Last night, I had a really strange, very real feeling dream. There were a bunch of parts to it, like I was watching a movie, but the last bit felt like the longest storyline.
I had moved to a small town—it reminded me of Weston, MO—charming, full of history, haunting, lovely…but it wasn’t Weston. I think it was actually someplace in Alaska, perhaps. Maybe even Longyearbyen on Svalbard. (I watch too many of Sejsejlija’s videos on TikTok about that place!) It was the type of small town where everyone was familiar with all who lived there—their residences, frequent hangout spots, etc.
Moving on, though…I was at the small grocery store, waiting in line to check out with a few items, when I heard a man speaking English with some sort of accent (Russian?). He was beginning to raise his voice at an employee, because he was upset they were out of stock of eggplants. I believe I briefly met this man earlier in my dream, and he had come across as a tough guy who was generally unhappy.
I left the line and walked towards the small commotion, because it occurred to me that I had had an eggplant in my cart earlier, then had set it somewhere it didn’t belong, when I had decided I didn’t want the vegetable.
On the way over to the man and employee, I grabbed the misplaced eggplant. When I arrived to the growing argument, I interrupted and explained how there was indeed still an eggplant in stock, and that I was very sorry I had misplaced it earlier.
That is when I handed it to the man. He seemed more relieved than anything, and proceeded to tell me that he had recently lost his grandmother and wanted to cook the eggplant how she used to, in homage of her.
Then, in a strange turn, as dreams like to do, he asked if I would help him out and cook it for him, as he was not adept in the kitchen.
To sort of make up for the havoc my earlier actions inevitably contributed to, I agreed to cook the eggplant. We exchanged numbers, so he could take his other groceries home, and I could also head to my home to prepare his Grandmother’s recipe.
Next thing I know, I’m in my kitchen, talking to this man on the phone, following cooking instructions his grandmother had left him. The eggplant definitely did NOT cook like a real eggplant! When I was done, it looked more like fried “chicken of the woods” (a mushroom, Laetiporus sulphureus—-yes, I had to Google that mushroom’s name)
As it was finishing, the man walks through my front door without even knocking! I made a mental note to start keeping that door locked. He had known where I lived, because earlier in the dream, my odd residence was a huge discussion. And as I mentioned, this was the type of town where everyone knew who lived where.
I divvied up the cooked eggplant between us, and we had dinner while standing in my living room, discussing memories of the departed and other topics I can’t quite recall.
This is where the dream became really odd…
While eating, an ex boyfriend of mine (who I haven’t seen since I was 19) walked through the door and asked to join us. We finished eating, and then the man (no, I never remembered his name) left and the ex and I discussed all the repairs my apartment needed.
An aside—from what I can gather, I lived in a very small, partly renovated loft atop an old building on the Main Street. The main, HUGE window had some stretchy canvas instead of glass, and the floor wasn’t finished, so I could only walk on certain spots in my living room/bedroom—sort of like an unfinished attic.
That’s pretty much it—that’s my dream. My cat woke me, so she could be fed breakfast, before the dream’s plot could go any further.