I lay there, tired from my ?4 (i went to sleep at 0400ish) (now its 0800) hour nap.
I tend to forget the dream I had after a while. After certain neural switches go on.
Lest I get lost in words:
Apartment. Outside. Rows of apartments. Streets. Not so much about school. Shops, stores, night time. Apartment. Outside.
...inside, however is a different matter. The upper floors ... in some dreams they are regular living quarters. In some they lavish expanses of mansions. There are trapdoors and secret passageways in between all the floors (the dreams even vary, themselves, as to the types--rustic, old and dusty (dustbunny), facility (the stories of concrete, metal, and men between the ground floor and the nuclear reactor), mansion with trapdoor, upscale new york top-floor, etc.)
Even in one apartment the dustbunny-ish upper floors completely start to dissolve into a street-metal-sewage lattace that becomes very sparse of anything quickly, save the void that you ever fall through, lest you loose your balance or gripping.
No, this dream tonight brought back the memory of those other dreams. Why? How? I don't know. Like a lattice of thoughts that are turned off and kept from normal processes during the waking day (i.e.: janitor / debug mode)... why have they remained today? Why was I not just recalling my freshly-dreamed dream, but also those of years previous?
Anyway, the dream. Swimming pool. Lots of Japanese. Famous ones. Naked. The girls aren't as timid as expected, but they're not acting slutty, either. Just the right amount of social friction. Fucking hottubs. Love 'em.
The butler comes in. Like the one from Fresh Prince. With an "Ask Jeeves" imagined vocal demeanor (like constantly asking if shit's ok, temperature, garbage, shit)
Ok, time to shower off and get dressed. Man, looking at those girls and not getting any. I'm gonna go beat off. But where? These showers have silvered, 1-way mirrors. Fuck. I guess I'll have to go do that elsewhere. Ah, you have brought me an electrical footwarmer that goes in the shower. Thanks, Jeeves.
Even this doesn't make a whole lot of sense in the dream. I keep looking at it and making sure it has the right trip switches and fuses because, hey: water and electricity don't fucking mix. In fact, I go to the swimming pool and see a huge hierarchical splitoff of a hugeass surge protector, underwater, serving smaller surge protectors... also underwater. I unplug the large one (yeah, try this at home = you die = no great loss, kiddies) and find that the 330volt crazy-blade plug isn't going to work. Fuck it.
Well, that was a quick shower. I don't even feel wet... OH GOD WHAT THE FUCK.
DUDE. GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM THAT SPIDER. KICK THE SHIT OUT OF IT. RUN! YEAH, KICK IT OFF RETARD. OH SHIT IT SPLIT INTO A BUNCH OF BABIES. THAT BEACHBALL-SIZED BLACK WIDOW GOT KICKED INTO A BUNCH OF FIST-SIZED BLACK WIDOW SPIDERS. RUN YOU FAGGOT. HEY YOU STUPID FAT FUCK THAT GOES FOR YOU TOO.
I'm yelling as I stay the fucking furthest from those two retards and closest to the door where I can slam it closed and be safe from all that shit. One guy is pretty dumb. The other guy is a fucking vacuum bag full of dust and retard. Jeeves hears the commotion and a look befalls his face: "Great. I don't want to deal with this shit."
"Jeeves," I mouth to him, "911. Now." He quickly walks down the hall (no need to run, paramedics won't make it in time) as the one with half a brain brushes off the huge spiders and moves away. The stupid one, with the fangs of at least 8 different spiders, THE SIZE OF HIS FIST, buried across his legs, back, and neck, is slumped over on the grass.
All of us know, even the half-dimwit, that the guy is dead. There is nothing anyone can do. I try and think of something, but instead I wake up.
I kinda want to go back to sleep now.