For my Psych 403 class we have to keep a dream journal. I'm excited about it because I LOVE my dreams. I have crazy dreams that could keep any type of psychologist busy for days.
Lately, I have discovered a theme: toys. I keep dreaming about toys. My stuffed animals, Russian nesting dolls, Legos, board games, etc. My dream world is filled with toys.
They don't just sit there though, I interact with them and they interact with me. We don't talk to each other but we just have a complete understanding of what it is the other is doing. When I was a little kid playing by myself my toys didn't talk out loud. They talked in my head. I guess they're still doing that.
In one dream I had to marry this angry man and I was asking for help. All my stuffed animals showed their solidarity by jumping off the shelves and falling to the ground in protest of what was going to happen to me.
In another a set of Russian nesting dolls was planning a secret strategy to rescue me from this forest in which I was lost.
In another--and by far my favorite--an army of 50 yellow Lego men dressed in brown rain gear were firemen and going to set free 13 goblins from an old wooden chest. The best part is that the leader of the Lego men was "naked" and none of his underlings would take him seriously until he got dressed.
In these dreams I was young. Five in one, ten or twelve in the others.
Is that why I'm dreaming of my toys? No. I think I've figured it out. I think I am one of God's youngest children. Maybe even the youngest. If only you could see inside my heart, you'd know what I mean.
I also think it's because in my real life...no one real ever rescues me. I always have to do it all by myself. Thank heavens for Eddie-Phil, Galoomph, NeeChee and all my other stuffed animals. At least I know I've got that army in my corner.