just observed for a while, then he told me to come over, so I did. He told me he would be back in a while, folded himself into a plastic container, and closed it. I was obviously concerned about this -- how could he breathe? -- but he reassured me he would be fine.

I walked into another room off of the gym, and there he was again, but somehow we had moved into a different universe. He had the ability to move between universes, similar to but quite unlike Fringe, and there were some tasks he needed to do in this universe - and he needed my help. Because I was with him, I had also gained this power. We went to my house, which was similar to the house I lived in while in junior high, and we went into a closet where there were a few toys and clothes. He told me that he had to do this for my safety while he went to yet another universe, and locked me in the closet from the outside. I told him that I wasn't going to go out of the closet until he was gone, and he could trust me, so he said okay but I'm not sure if he locked it or not. It didn't bother me -- I figured I had my phone with me anyway -- so I busied myself figuring out what the things on the floor were. Only then I realized I didn't have my phone, and I started to panic. If he had locked the door, would anyone come into the house? If he didn't come back, would I be able to make a lot of noise and would someone come and get me out of the closet? But then I had that feeling like you do when you realize you're in a dream and all you have to do is acknowledge it and wake up -- so I did -- but --

I didn't actually wake from my dream. I woke into the universe he was in, which was the "main" universe, into a restaurant similar to a Cracker Barrell. I was standing against a dark paneled wall covered in pictures of celebrities who had eaten there and shots of country life. He was there, sitting in a booth opposite me with an elderly couple and two car seats with two babies, whom he had rescued from the alternate universe and brought back to his grandparents. I realized that after retirement from hockey, he had become a special agent of sorts with the ability to travel quickly through space, or through universes, and he solved crimes. But because of this, he'd lost his ability to do very much else, like carry on regular human conversations, so he spent most of the time in the gym, maintaining fitness and agility through complicated gymnastics. He was like the most devoted of musicians I knew, people who honestly seem to live on a different plane mentally and spiritually, with a childlike single-mindedness, only his aim was mental control of his physical body and being able to manipulate the physics of the universe around him.

Volcano at the beach

I was on a beach with A, my mom, my brother, and a few friends. There was a beautiful mountain in the distance on the other side of the water. We were just generally having a nice time at sunset, playing at the waters' edge when I noticed that the waves were partially black. I thought it might be oil or something, then someone mentioned that it was coming from the volcano. But it seemed normal, so we just kept playing but stayed away from the water.

Soon the water was overrun with this black stuff, and I figured it was probably time to leave. So I called out to everyone that we needed to go now. Just as I'd said this, you could see lava running down the sides of the mountain and ash clouds forming at the top. Of course, everyone at the beach had the same idea and started running for their cars or for home. My car was right there on the beach, but I could not find my keys in my purse. I was afraid that the lava would come through the ocean before I could find my keys. Luckily, I found them, unlocked the car, and sped away. As I was leaving the beach area, I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the mountain explode in a volcanic eruption. I told myself, "This is a dream. Wake up." But I couldn't wake up, so I figured that it was real and I better get busy saving people's lives by getting out of there.

I drove as fast as I could, following the Volcano Evacuation Route signs, until we came to a clinic where a few people (not that many, strangely enough) had stopped to take shelter, as it was out of the path of the volcano. We all got out of the car and the nurses there came to greet us and treat any injuries we'd gotten while we went away. I wasn't injured at all, but was really shaken up. The nurses gave us soup. They had lots of supplies and food there in a back room. I ate quickly and then went to see where everyone else was. A. was sleeping, as was my brother and a bunch of friends, in an exam room. My mom was talking to the nurses. I found out that the nurses had been so busy, they had not eaten. So I made soup for them since I made me feel better to help. I figured we should stay there until it became safe to go out again, and decided I would also get some sleep. So I went to sleep on a couch (which was when I woke up in real life.)

Ill-Fated Wedding

I always dream that I am in India. I don't know why.

This time we had gone for a friend's wedding. Maybe one of A's friends. I don't know who exactly it was. Many of our friends from Baton Rouge were also there, but it wasn't their wedding; it was some unknown person.

So A and the rest of the guys are busy upstairs with the groom, and even though I don't know the bride, I go help her get ready. She is dressed in all her finery and we chat briefly. She seems nice enough.

Right before the wedding is to begin, she gets onto the back of an elephant, but then something goes wrong, and the elephant tips over and crushes her and so there is no wedding.

Later, I was driving but not very well because I wasn't used to the car. I kept accelerating and decelerating too fast. A. was in the backseat and was going to get motion sick, so I swung into a parking lot and told him that he could drive. And drive he did, much better than me.

--

I think that I had this dream because I watched that awful Iggy Azalea "Bounce" video yesterday and this was my subconscious telling me exactly what I really thought of the video and Iggy Azalea in particular.

Trip to Mumbai (combining two dreams)

I have had two dreams over the last month or so that placed me in Mumbai. The feel was the same in both so I will write them here, with the first dream coming first.

I had travelled there for my junior high school friend's art exhibition. He was a sculptor. So I went to a shopping mall where the art gallery was. The gallery was all decorated in off-white gossamer. I found his sculptures in a back room of the gallery, partially open to the outside. The sculptures were alabaster. But I did not know very much about art so I just simply admired them and then went back outside.

I was glad to be there. That was the main feeling I had - happiness at being back in India. I was travelling with another lady, only known to me in the dream, named Caroline. She was an American woman in her 40s. We were at a train depot and needed money, so we used our ATM cards to get out American money and then had it changed into rupees at another, completely automated, kiosk. I did not know those sorts of things were possible, but it had been a long time since I had been to India.

We travelled out a bit to the suburbs, where we went to a party. Some of my online friends were there. Many nameless and faceless people, too. We lounged around in a white room. Two friends in particular I met there. One was just as I had imagined - the kindest, friendliest person with a million dollar smile, a heart of gold, and interesting things to say. He just was so full of brilliance and care that I wanted to talk to him to the exclusion of everyone else, but he and Caroline were in a conversation so I turned my attention to the rest of the party, and another friend who I was meeting for the first time. We had an interesting rapport, he and I; I felt I always had to be at the intellectual ready, but didn't feel like it was a one-upping conversation. I have used the term 'mind sharpener' to describe such people and conversations, but those conversations often felt a bit forced, as if I had to prove myself. This was not so forced. I do not even remember what we talked about. Certainly literature; maybe politics. It was intellectual, yet effortless and natural. And at the moment when I realized how effortless and natural it was, I realized I had something very important to say.

"I have to go."

And I got up, took Caroline with me, and we left.

We pondered how to get back to the downtown area (Although it was Mumbai, it was nothing like Mumbai actually was. It was more like Chicago, actually.) and decided we would take the metro. So we headed over to the metro. Images of the downtown area, brought from another dream, filled my mind. Narrow streets, brick buildings, again nothing like what is reality but it was indeed the downtown in my dream.

And I suppose we went there, but in a dream I have not yet dreamed.

Dreams that ended lucidly but otherwise were messed up

I went to Baton Rouge for work and it was at the same time as the Diwali show. So I also went to that,w hich was nice. At some point I had to go to the bathroom, so I went down the hall to the women's locker room. I walked into the men's first and saw a bunch of guys chilling in the hot tub, realized I was in the wrong one, and went to the women's quickly. There was also a hot tub there, and also a sauna and a steam room. I thought again about the fact that I miss having a steam room and hadn't gone to a gym that had one since 2008. There were, of course, lockers - it was a locker room after all. But there were no toilets. So I realized I had to wake up if I wanted to go to the bathroom.

It was 5:30 AM when I woke up. I thought I'd stay awake, but I fell asleep again.

And in this second dream, I was at home again, but some friends from the recent past had come back to visit. It was really nice to see them, but then they decided they wanted to get a picture of me laughing. I didn't want to take a picture, so one of them tickled my feet while the other one took pictures. I told them if they posted the pictures on Facebook, I'd kill them.

And this is how I found out that I am ticklish even in my dreams.