Breakdown on Pennant Hills Road
(This is a very vivid dream I had in Budapest)
In this dream I am driving along Pennant Hills Rd with my dad in the little Polo. Shortly after we pass the Bunnings in Thornleigh, the car starts to slow down and I feel the weight under my foot is strange.
I see ------Batch------ flash up on the dashboard and wonder what it means.
The car sputters momentarily and comes to a silent stop. We are in the middle lane and the cars are zooming around us. I restart the car and it is silent but somehow it inches into the left lane and we manage to stop.
I get out of the car and call NRMA while my dad looks over the car. The lady asks me for the nearest cross street so I run down to the next street. I can't read the sign in the fading light so have to strain - Erknautz lane? The lady says she's never heard of the Batch problem but will send someone.
When I get back to the car my dad says he has looked all over and can see nothing wrong. Out of nowhere comes a man with a metal detector thing and he passed it over the car. We start to protest but he shows us a thumb tacks he got from the rear tyre.
Where did that come from? I wonder and wake up
Cello exercise and stretchy program
(This is the first vivid dream I had after returning to Australia)
In this dream I am at a concert with Em and we are at a venue I do not recognise. It is on the smaller side and circular in shape, around the stage in the centre. Dvorak's New World symphony is playing, and we are about halfway through the first movement. It sounds somewhat strange though, as if the orchestra is languid and needs a coffee to really wake up.
Suddenly one of the cellists stands up and shouts, Everybody out! She is so emphatic that everyone stands up and starts to shuffle out. We leave the hall and there is a large area outside where many people are milling around murmuring about the abrupt end of the concert.
From the hall, I hear a solo cello playing C.. E... F.. C.. C... on the C string. It sounds like an exercise for the C string, which of course is the most deep and resonant of all the cello strings. It winds its way up the string and back again, repeating the same major 3rd and 4th intervals. It is etched into my head.
I am still holding the program from the concert and in fiddling with it, realise it is actually pliable and soft as though it was a fruit rollup. I fold it in half and try to tear it, but it is yieldy and hard to control the edges. I stretch out one corner of the program until it is almost transparent. The words are no longer on the page and it seems like some sort of painting.
Em says we should busk in the foyer and I realise I am holding my dad's old violin case from the 1960s. When I open it, the violin is actually neither mine nor his, but some other violin I don't recognise. The hair has completely come off the bow and flops in every direction like a released bunch of flowers. I pluck the strings and they are completely out of tune. I turn the pegs and manage to break both the G and A strings whilst tuning. I am completely puzzled as these are not usually the strings that break.
Whilst contemplating what to do with this half broken violin, M comes over and I stop fiddling with the violin to introduce him to Em. He looks much younger and much thinner, with a whole head of curls. It is like an alternative version of him in his early 20s, a version that never existed. He is wearing a cream cable knit jumper and a dark gray blazer, so stylish that could never possibly exist in real life.
Then I wake up.
(This is a very vivid dream I had in Budapest)
In this dream I am driving along Pennant Hills Rd with my dad in the little Polo. Shortly after we pass the Bunnings in Thornleigh, the car starts to slow down and I feel the weight under my foot is strange.
I see ------Batch------ flash up on the dashboard and wonder what it means.
The car sputters momentarily and comes to a silent stop. We are in the middle lane and the cars are zooming around us. I restart the car and it is silent but somehow it inches into the left lane and we manage to stop.
I get out of the car and call NRMA while my dad looks over the car. The lady asks me for the nearest cross street so I run down to the next street. I can't read the sign in the fading light so have to strain - Erknautz lane? The lady says she's never heard of the Batch problem but will send someone.
When I get back to the car my dad says he has looked all over and can see nothing wrong. Out of nowhere comes a man with a metal detector thing and he passed it over the car. We start to protest but he shows us a thumb tacks he got from the rear tyre.
Where did that come from? I wonder and wake up
Cello exercise and stretchy program
(This is the first vivid dream I had after returning to Australia)
In this dream I am at a concert with Em and we are at a venue I do not recognise. It is on the smaller side and circular in shape, around the stage in the centre. Dvorak's New World symphony is playing, and we are about halfway through the first movement. It sounds somewhat strange though, as if the orchestra is languid and needs a coffee to really wake up.
Suddenly one of the cellists stands up and shouts, Everybody out! She is so emphatic that everyone stands up and starts to shuffle out. We leave the hall and there is a large area outside where many people are milling around murmuring about the abrupt end of the concert.
From the hall, I hear a solo cello playing C.. E... F.. C.. C... on the C string. It sounds like an exercise for the C string, which of course is the most deep and resonant of all the cello strings. It winds its way up the string and back again, repeating the same major 3rd and 4th intervals. It is etched into my head.
I am still holding the program from the concert and in fiddling with it, realise it is actually pliable and soft as though it was a fruit rollup. I fold it in half and try to tear it, but it is yieldy and hard to control the edges. I stretch out one corner of the program until it is almost transparent. The words are no longer on the page and it seems like some sort of painting.
Em says we should busk in the foyer and I realise I am holding my dad's old violin case from the 1960s. When I open it, the violin is actually neither mine nor his, but some other violin I don't recognise. The hair has completely come off the bow and flops in every direction like a released bunch of flowers. I pluck the strings and they are completely out of tune. I turn the pegs and manage to break both the G and A strings whilst tuning. I am completely puzzled as these are not usually the strings that break.
Whilst contemplating what to do with this half broken violin, M comes over and I stop fiddling with the violin to introduce him to Em. He looks much younger and much thinner, with a whole head of curls. It is like an alternative version of him in his early 20s, a version that never existed. He is wearing a cream cable knit jumper and a dark gray blazer, so stylish that could never possibly exist in real life.
Then I wake up.
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