Weird Dream #1

Weird Dream #1

Institutionalized Blonde a go-go

 

 

I am waiting for a phone call and visit from the outside. I am propped in a chair anxiously waiting for a significant visitor. The excitement is building, yet my body is out of sorts. Overall, I feel like I’m in the midst of a drowsy stupor. My mind is half awake and halfway cloudy.  My legs are asleep and feel tingly and heavy when I try to move from the chair. A uniformed guard, an elderly woman offers to pick up the phone for me to receive the anticipated guest. The woman looks sharp in her uniform. It’s amazing that she keeps it clean, considering she must be paralyzed by the way she drags herself to reach the phone and hand it towards me. It is a struggle to reach her and pick up the receiver because I have to fight of the urge to doze off and the tingling sensation of legs that feel like dead weight. I continue the struggle and then begin to feel myself doze off in a deep slumber. In this semi-conscious state, it seems as if I am looking observing myself from outside of my human form. I can barely hear the banter of human voices in my mind’s background. The banter is emanating from the radio, television news and the subtle conversation of workers.

 

The water on my face is refreshing. It feels good to wash up after what seems to be more of hibernation than a restful sleep. I see the image staring at me in the mirror and it is unfamiliar to me. What the hell kind of scene is this? Who is this spaced out chick staring at me? The girl in the mirror looks bedraggled and in need of a good rest. She is a Caucasian woman who is no more than 25 years old. Her complexion is sullen. It’s probably somewhere between a ruddy fare tone and natural tan tone in its natural state.

My God this woman has serious bags under her eyes!  She is a blond with golden tresses that must be at least halfway down her back. It’s hard to tell because the tresses are confined in a scarf. The woman also has bangs that have been back while she washes up and puts on her face. It is then fade to black time for me is dreamland.

 

In the transition space between sleep and being wide awake, I can hear some disturbing news on the radio about a young female celebrity, either a fashion model or heiress, who is coping with the loss of her loved one who was killed in a crash. The young celebrity learned about the tragedy while recovering at some type of institution or sanitarium. The newscast says that the young woman had taken the news hard but she is coping with the news during her recovery. No one wants her to suffer the same fate as Diane Linkletter. 

 

I am awake again and looking at myself after another abysmal slumber. How much time has passed by while I was asleep?

 

This time around I have two visitors flanking me. They appear to be guards about to escort me someplace. I can see myself wearing a hospital gown covered with a robe. I had on a set of orange scrubs when I was awake before. I still look the same except that my hair was styled different. It was parted in the middle because my bangs were now barely touching my collar bone. Who knew a person could sleep for several months at a clip.

 

The two guards are telling that everything is alright and to calm down. What is going on? What’s going here? Then suddenly I see a newspaper picture of the crippled guard who tried to answer the phone for me. It dawns on me that she is gone and died in some horrific way. Memories of her kindness flood me and begin to feel heavy with sadness and grief asking what happened to her.

 

There are now half a dozen guards trying to console me while I am trying to get answers to what happened to my friend.  My questions are becoming more belligerent and I can feel myself being overcome by the sadness and frustration. My final image of this moment is yelling out Mamma!!!! Mamma!!!, before breaking down and sobbing uncontrollably. Each sobs lifts a burden for me. Then images fade into darkness again.  
 

The young woman is dressed stylishly in a  black, couture, balloon dress that is eight inches above her knees. Her hair is pulled back and fashioned in a style that resembles her dress. Her face is striking now that the natural skin tone has returned. The young lady is made up with frosted lipstick and dark heavy eyeliner.

It is apparent that the young woman is at a formal event and many people are paying attention to her. People in the press and entertainment field are asking how she is coping. And some people who seem to be close to her are giving words of encouragement. She stands in front of a group of reporters and tells them that she is feeling better and getting on with her life. She smiles at that them and thanks everyone for their concern and support for her. The camera catches her smile and a small tear barely recognizable through her eyeliner.
 

In the transition space between sleep and being wide awake, I can hear some disturbing news on the radio about a young female celebrity, either a fashion model or heiress, who is coping with the loss of her loved one who was killed in a crash. The young celebrity learned about the tragedy while recovering at some type of institution or sanitarium. The newscast says that the young woman had taken the news hard but she is coping with the news during her recovery. No one wants her to suffer the same fate as Diane Linkletter. 

 

I am awake again and looking at myself after another abysmal slumber. How much time has passed by while I was asleep?

 

This time around I have two visitors flanking me. They appear to be guards about to escort me someplace. I can see myself wearing a hospital gown covered with a robe. I had on a set of orange scrubs when I was awake before. I still look the same except that my hair was styled different. It was parted in the middle because my bangs were now barely touching my collar bone. Who knew a person could sleep for several months at a clip.

 

The two guards are telling that everything is alright and to calm down. What is going on? What’s going here? Then suddenly I see a newspaper picture of the crippled guard who tried to answer the phone for me. It dawns on me that she is gone and died in some horrific way. Memories of her kindness flood me and begin to feel heavy with sadness and grief asking what happened to her.

 

There are now half a dozen guards trying to console me while I am trying to get answers to what happened to my friend.  My questions are becoming more belligerent and I can feel myself being overcome by the sadness and frustration. My final image of this moment is yelling out Mamma!!!! Mamma!!!, before breaking down and sobbing uncontrollably. Each sobs lifts a burden for me. Then images fade into darkness again.

  

The young woman is dressed stylishly in a  black, couture, balloon dress that is eight inches above her knees. Her hair is pulled back and fashioned in a style that resembles her dress. Her face is striking now that the natural skin tone has returned. The young lady is made up with frosted lipstick and dark heavy eyeliner.

It is apparent that the young woman is at a formal event and many people are paying attention to her. People in the press and entertainment field are asking how she is coping. And some people who seem to be close to her are giving words of encouragement. She stands in front of a group of reporters and tells them that she is feeling better and getting on with her life. She smiles at that them and thanks everyone for their concern and support for her. The camera catches her smile and a small tear barely recognizable through her eyeliner.

 

 


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