The Mother of all Weird Dreams

HOLY FREAKIN' MOLEY! I took a nap and had a weird dream that was the mother of all weird dreams. I just now woke up, not because it was a nightmare, but literally so I could say "what the f...."

Way too many details to even write down, but I'm going to put down some of it before it's gone.

It involved my parents selling the farm and buying renovations for their suburban house. It wasn't just that they were alive in the dream. I was genuinely surprised to find them not dead, and they knew they had been, but didn't seem concerned about that. The renovations involved installing sunlamps in the ballroom (which we never had), and the sunlamps making everything grow. And when I say everything grew, I mean everything. The house became a mansion. Not gradually... it had always been a mansion, except that everyone remembered when it became always-been-a-mansion. And somehow we had a verb tense for that. Peanuts became worms, and inanimate objects like furniture became weird living parodies of themselves. Not cute ones, either. They bit and shit and pissed on the floor, and smelled horrible. My little sister (who doesn't even exist) started turning into a bison, and a friend-of-mine-who-I-don't-know turned into a turtle who offered the bison a ride on his back. We tried to get away, but the mountains were right next door, and it would take a week to get there on turtleback. The scope of the renovations had grown as well, and now workmen and painters were balancing on two-by-fours (stood on end), and my parents saw nothing weird at all. They simply insisted that when you do renovations you're bound to have a few setbacks.

This thing was wall-to-wall "Lewis Carroll meets The Sound of Thunder". What the hell did I eat?

--==ooOoo==--

That all sounds nice and linear when I read it back, and I'm happy to have the benefit of a moveable cursor instead of quill and ink. In experience, it was anything but linear. And some of it, I don't even have vocabulary to describe. The change to the house was quick, but everything else was gradual, and history kept changing with the physical changes. So in part it was history-changes-reality and in part it was the other way 'round. And you could tell which was which, and describe it, but I don't know whether upon waking I've lost the language of the dream, or whether I merely dreamed its existence and took for granted that the words were there.