Winchester Dreams

  • Sep. 10th, 2007 at 7:55 AM
jic: Daniel Jackson (SG1) firing weapon, caption "skill to do comes of doing" (Default)
The last couple nights I've had odd (odder than usual) dreams. Yesterday I dreamt I was Jensen Ackles and knew unusual particulars about being on set and acting (not that I remember now what they were, mind you).

Last night I dreamt I was John Winchester's daughter, and he, my brother, my three kids, and I were looking for an apartment and found one in Beaverton south of TV Highway that was basically one long room with a wall dividing it mostly in half. The opening on the interior wall did not have a door. There was a woodstove in the half nearer the door of apartment 208 (which John had rented before) and I figured there was just enough room for the three beds (two bunk-style) that would be needed for my three kids. There were two queen size beds in the half of room farther from the door. John got one, and my brother and I got the one farthest from the door (and the heat *frown*). Most of the dream was occupied with figuring how the furniture was going to fit. And most sadly, I'm not sure which Winchester brother I replaced, though I suspect it was Sam.

The oddness is that, while I dream I'm someone other than myself more often than not (about half the time I'm not even female), I usually don't dream that I'm someone else in particular.

At least I'm sleeping :D

Between the eyes

  • Nov. 2nd, 2006 at 10:52 AM
jic: Daniel Jackson (SG1) firing weapon, caption "skill to do comes of doing" (Default)
So I woke up around 4:36 this morning.  Closed my eyes for what seemed like a goodly while, and when I opened them, it was 4:36 again.  Odd.

But the dream -- no one is surprised by now by there being guns and stuff, right?  Also, my dreams tend to be movie-like as often or more as they tend to have me as a participant.

So, anyway )

Oct. 22nd, 2005

  • 7:11 PM
jic: Daniel Jackson (SG1) firing weapon, caption "skill to do comes of doing" (Default)
So I think what I wanted to post this morning may have been about my dream, which starred River Tam, Dr. Daniel Jackson, and at least one Wraith drone. There was lots of running, a labyrinth, and when I was Dr. Jackson, I escaped from the Wraith by turning corners fast in the maze so he couldn't see where I'd gone, and I got out of there without hitting a single dead end.

Whoo! My "thing chasing me" dreams are usually much more ominous.


  • May. 13th, 2005 at 8:06 AM
jic: Daniel Jackson (SG1) firing weapon, caption "skill to do comes of doing" (Default)
So I woke up from a very strange dream this morning.  I'd gone and fallen in love with Methos (the ROG, not my cat), and he with me.  And we'd had some cuddling and pillow-talk about stuff and that I liked cuddling and kissing but I wasn't so keen on the actual sex act, and he was groovy with that.  The relationship grew and there may have been a commitment, and I thought maybe sex with Methos might be worth a try, with the whole really loving and trusting thing.  I was all set to tell him

... and I died in a car wreck before we could consummate.

But, wait!  There's more!  He comes home to my parents' house all mournful and stuff, and I'm there as a ghost, but he doesn't see me.  Duncan MacLeod, on the other hand, does.  As does Joe Dawson.  Well, that made sense, since Joe was also dead and coaching me on the stuff I could and couldn't do as a ghost.  Duncan refused to pass on my messages to Methos (I'm just now realizing a similarity to the movie Ghost, only it's wasn't, because everything was different but the basic scenario, and Duncan wasn't a medium, nor as funny as Whoopi) so I gave up on him and tried writing Methos a letter, but I could only get the first word out -- but the stationery was pretty, and the pen had red ink.  I really, really wanted to tell him how much he meant to me, and something about "Fifteen years," which, in the dream, my shade fell asleep muttering (because I hadn't gone into detail about something that I wanted him to know).

And then, still a ghost, I was eating rice at the breakfast bar at my parents' house, only there was too much soy sauce, and some people could see me and some could not, and I was still mooning over Methos and making a mess with the rice so the person at the sink could tell I existed.  I wanted something else in my bowl, but, again, the people who could see me wouldn't pass my messages.