Yesterday about six a.m., my girl cat meowed. One of those Get-up-and-feed-me-before-I-starve-to-death! yowls that make you think someone is murdering her. Just one yowl but enough to wake me in the middle of a dream.
I danced in the back of the chorus line while Barbra Streisand sang "Hello Dolly" in the front. I never saw her--backs of period costumes and hats of the dancers around me blocked my view--but I heard her very plainly. Seems I was actually a part of the dream. Don't know why I dreamed about her. She's okay, but I was never a big fan.
Usually, I don't participate in my dreams. They normally work like movies or books. Movies flow as if on screen. For books, I see the pages.
My most unusual dream was a television show. With commercials. It was a period (Hmmm. Could I be onto something here? Maybe I should be concentrating on writing more historicals?) drama. The only scenes I remember were men in black suits and string ties carrying a coffin up--or down--a narrow staircase; and women in Victorian mourning dresses sitting around a table, wiping their eyes.
The commercial came in the middle, naturally. A merry little jingle accompanied an actress flinging open the trunk of her car to reveal a beautifully wrapped large box with one of those big, puffy bows. I think it was advertising some department store I'd never heard of. Then back to the drama.
Strangely enough, I could sing the commercial's ditty the next day. I have no idea where that came from. Neither tune nor lyrics were familiar.
Anyway, this morning my cat didn't yowl till seven o'clock. Guess I was past the dream stage because I just woke up annoyed.
Not that she cares.