Cracked Screens and Cracked Skulls

I had some dreams last night that I can recall.  In two parts.

In the first part, I was myself, and I had just purchased a new phone.  And within a day it was cracked, and I couldn't figure out why.  I was frustrated.  I had just bought it, and it was cracked already.  The screen was still clear, but cracked.  So I resolved to purchase a nice case to deal with the broken glass face.

Somehow that dream transitioned into one where I was now John Cusack.  I was married to some blond woman I do not know in real life, though I probably just plucked a face from some movie or another.  He was processing the death of one of his two children.

I don't know how the child died, but it had.  I (John) and my wife were at the playground with our other child.  An older boy.  There were other kids running around and I remember being horrified that one of them was gnawing on something.

As we left the playground, I saw my son standing there playing and I made a joke reference to Pushing Tin, something about being an air traffic controller.  I noticed he looked a lot like a young me.

Next we were up in an apartment, arguing.  Probably my brain going through the cliche of how couples have trouble after the death of a child.  I don't remember what we were arguing about.  I stormed out.  Was going to look for a place to eat in town.  Another place to sleep.

The first scene after storming out was me entering a kind of bunk house.  I was setting up on my mattress, and this bunk house was not elaborate.  Mattresses were all on the floor, with not much gap between them.  People that couldn't afford the 'mattress' tier were just huddled in the aisles curled up to sleep.

I remember deciding to move on from there.  I spoke to one of the attendants and asked that if they had been there very long, to please give my mattress which I had paid for to one of the people huddled on the floor that she knew would benefit the most from it.

I moved on.

Walking down the street I remember looking behind me and seeing three lunatic looking people following me from the place.  

"Of course." I thought.

They had seen my gesture in the place and assumed (correctly) that I had some money in my pockets they could relieve me from.

I fought them when they tried.  Initially I pulled one of the stuffed animals from my pocket, I had three of my dead child's stuffed animals in various pockets of my jacket and/or pants.

I yelled at them, shamed them, expressed that I was just trying to mourn the death of my child.  At least one of them did not back down.

I woke up close to this point, where I had my hands around this assailant's neck and was taking my anger out on him.  It was rather violent.  There was a stone wall nearby in the dream.

I woke up still feeling the emotions from this pretty strongly.  I love and hate that about dreams.  They can make you feel things for completely fictional situations like no movie can.  When you are a different persion living a situation in your mind.

In any case, I dreamed that last night.

I've always been one to playfully equate things that have happened in dreams to having experienced those situations, since anything that's happened in the past is stored the same way, really, in my brain.  All just memory.

So, in that way, I've now had the experience of being what my inner self imagines John Cusack to be, in a situation where he has lost a child, in a city that apparently has a very large disposessed problem.

Peace.

Shane