California Dreamin' ...
As it is, I have to settle for thinking about something before I go to bed and hope that those thoughts stick around until some serious REM kicks in. But, often, the harder I try to hold onto a thought, the quicker it slips away. Thoughts are like mercury.
And so the stuff that turns up in my dreams might be stuff I was talking about earlier in the day or thinking about days ago or it might be stuff that has absolutely nothing to do with my waking life.
Take last night's dream. Here's the part that has nothing to do with my waking life: I was in a department store because I needed to buy Donna Karan pantyhose. And they were $48. But a sales clerk was kind enough to give me a coupon for $18. Even so, I was thinking, "I can't believe I'm about to pay $30 for a pair of pantyhose. These things better not run."
I can't remember the last time I wore pantyhose - thank GOD - and I've never bought Donna Karan pantyhose and I'm pretty sure they're not nearly $50. I once bought Donna Karan trouser socks at Bloomindales in New York. They did, for what it's worth, last a really long time.
But the predominant part of my dream, the part that seemed to last for almost as long as I was asleep (I love marathon dreams) was about meeting Hugh Laurie.
L.A. Dave is part of the Television Critics Association, so every summer, he goes to TCA and all the networks trot out stars from the fall shows and there are lots of sessions in which the TV people get to talk about how great their shows are and the journalists get to sit in the freezing darkness of the rooms (while the TV people are warmer, up on stage, under the lights) and try to ask questions that haven't been asked 100 times before. But the reward for all that is that each network throws a soiree later in the evening, and the TV people walk among the commonfolk. So L.A. Dave and I were talking about me coming out to L.A. for the Fox party so I could meet Hugh. Might never happen, but it's fun to think about.
In my dream, Hugh and I were somewhere yellow and cramped, perhaps backstage at a theater, and a group of us were sitting around chatting. He and I started talking about something banal and L.A. Dave appeared (he had probably been off in search of orange juice) and started to introduce us, but we'd already met each other. L.A. Dave then - poof! - vanished out of my dream. It was a dream cameo.
So, next, Hugh and I were in a home somewhere (whose, I have no idea) and we're sitting on an olive-green velvet couch and watching something on TV. It got rather cozy, curled up together on the couch. Kissing was involved.
Later, we were, inexplicably, in the family room of the house my mother's sister lived in when she was married to her second husband. I haven't been in that house in more than 25 years. Why did that house show up in my head? Dreams. Go figure. So Hugh and I were lying on the carpet and he was drinking wine. He asked me if I wanted some and I said I wanted to taste it first. So I kissed him. Why sip out of a glass when you can kiss the guy drinking it, right? I decided that yes, I would like some, so he put a bottle in front of me, except that the bottle was about four feet high and it was orange glass and it was shaped like a person. A very tall, thin person. Huh?
The dream progressed, moved into the kitchen, where some kids I didn't recognize were talking and, as kids are wont to do, making granola. The kids left. Hugh turned out the light. And I don't remember the dream from there.
Though I'd like to think I know what came next.