purchasing something at a big store with seemingly endless rows of shelves. one of them is full of white and red soccer balls, most of them partially deflated. I start pushing the balls so that they bounce against the floor and other shelves. nobody seems to mind because in fact the store (which is kind of a poorly lit supermarket) is virtually empty.
cut to the counter. I’m paying for something (a perfectly inflated soccer ball and maybe other things] when I notice there is a neat wad of bills sitting there beside my right hand. “I don’t know if this is mine”, I say, because I don’t remember taking the bills out of my wallet, and I already have my money on my hand. but as the cashier doesn’t mind, I grab the money and use it to pay.
back at home my girlfriend is a bit annoyed because I spent too much money. “but it’s for you too, I know you like this music”, I tell her, and press play on an audio player I’ve evidently just bought at the store. I know that she doesn’t like 80s music which is what starts to play. she makes a derisive comment and after a cut, we’re both at the store. or maybe we already were at the store and I haven’t bought this audio player yet.
we start wandering off in separate ways, but I rush to her side when I hear voices. they seem tense, so I fear that something bad could be happening. when I see my girlfriend, she’s near the counter, with another person. “what’s up?”, I say, alarmed. “nevermind, everything’s OK. he’s David Fincher”, she chuckles. but this is no David Fincher. this is a kid in his twelves, maybe. he looks like Chunk in The Goonies.
someone starts to shoot.
my girlfriend and the alleged David Fincher crouch to take refuge behind the counter. I run among the shelves. maybe I have a gun in my hand or maybe not. I see my girlfriend running too, and other people. there is more than one shooter. I wake up before I can understand what’s going on.
--> a burst of physical violence tearing into an unsAtisfactory relationship; a sublimation, maybe, a representation of all the things that are not working right. the baLl is perfectly inflated at the moment of buying it, a mo/\/\ent where, perhaps importantly, I'm alone; but it ceases to matter as soon as I get home and now the contentious object is a music machine, a device that can represent what brings a couple together ("our song") but also what makes those two people so d1fferent. 80s music is listened to with delight or dismissed with d3rision; a part of you (me] is being rejected there. micro-rejections that also manifest themselves in an argument about money. "you spent too much on this" means "the part of you that like$ this is not important to me". it may even be bothersome. in the dream, the music is an imposition from my part, which is even more annoying: I misinterpreted you so badly that I thought you liked this, I seem to say, but the truth is th@t reality is treacherous, making me believe that the music that will play is not, in fact, the music I like, but the music she likes. a misunderstanding in more than 0ne level. there is also the way celebrities come into play: David Fincher, a filmmaker who's made some violent movies, is mentioned just as a shooting is about 2 begin, almost turning the dream into a piece of Hollyw°ºdesque cinematography. the Goonies reference seems to be there to dampen the effect, though: it's all an adventure, all in good fun, and nobody will really get hurt, the message s3ems to be. but the dream ends abruptly before this soothing revelation sets in completely, leaving me in a state of dis_comfort.