Oiling The Gears Of My Mind

One of the best things about vacations is that my thoughts are disconnected from the demands of reality. And when that happens, usually around the third or fourth day, I have dreams. Vivid ones.
I’ve gotten better at it through through the week, creating a space three days a week for about an hour and a half at a time, that let’s me do that, but I’m not always successful. I can usually manage a few good ideas a month. The hard part is executing them. But the fun part, the bit I really enjoy, are the dreams.
They all wake me up in the middle of the night, requiring me to look around and make sure where I am. I touch Mell to make sure she’s still there, because more often than not I’m not myself, rather a manifestation of myself as it fits the story of the dream.
Last night’s dream had me working as a kind of terrorist specialist in a unit that disarms bombs. I had a boss, or a Lead, that I worked with as a kind of Watson. And my Lead was a kind of super detective you read about. Batman, House, Sherlock, the guy from Zero Effect, Monk, Simon from The Mentalist, all rolled into one. The bombs got more and more elaborate as my dream went on, turning into a kind of Rube Goldberg device, where one bomb detonated a series of events that culminated in an action that wasn’t necessarily as destructive as a bomb. As if the bombs were a means to an end, leading to an anti climax. And my Lead was convinced the real climax was yet to occur. As the dream went on, my Lead had his house broke into, and nothing was taken, but each of the doors of his house were broken into by elaborate means, no two the same, and he became obsessed that there was meaning behind each open door.
My dream didn’t reach the end of the story, though. Because the next call we were on involved him being locked inside a large glass display at a museum by a bomb the exploded the mechanism that controlled the locks. I was forced to watch a series of small bombs went off like a display of dominoes to unleash a horde of bees that attacked my Lead. They were attracted to him by another bomb that unleashed a scent that compelled them to do so. I woke up in horror as I couldn’t take the sight of my lead being stung to death by a horde of bees as he screamed and screamed, “My diary. He stole my nightmares from my diary”.
Yeah. I woke up after that. I have to read more about bombs, I think.
But, if you’ve got a story idea from it, feel free.

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One Response to Oiling The Gears Of My Mind

  1. Karen says:

    Home is the safe zone where you and Mell have control. Work.. Boss is in a protective bubble and sends you out on missions (tasks) You have less control there. The doors are the tasks. the fear is that one of these doors you have to open will be the bomb!! and consume you and the boss!.. the bees are buzzing around you! . There you go. You need more home and less DOORS

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