Dream Journal

of Alan Carl Nicoll

This material is presented without copyright, for “fair use,” whatever that is. Most recent dreams will appear first and the file will be reblogged whenever.

“Christina’s World” by Andrew Wyeth (1917-2009)


Most delightful of dreams.  I’m in a movie theater.  The love of my life slips into my lap and kisses the corner of my mouth.  I am holding her in a close hug, rubbing my hands over her back.  Much hugging, no further kissing.  At one point I slide out from under her and sit next to her, I don’t remember why.  There are two cushions on separate seats and I ask if she brought them.  She said, “Yes, don’t you remember?” and something about it being inappropriate.

Then, in a different location, I asked if she knew a good way to make paper decorations for a Christmas tree.

It’s always sad to wake from a happy dream into daily reality.


A curious dream, worth mentioning here (though I’ll also put it into the dream journal).  I thought (dreamt) that I had woken from my nap, and through the washcloth covering my eyes, I could see that I was holding a book.  Except that I knew that I wasn’t holding a book, I could not feel a book in my hand.  I moved my left hand across my field of vision, and I saw a faint image of my hand, through the washcloth, moving across the image of the book.  The words of the book began graying out, as though they had been gone over with a gray highlighter, so they were still visible.  Then it got really interesting:  the image began dissolving, until it was fragmented into a huge number of pixels, as though each cell in my retina was showing me an individual spot, having nothing to do with the book.  Eventually the image was washing out, I opened my eyes for a fraction of a second, and this destroyed the image of the book.  Finally I opened my eyes all the way as I removed the washcloth.  Then, disbelieving, I put the washcloth over my eyes again—I could not see through it at all, it was completely opaque.  The whole episode had been a dream.


I was working in an office and had been given an assignment to collect from other offices the responses to a form that had previously been distributed.  I went to the first office but it was just a single room, sparsely furnished with a desk and a bed.  At first I thought there was someone in the bed, but there wasn’t, it was only a small pile of bedding that I’d seen.  The second office was behind glass double doors.  I went inside and again there was no one, but in this case there were additional glass doors at the back.  There were also two desks, side-by-side, impeding progress further into the office.  In front of the desks there was barely room for me to stand, and as I attempted to stand there to wait for someone to arrive, I bumped against the door behind me and it opened.  Then either the office layout changed or I had gone to another office.  There was a dark-haired woman.  I asked about the form and she indicated a blue folder behind me.  I looked but didn’t see it, and she pointed it out—it was sticking to a square pillar next to the door, or possibly the wall next to the door.  I took it down, saw that there was a loose clear plastic sheet on top.  I returned the sheet to the wall, where it stuck either by magnetism or by static electricity, snapping against the wall as it slipped from my fingers.  I opened the folder and inside was a printed sheet and a folded booklet like a check register or a calendar.  I said that I didn’t recognize these materials, and I was unsure whether I should take the folder or not.

A second dream is less coherent and it may have been part of the previous dream.  I was standing on a corner, and young men came by, one by one, wearing green army clothing, “fatigues,” with floppy green hats, very like what we wore in Vietnam.  At least some of the men were carrying awkward piles of books and papers.  I spoke to the men but can’t remember what I said.  That’s all.

A third dream, about an old sailing ship, The Golden Hind; it had been captured by the ship I was on.  It had surrendered at our challenge.  I, as Captain, ordered the Hind’s wheel to be removed so the ship couldn’t be sailed, and I speculated about what to do with the crew and the Captain, and should we tow the ship to port for the prize money?  What about the cargo?  Nothing was actually carried out, maybe I never gave orders, but I suggested to the Captain that we might play chess in my cabin.  I believe that The Golden Hind was the famous ship of Sir Walter Ralegh (also spelled Raleigh, which is also the capital of North Carolina).

I don’t recall ever having more than two recordable dreams in a single morning before.

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