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I had a remarkable dream early yesterday morning, a vivid and bizarre farrago of images and events, connected by a very strong and coherent narrative thread. I am away from home this weekend, visiting family in Wisconsin, and I wasn't able to pull away to write this post right away like I normally like to do with a dream post. But it was so vivid that most of the important elements are still strong in memory.
I was at work, in a place that was a complex mixture of some of my current work locations with my current job and some past ones, including the little restaurant that J and I used to own. Co-workers present and past were there, and we were engaged in a number of busy activities such as preparing a restaurant to open, prepping food for an off-premise catered event, and prepping food to supply another restaurant. I was in the role of executive chef, directing all this food activity, while one of my co-workers was in the role of a dining room manager, supervising front-of-the-house operations. I cannot name this person, but we'll call him "Seth," just to have something to call him.
A situation arose where we needed to supply a bunch of quiche to one of our other locations, and I was trying to organize the prep on it and make sure we had the ingredients we needed (and that a gigantic steampunkish kitchen contraption called a "quiche engine" was ready for use) but Seth approached me and placed an arm around my shoulders, leaned in and kissed me on my cheeks and then lightly on my lips. I wasn't sure if this was some kind of mistake and was afraid to respond. As far as I knew, the guy was straight, and even if he weren't, I doubted that he would want to display such attention toward me in front of our co-workers. I considered that his judgment might be impaired or that he had intended to kiss someone else. But then he kissed me full-on (tongue) and I was pretty sure that he intended to do this, but I was still nervous about all this going in front of everyone in the middle of my kitchen. I was worried that he was creating an embarrassment more for himself than for me, and I didn't want to see him put himself in such a situation. But no one seemed to notice. Another co-worker (let's call her Elspeth) told me that we didn't need to make the crusts for the quiche because she had brought in a bunch "Libyan quiche crusts." With Seth still semi-hanging on me, biting at my neck and ears, I followed her to a loading dock where sat a huge heap of clear plastic take-out boxes each containing a pre-made quiche crust. These were a "Product of Libya." As Seth continued to try to make out with me, I told Elspeth that we probably couldn't use those crusts because of economic and political reasons.
Elspeth assured me that Libyan crusts were perfectly legal nowadays "after normalization of diplomatic relations between the United States and the People's Jamahiriya." Seth kissed me more, getting me intensely, crazily aroused despite my determination to conduct professional business. I wanted to just take him away somewhere private and have at it, but the quiche crust situation could not be left alone. I told Elspeth that I didn't think that Libyan quiche crusts were legal even after normalization of relations. "Also," I said, "we absolutely cannot use a pre-fabricated crust for our quiche. If we are going to send quiches over there, then it needs to be the exact same quiche we serve here." Elspeth seemed to not get this very important point. Seth didn't care either. I told Elspeth that if she used the Libyan crusts and our boss found out about it, "he would freak right the fuck out." This threat got her attention and she said, "OK, OK, I hear you," and she scurried away to make our normal quiches. "Now," Seth said, mouth more or less against mine, "can you forget about the fucking quiche for a minute and pay attention to me?"
From that point on, the dream became more or less pornographic, so I won't recount its details here except to say that we did some of our getting-it-on in a space underneath the massive "quiche engine," which was kind of like a combination of a steam locomotive and ferris wheel.
Sometimes I wonder what, if anything, a dream might "mean." Sometimes, as weird as they are, they make a kind of sense as a sort of subconscious organizational scheme. Sometimes they seem to "file" stuff into their proper folders and tidy up some kind of clutter that's been lying loose in the back of the mind. Aside from the weird elements--the jumbled physical space of the dream, Seth wanting to make out with me, the quiche engine, Libya--much of it was a fairly mundane and realistic work dream. The issue of the quiche crust being right is an expression of a real issue at real work--not quiche in particular, but food quality and consistency in general. How I interact with these coworkers is a real-world consideration, too. The wildly implausible dream rendition of Seth asking me to forget about the quiche for a minute rings true even though it would never play out like that in reality. The total message of the dream, if there was one, was that I needed to relax a bit about some work-related concerns and see a clearer picture of some small things that had been nagging at me. It worked pretty well, and the fact that my subconscious sorted through these things in the mode of an erotic dream rather than a nightmare seems like a bonus. If I rated my dreams with a star scale, I'd give this one four out of five stars.
I was at work, in a place that was a complex mixture of some of my current work locations with my current job and some past ones, including the little restaurant that J and I used to own. Co-workers present and past were there, and we were engaged in a number of busy activities such as preparing a restaurant to open, prepping food for an off-premise catered event, and prepping food to supply another restaurant. I was in the role of executive chef, directing all this food activity, while one of my co-workers was in the role of a dining room manager, supervising front-of-the-house operations. I cannot name this person, but we'll call him "Seth," just to have something to call him.
A situation arose where we needed to supply a bunch of quiche to one of our other locations, and I was trying to organize the prep on it and make sure we had the ingredients we needed (and that a gigantic steampunkish kitchen contraption called a "quiche engine" was ready for use) but Seth approached me and placed an arm around my shoulders, leaned in and kissed me on my cheeks and then lightly on my lips. I wasn't sure if this was some kind of mistake and was afraid to respond. As far as I knew, the guy was straight, and even if he weren't, I doubted that he would want to display such attention toward me in front of our co-workers. I considered that his judgment might be impaired or that he had intended to kiss someone else. But then he kissed me full-on (tongue) and I was pretty sure that he intended to do this, but I was still nervous about all this going in front of everyone in the middle of my kitchen. I was worried that he was creating an embarrassment more for himself than for me, and I didn't want to see him put himself in such a situation. But no one seemed to notice. Another co-worker (let's call her Elspeth) told me that we didn't need to make the crusts for the quiche because she had brought in a bunch "Libyan quiche crusts." With Seth still semi-hanging on me, biting at my neck and ears, I followed her to a loading dock where sat a huge heap of clear plastic take-out boxes each containing a pre-made quiche crust. These were a "Product of Libya." As Seth continued to try to make out with me, I told Elspeth that we probably couldn't use those crusts because of economic and political reasons.
Elspeth assured me that Libyan crusts were perfectly legal nowadays "after normalization of diplomatic relations between the United States and the People's Jamahiriya." Seth kissed me more, getting me intensely, crazily aroused despite my determination to conduct professional business. I wanted to just take him away somewhere private and have at it, but the quiche crust situation could not be left alone. I told Elspeth that I didn't think that Libyan quiche crusts were legal even after normalization of relations. "Also," I said, "we absolutely cannot use a pre-fabricated crust for our quiche. If we are going to send quiches over there, then it needs to be the exact same quiche we serve here." Elspeth seemed to not get this very important point. Seth didn't care either. I told Elspeth that if she used the Libyan crusts and our boss found out about it, "he would freak right the fuck out." This threat got her attention and she said, "OK, OK, I hear you," and she scurried away to make our normal quiches. "Now," Seth said, mouth more or less against mine, "can you forget about the fucking quiche for a minute and pay attention to me?"
From that point on, the dream became more or less pornographic, so I won't recount its details here except to say that we did some of our getting-it-on in a space underneath the massive "quiche engine," which was kind of like a combination of a steam locomotive and ferris wheel.
Sometimes I wonder what, if anything, a dream might "mean." Sometimes, as weird as they are, they make a kind of sense as a sort of subconscious organizational scheme. Sometimes they seem to "file" stuff into their proper folders and tidy up some kind of clutter that's been lying loose in the back of the mind. Aside from the weird elements--the jumbled physical space of the dream, Seth wanting to make out with me, the quiche engine, Libya--much of it was a fairly mundane and realistic work dream. The issue of the quiche crust being right is an expression of a real issue at real work--not quiche in particular, but food quality and consistency in general. How I interact with these coworkers is a real-world consideration, too. The wildly implausible dream rendition of Seth asking me to forget about the quiche for a minute rings true even though it would never play out like that in reality. The total message of the dream, if there was one, was that I needed to relax a bit about some work-related concerns and see a clearer picture of some small things that had been nagging at me. It worked pretty well, and the fact that my subconscious sorted through these things in the mode of an erotic dream rather than a nightmare seems like a bonus. If I rated my dreams with a star scale, I'd give this one four out of five stars.
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(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-10 02:28 am (UTC)You need to make quiche. ;)
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Date: 2011-01-10 02:43 am (UTC)