Dream 72: Stool Racing, Carrots and Hairy Armpits
Just a few snippets to be going along with... I'd been in some sort of show or film and I was talking to JS (real life colleague) about his forthcoming gigs. He was due to do some big projects with well known people and I was wondering who his agent was. We were travelling along some country roads riddled with pot holes and puddles and trying to figure out the best way home. There was a narrow country lane off to the side. Colin Firth showed up with some wooden stools with wheels on the bottom. We jumped on and set off down the lane at a fast rate trying to avoid the major puddles and chatting happily all the way.
Next dream I was living in a commune it was very chaotic with rooms every which way and clothes draped and strewn on every surface. It was war time and we had to make do and mend, hence the large variety of clothing. It was more like a kids dressing up box with colourful garments totally inappropriate to daily life. There was a man in the commune with dirty blonde hair and a worn face. He felt very sinister although outwardly seemed welcoming, laid back and cool in a hippie way. I knew he wanted to kill me. I had taken over his room and there had been a large sack of carrots which had clothes on top and mixed in with the carrots. I'd sorted them out and taken the carrots to the kitchen. The man kept hovering around wherever I was, so I started trying to avoid him and to disguise my look by dressing in very different stuff. I then started watching him secretly. I knew there was going to be a murder that he would be the one to commit it. I saw a tall slim girl dressed in black; hat, short jacket slightly fluffy and tight pants like thick tights and little pointy boots. She looked very cool and the man was talking to her. I suddenly felt that she might be the victim because he didn't know where I was and she was wearing black. I went to my room and he showed up asking about his carrots. The girl and a couple of people we standing nearby. I was pretending to casually sort through more clothes and he was smiling as if being friendly. I answered very lightly that I'd put them in the kitchen as I thought that's where they belonged. Everyone laughed as if it were a joke but the man's eye's were boring into me with hatred and malice.
My Mother was describing how in WW2 they had only one uniform and very little time or amenities for washing either themselves or their clothes. She said that instead two or three times a day they would just put deodorant on. Then there was an extreme close up of a big dark very hairy armpit being lavishly covered with a powerful roll on deodorant.