Interesting Dreams. . .

Last night I had two weird dreams, and a third that I'm not really going to count, because I think I was technically awake. I'm reading this book now that I got for Valentine's Day, Easy Lessons in Psychoanalysis, and it mentions dream interpretation; according to Andre Tridon, the author, every dream we have is merely symbolic of the repressed desires that are muffled by the restraints of society in waking life. This urge, called the libido by Freud, is apparently manifested through symbols in our unconscious. Even our nightmares are supposed to be manifestations of this wish fulfilment theory. Anyways, to the dreams:

The first one I had was really odd. My mom, Wesley, and I, were vacationing somewhere (most likely in Ohio, where we will be vacationing in a week), and I think we were camping in the woods. Wherever we were, it was really dark, and it was somewhere outside. About halfway through this dream, as it began to take on more clarity, I became aware of the fact that both my mom and I would die the following day. How our deaths would have come about, I was unsure, but most of the dream consisted of my mom and I conversing about the circumstances surrounding our doom. We had put the tent in the car, and Wesley was asleep in the backseat; my mom drove us out of the woods and onto this highway, and I was riding in the passenger seat. She kept apologizing and saying, "I'm so stupid; I shouldn't have let this happen." So, apparently, we had known this was coming for a while, and we had somehow brought it about ourselves. It was a short dream, and it ended there.

The next dream was a bit more detailed and understandable. In the dream, we were out of school, like we are now, and the graduation party was to take place that night. My grandparents (my dad's parents), my dad, and I were eating lunch at this bright, fancy little restaurant near his work. Each table was in a separate room, and all the rooms were connected by a hallway, down which waiters traveled, carrying trays of food on doily-decorated plates and peering in each room to check if they had found the right party.

We were seated by a short, tiny man with a black, walrussy mustache who, for some reason, reminded me of Paul Simon. He took our orders and left. My dad seemed as though he was stressed about something; he kept wringing his napkin in his hands. My grandfather noticed this, but said nothing, gazing up at the ceiling with a peaceful, nonchalant look on his face. My grandmother was talking about the graduation party, which I would be going to after dinner; she kept mentioning the fact that the car we were using wouldn't hold all of us (though, in reality, it would). My dad, whose napkin-wringing had grown steadily more feverish, interrupted my grandmother.

"Why do you keep saying that? Of course there'll be enough room, because I'm not going." he put the napkin down on the table as if the matter were final; however, my grandmother had a look on her face that indicated that she wanted to be stubborn. Her posture upright, her voice firm, she replied, "Don't be silly; it's your daughter's graduation party, you've got to go." In reality, this whole argument was invalid, as most of the adults dropped their kids off at the party and didn't stay anyway.

My grandmother continued: "I'll stay home," she said, looking around at the walls, painted a cheery yellow. "You know, get the dishes done and vacuum upstairs and -"

"Don't be ridiculous!" my dad finally looked up from the table, frustrated. "You and Dad have to go; you only get to see Robyn once or twice a year." I glanced at the opening into the hallway, saw our Paul Simon waiter clutching a tray of our food and gazing nervously in, as if unsure whether or not he should come in during the argument. Then I looked up at the celing and all over the walls, and became aware of the presence of tons of large white spiders that I hadn't noticed before. A panic seized me and I stood up from the table; my dad and grandmother didn't notice as they yelled at each other from opposite ends of the table. My grandfather, who had remained relaxed, observing the ceiling, watched as I stood up from my chair and started to back away towards the door. He stood and followed me out into the hallway, where he tipped our waiter before walking me outside to the car. My dad and grandmother were still inside.
He was driving me towards Clemmons, in the direction of where the party was to be held in the dream; the dream ended as we pulled up to a YMCA-esque place beside the dark highway, whose large windows revealed the entire grade frolicking about a paradise of playground equipment. Just when I was wondering whether I had gone to the wrong place, I woke up.