Solocrow — One Crow Against the World

Foreign currency

Posted on February 10th, 2007 by solocrow.
Categories: Dreams.

Okay, so I was out until the wee hours of the morning last night, which is not unusual for a Friday night. Or any night for that matter, as of late. After my standard consumption of innumerable beverages, I went through my preferred patterns of post-imbibing behavior — namely, I opened the fridge, grabbed something to eat, drank a glass of water, and shed the more confining bits of my attire on the way to collapse into bed…

Normally I don’t dream of anything when I’m in such a state; at least nothing that I readily recall. However, after waking a few hours later [around 5am] I grabbed another glass of water, and re-curled myself into a small, slightly hungover ball and continued my quest for sleep. I awoke several times, but managed to snag fragments of a dream.

I was in an urban sort of setting; a cross between a doctor’s waiting room, and a train station. There was a fellow that I knew who was also waiting for something or other. He was apparently there to keep an eye on me, perhaps having dragged me to this appointment [which I have no idea as to the nature of at this point]. He wanders off to check on how much longer we’ll have to wait, and I’m left sitting on one of those nondescript couches that seem ubiquitous in airports, train stations, and waiting rooms. In other words, it had the unmistakable patina of excessive public use. Bored with waiting, I begin digging around in the not-so-pleasant nooks and crannies of the well-worn couch, undoubtedly looking for lost change, or any other sort of misplaced treasure.

I find all sorts of foreign currency, which strikes me as odd. British pounds, Euros, Pesos, Icelandic Kroner, and Zlotys are the coins I’m able to remember this morning. I stuff my pockets with all the coins I can find, and there are hundreds of them. Further inspection of the abused waiting-couch reveals a plastic bag stuffed with old papers. I open the bag and find that it contains many Art Nouveau prints. The fellow I know returns just as I discover the prints, and I’m forced to hide them quickly — fearing that he’ll take them from me. He moodily asks me what I’ve been doing whilst he was gone, and I produce a few of the coins for his inspection.

I recall a feeling of loathing for this fellow at this point in the dream. How dare he ask what I’ve been doing?

I awake feeling both guilty and triumphant.

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