bad kitties and benicio del toro

Tally-ho, cutiepies! I was piffling around on Twitter and found a dream I’d shared there last year. Since it’s been forlikeEVER since I’ve blogged a dream, I thought it high time to rectify that oversight.

*ahem* Here goes….

October 25, 2018
Thanks to last night’s insomnia, I had to take a mid-morning nap or die. So I slept for about 45 minutes, and I got to experience one of the weirdest dreams I have ever had in my life. Buckle up, buttercups.

Bad Kitties and Benicio del Toro

I was catching a flight to Frankfurt, Germany, by the skin of my teeth. There was lots of running and dodging back and forth through crowds. Partly outside and uphill. When I rushed up to the airplane, they almost didn’t let me on.

To get to the airplane, I had to go through a small castle. The guy who almost didn’t take my ticket was dressed like one of those cosplayer barbarians that you see at Renaissance Fairs. And I thought if he didn’t take my ticket, he was probably going to throw me over his shoulder and schlepp me off somewhere. But finally he laughed raucously and stamped away, and I let myself onto the plane.

I was on the flight with one other passenger. It was a privately owned airline, and its claim to fame was that the owner and all of his cats would be on every flight. So, when I finally made it onto the plane, no human being was in sight. Only the cats. And some kittens! And they were really cute and sweet and I was petting them, and then I found my seat.

The inside of the airplane look like a cross between a medieval castle and a casino. I don’t really know how to explain it. But shortly after I found my seat, I was watching one of the kittens. It got ready to pounce on a toy —

— and suddenly a piece of the kitten’s side just opened up. Out popped an organ, a liver or something, and then it popped back in.



I looked at another cat. This one was was rolling around on its back, and when it rolled, its sternum opened up and its ribs splayed out and showed all of its innards and then went all back in together again. A third cat’s entire face just peeled off in a flap from forehead to chin, then reattached itself.

I was going to be sick. I went looking for help, and suddenly my mom was there. I was so relieved. I told her what was happening with the cats. She came to have a look, and we both were shocked and horrified. And I said, “Oh no, I have petted these cats. I HAVE TO GO WASH MY HANDS.”


So I went into the bathroom, which was very classy modern but shaped weird like an L. I turned the water on and reached for the soap —

— and suddenly this cat was there, squatting above the soap dish. It hunkered down and squeezed, and liquid soap came plopping into my hand out of a spout in the middle of its belly. And then it licked its bellysoap spout, looked at me with goofy eyes like Derpy from My Little Pony, and hopped down into this little basket next to the sink.

And not knowing what else to do, I washed my hands with the cat bellyplopsoap.


So when I got out of the bathroom, my mom was talking to the owner of this really bizarre airplane, which by now had been in the air for several hours; I knew we had about three hours left before we landed.

The owner looked like a dwarf version of Benicio del Toro, and he was dressed like a flamboyant card player in a casino or something. I don’t know, there were lots of vibrant colors and glitter. My mom and I tried to explain to him our concerns about the cats. He got very, very offended, and a dangerous gleam entered his eyes. I thought, “If we don’t find a way to make good with this guy, he is going to kill us.”

So I tried very calmly to explain to him that we we didn’t see anything wrong with the cats, we were just concerned for their health. Especially the health of the ones who were displaying organs on the outsides of their bodies. In the back of my mind I had decided, based on the incident of Bellyplopsoap Cat, that the other cats were genetic modification experiments gone horribly awry, and Bellyplopsoap Cat must be the first successful prototype.

So short-statured Benicio del Toro went into his office and shut the door. I turned around, and my mom was gone but my husband was there, and he said, “We just have to stay alive for 3 more hours.”

Just then, a perfectly normal-looking cat strolled past us. I bent down to pet it (one would think I’d’ve known better by now), and it turned around and its chest opened up and I could see all of its insides. I might have screamed. And then I woke up.


There was more throughout, but it was all kind of vague and blurry. As though this all weren’t enough as-is, right?!

Maybe this was why I couldn’t sleep the night before. My brain knew that if I went to under long enough, that dream was gonna happen.

And what brain in its right mind wouldn’t want to avoid that?

Also, what the hell was I processing that my brain needed a dream about improbable airplanes, mutant gross lab cats, and Benicio del Toro?

IMAX theater inside my head. Yikes.

All I Have to Do Is Dream


Last week, dear inklings, I shared with you my thoughts inspired by Jennifer Brown’s post about “backseat dreaming”.

Jennifer is my Muse once more today. Her post Dreaming Life and Living Dreams reminded me of my fascination with nighttime dreams.

Imprisoned by dreams?

In Living Color

Once upon a time, when I wasn’t writing much, I dreamed in vivid detail and color — every night. My dreams were intense enough that I rarely woke up feeling refreshed. My husband told me that while he had a nice, quite, empty warehouse in his head at night, I had an IMAX theater in mine.

There is no better description.

After I finally realized that I was, indeed, created to create — i.e. after I let myself start becoming the writer I was meant to be — I stopped remembering most of my dreams.

And I started sleeping again, can I get a hallelujah?!?


Anyway, during my years of crazy dreaming, I kept a journal in which I recorded over 150 dreams. And today, my darlings, I’d like to share with you one of the weirder ones. I hope you enjoy. : )

Mortals Akseptans

Dream #67, recorded May 13, 2004

Last night, I dreamed that vampires were chasing me. I wasn’t myself; instead, I was a little girl, about 6 or 7 years old. I was at a truck stop of some sort, next to a lonely, deserted highway. Only a few other customers were in the truck stop. I think I was eating a meal when the vampires came in. I knew they were after me, so I ran outside.

I thought that being in sunlight would save me, but these vampires were immune to the sun. Several of them stayed inside the truck stop, hunting the other customers. Four or five vampires pursued me, and I ran into some sort of tunnel.

The walls were curved, and the whole place was made of metal, so I was running through a long, metal tube. Occasionally, there were large round openings in the ceiling. A male and a female vampire chased me through the tunnel, and the others started dropping in through the openings in the ceiling.

Finally, the vampires surrounded me. As they closed in on me, I turned frantically from side to side, looking for an escape. I caught sight of something strange written on the wall: the words “mortals akseptans” printed in the middle of a sun symbol.

When the vampires saw what I was looking at, they turned away and fled down the tunnel, as though they were afraid of the words. Knowing that they would soon recover and come after me again, I started running in the opposite direction.

I found my way out of the tunnel and ended up in a marshy area. The sun was shining bright, but water was rising all around me, as though I were in the middle of a flood. Suddenly, I realized that the vampires had caught up with me. I was trapped on a tiny little spit of land surrounded by water, and the vampires had only to grab me at their leisure.

I knelt and drew the sun symbol in the sand, then scratched the words “mortals akseptans” in the middle of the sun.

The symbol protected me for awhile, keeping the vampires at bay. But eventually, water eroded the ground and my feeble defense with it. The vampires came closer and closer, and I could see their hunger and desire in their eyes. Several of them were licking their lips, which were wet and red with blood. Then the dream ended.


I’ve since Googled the word “akseptans” out of curiosity. Apparently, it is Turkish for “acceptance.” There’s probably something Freudian in there somewhere, but I don’t think I want to puzzle it out. ; )

If you, however, want to analyze my dreams or tell of your own, please share in the comments! I’d love to hear!

Be Honest — Was I Snoring?


Sweet inklings, I’ve found another bloggèd gem: Jennifer Brown’s post about owning our time and taking back the power we’ve given away. Jennifer talks about how we so often settle for “backseat driving” through life, instead of getting behind the wheel ourselves.

Instead of following our dreams, we content ourselves (however resentfully) with sitting back and watching others follow theirs.

We might tell the “dreamer,” “Hey! You’re not doing it right. You should be doing it this way.”

But actually do something about our own dreams?

Nah. Driving that car would be way too risky.

Jennifer’s post sparked the following comment from me:

Jennifer, I LOVE this metaphor! “Backseat dreaming” — I’d never thought of it that way, but it makes so much sense as a description of the mindset that keeps us from going after what we sincerely wish for!

I’m not sure I’ve been a backseat dreamer…but I have been a notorious passenger seat driver. Watching how the driver shifts gears, noting how early/late they brake, critiquing the use of turn signals.

Have I been a passenger seat dreamer?

I think so.

Not as much in recent years — but I know I’ve been guilty of watching others drive toward their dreams and, instead of driving toward my own, criticizing how others are doing it. I’m in the passenger seat: close enough to the action to seem like I’m a part of it, but not doing anything that would expose me to criticism.

No more! I’m getting vulnerable now, taking responsibility for my passions and following them.

It’s terrifying!

And liberating!

I wouldn’t have it any other way.


I Hope I Didn’t Snore

Finally, I am awake. I am following my dreams, pursuing my passions, and doing other hunter-stalker-like things in regard to what I’ve felt called to do my entire life.

Will I screw up? Sure. I’m likely to drive off the road a few times, because I am easily distractable, and I turn the steering wheel in whatever direction my eyes happen to go. (Yes, I’m one of those.)

But at least I have my hands on the wheel. I’m doing what I was created to do.

And I love this ride.

So, dear reader.

Are you a backseat dreamer?

Are you more concerned with how others are pursuing their dreams than with pursuing your own?

Are you a passenger seat dreamer — close enough to seem like you’re in on the wild ride, but not actually making any choices that relate to your own passions?

What do you have to do to get in the driver’s seat?