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rejectomorphStrange dream Tuesday afternoon, partly remembered because it woke me up. I was in a place remembered from other dreams though not itself real, and I was looking for a place to pee, but was having a hard time because it was evening and places were closing, and it was Sunday and other places hadn't been open at all, and the whole dream was being narrated by some disembodied voice that might have been mine, and from the narrator/maybe me I learned that some guy was planning to kill me, so I had to avoid him as well as try to find a place to pee.
At the height of the tension I had found a dirty and dingy but deserted men's room and had entered a stall with a door, so I could stay hidden, but had not started peeing when the narrator said that I heard someone open the men's room door (which I then did hear) and that it was the guy who wanted to kill me, and the narrator described how he was walking along the line of stalls shoving the doors open, which I also heard, and I didn't want to die while peeing so I held it in, but was thinking how when I was killed I would pee anyway, since your bladder always relaxes when you die, and that I could at least enjoy a moment of relief if I peed while till alive anyway, but I also knew that fi I peed the sound would tell the killer exactly where I was and he would kill me sooner, and the narrator was describing all these thoughts I was having, and then he also said that I could avoid giving away my location if I simply peed silently in my pants, and I found the thought so shocking that I woke up, really needing to pee.
So the dream was remarkably stupid, but also enlightening, as it is clear that something was preventing me from peeing my bed. I mean I really, really, really needed to pee, and on waking I immediately went into the bathroom and relieved myself, but I thought how, had my dream self taken the narrator's advice and peed in my dream pants, I almost surely would have peed in my actual bed. That means the narrator/me was the stupid me, and the stupid me is growing stronger as I age out of smartness. I suspect it's only a matter of time until I do pee my bed. Unless, of course, something kills me before it gets to that point. And now I'm thinking about the mysterious would-be murderer in the dream. Was he the real hero of the dream? The one who, had I actually started to pee, would have killed me, to save me the chagrin and sadness of waking up in a wet bed? Maybe the murderer is what's left of the smart me, looking out for my best interests even in my dreams. My stupid, stupid dreams. Something to ponder, anyway.
At the height of the tension I had found a dirty and dingy but deserted men's room and had entered a stall with a door, so I could stay hidden, but had not started peeing when the narrator said that I heard someone open the men's room door (which I then did hear) and that it was the guy who wanted to kill me, and the narrator described how he was walking along the line of stalls shoving the doors open, which I also heard, and I didn't want to die while peeing so I held it in, but was thinking how when I was killed I would pee anyway, since your bladder always relaxes when you die, and that I could at least enjoy a moment of relief if I peed while till alive anyway, but I also knew that fi I peed the sound would tell the killer exactly where I was and he would kill me sooner, and the narrator was describing all these thoughts I was having, and then he also said that I could avoid giving away my location if I simply peed silently in my pants, and I found the thought so shocking that I woke up, really needing to pee.
So the dream was remarkably stupid, but also enlightening, as it is clear that something was preventing me from peeing my bed. I mean I really, really, really needed to pee, and on waking I immediately went into the bathroom and relieved myself, but I thought how, had my dream self taken the narrator's advice and peed in my dream pants, I almost surely would have peed in my actual bed. That means the narrator/me was the stupid me, and the stupid me is growing stronger as I age out of smartness. I suspect it's only a matter of time until I do pee my bed. Unless, of course, something kills me before it gets to that point. And now I'm thinking about the mysterious would-be murderer in the dream. Was he the real hero of the dream? The one who, had I actually started to pee, would have killed me, to save me the chagrin and sadness of waking up in a wet bed? Maybe the murderer is what's left of the smart me, looking out for my best interests even in my dreams. My stupid, stupid dreams. Something to ponder, anyway.
