As I’m sure I’ve pointed out, I’ve had quite a few dreams about storms over the course of my life.
When I was younger it was always a case of preparing for them: knowing at least a day in advance (sometimes even being able to say that it’d happen on a Saturday) that one was going to hit and packing everything important with the intention of leaving. Sometimes I saw grey skies as if something was rolling in, but never the storm itself. It was always hanging out on the horizon.
Looking back, this is interesting because my life wasn’t exactly full of drama as a kid. I didn’t have a lot of reason to conjure symbolism so heavily associated with destruction and turmoil. Preparing for a storm—when later in life I can definitely admit to suffering a certain amount of emotional turmoil—is a strangely specific thing to dream about because there’s no way to foresee what your life is going to be like, and yet, years later, my dream finally generated one in plain view.
I ran from it, leaving behind a couple of people who I recognize from my building, and on the way back into my apartment stopped both my parents from going outside. The former was confusing and a little upsetting; I don’t really seek those people out in a social setting but I certainly don’t hate them enough to feel good about leaving them behind. I woke up feeling guilty about it, then drifted back to sleep for another couple of hours and dreamed about something else I can’t clearly remember.
That’s it for today, I’m planning on drafting a handful of topic posts later to address some other things I’ve been thinking about in waking life.