My subconscious went into overdrive last night. It's the first night in about three weeks that I slept without the aid of Lorazepam. This led to some very fitful sleep with lots of periods of wakefulness. That tends to increase my memory of my dreams. They were weird.

I had three distinctly different dreams about sex in a post-apocalyptic world, and all three involved gas stations. They also involved "soft" apocalypses, so there were still plenty of people around. Mother of the Child had a cameo in one, driving a velour love seat that had been mounted on a classic VW Beetle chassis. Various real life people also guest starred in other roles, which for reasons of good taste I shall not name. Plus gasoline. Because reasons.

There was also a fairly involved dream about the Queen of England, model trains and actual railroad trains. No sex in that one, and gasoline only by implication in that part of the dream took place in a limo as Her Majesty and I toured a multimodal freight yard where containers were handled. (That last bit courtesy of nihilistic_kid and his discussion of longshoremen's union on his blog yesterday.)

Likewise, a sad one about my family. My dad and (step)mom were young again, and my (now 39-year-old half-)brother was about three, but I was my current age of 48. Which would make me older than my dad in my dream, but that's oneiric logic for you. I had cancer, as I do now, but I also had all my hair. Not sure what was sad about it, as only the framing image remains, but it was deeply tinged.

So, yeah, last night's sleep was all about sex and gasoline and a few other things.