Ugh — so I’m pretty damn sure Freud would have a field day with this one, but I’ll write the gist of last night’s dream anyway.
I’ll preface this entry by mentioning the fact that I’ve been doing loads of research on Guinevere/Guenevere/Gwenhwyfar, various versions of Ophelias of all sorts, and vicious water sprites. So let’s just say I’m on this doomed-women-of-Authurian-Legend-meet-psychologically-damaged-suicide-cases-crossed-with-a-heavy-dose-of-the-aquatic. *shrugs*
I’ve been known to investigate far stranger things.
Anyway, in this dream [a few days after I had finished reading this] I apparently cast myself in the equivalent role of Miles’ Morgan in a strange modern day twist of locale. *shudders* There was also something about the painting of a room — I distinctly recall someone in the dream making an effort to explain to me why a particular bedroom was painted yellow. [Shades of The Yellow Wallpaper, anyone?].
At one point, the dream shifts [as dreams often do] to a scene where suddenly this house that I’m wandering around in is full of rattlesnakes. Somehow I’ve found a shovel, and I spend my time killing the snakes while avoiding them by hopping to and fro on “islands” of furniture. The snakes writhe and slither slowly under couches, behind bookshelves, and into various nooks and crannies around the house.
Later in the dream, I’m repeatedly trying to catch a large green snake by grasping it behind the head. I keep missing it, grabbing it too far behind the head, therefore allowing it to turn and sink its fangs into my hand/forearm/etc. I then wander off to find someone to extricate it from my flesh. It doesn’t hurt [much] so far as I can recall.
Once again the dream shifts — this time to a Six-Flags sort of amusement park. I spend my time looking for someone’s lost child, and wind up in a strange parade/tour group procession of people — they are all carrying the cheap sort of stuffed animal/plastic toy/generic kitsch type of prizes common in such establishments. I wander near an exit point in the park that has a sign reading:
EXIT — Hands must be stamped for re-entry into the park.
I look down to notice that my hand has not been stamped for re-entry. I feel vaguely trapped, and then wake up to the sound of rain falling outside.
All in all, I found this dream somewhat unnerving — although I’ve been dreaming on and off lately [not that I've bothered to record them here as I should 
] about amusement parks, snakes, and strange houses.
I’ll have to ponder this variation a little more, I think.
