For as long as I can remember, I’ve always had strange, tense dreams when I fall sick.
The earliest one that comes to mind, which I first had around four or five, was about a roller coaster made of pins. There was a giant doughy ball that rolled down the roller coaster, and for some reason, the thought of it would leave me hysterical, crying and asking my mother if “it was going to be okay.” Of course, when asked what I was talking about, the description of the above that I gave her didn’t exactly plead my case.
The most recent variations of this dream – or feeling, really, of tension and frustration – came to me this past week. The first involved teleportation, the second, James Cameron. Yes, really.
My teleportation dream, which was stuck in a loop much like the roller coaster dream, involved me trying to figure out the best and most efficient way to setup a teleportation device at our office so that everyone could teleport in and out at their leisure or as work required.
The James Cameron dream was about me meeting the director as he was putting the finishing touches on his new memory storage system that consisted of a portable CD player-type device and half-inch-thick discs the diameter of a golf ball made of metal and glass that glowed to convey how full they were.
Unfortunately – thankfully? – that’s all I can remember now.