Welcome to Ask Doctor Gladstone.
To preface, I’m of the opinion that not taking oneself too seriously is the best way to tackle the most serious issues. Humor is a life-raft. I don’t believe that that can ever be overstated.

That said, I look forward to reading about your dreams and providing you with an in depth, honest, accurate and highly unique dream analysis, as well as supporting you through any of the issues that fill our dreams – or nightmares – or keep us up late, and away from our dreams altogether.

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The purpose of this site is to comfort and amuse. In fact I hope you’ll think of me when need be, as a kind of …double shot of booze. Not a triple. That’s too much. And you should probably be drinking Jamesons. It’s very smooth. Drunk alone at 11:30 – AM or PM – with, perhaps, a nearly consumed box of Captain Crunch in your lap.
This is what I’m here for.

We’ll explore whatever is on your mind.
From Dream Analysis,
To all manner of psychic phenomena, including talking to dead people who would no longer want anything to do with you and would generally screen your calls.
And/or surrounding you with a warm, protective aura [I really do this].

You made need sexual or relationship advice,
such as one of those relationships that are humiliatingly all in your desperate mind, due to a narcissistic over confidence and self aggrandizement, only to crash with low self-esteem when you learn that they never even really liked having you around.
[Hey, come on. We all do that sometimes. Some of us more than others. Some of us far, far too often…That’s what Jamesons is for.]

Maybe you need to discuss Work Goals and Frustrations, like having to fire a useless, defensive employee with a petty grudge having something to do with TGI Fridays or Costco or who the fuck knows anymore,

Or dealing with the death of someone from work a loved one,

Or what it means to reinvent yourself.

I have an unusual gift with dreams. When you share one with me, I’m somehow psychically drawn inside it and can actually see everything, as if I were right there, or at least as if I were watching it on cable.

Often one’s Subconscious Mind deliberately hides the secret meaning from the Conscious Mind. Therefore, you may want your Conscious Mind to use an alias of some kind, such as being one of those people responsible for putting the jelly in a Welches jar or a Rocket Scientist.

Humor aside, as if humor should ever be aside, I sincerely do have a kind of clairvoyant ability to see into dreams and decipher their meanings. Share one of yours with me. I think you’ll find my analysis surprisingly accurate and enlightening. You’ll find a great deal of insightful advice here.

Read some of the dreams already submitted. See for yourself. You just may want to give it a whirl.
Very warmly yours,
Doctor Gladstone
And remember, I’m not a real doctor, so I can’t get you any Vicodin.

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Espionage, White Ski Chalets and Saran Wrap
Posted in 1 Introduction on May 22, 2008 by Doctor Gladstone

This is from White Chalet: 2008/05/1O

Dear Doctor Gladstone,

Am I your first response? I hope so.. I’ll be your Guinea pig.
Well, either way, Let’s see what you can do with this one!
Let me give you some background first. This part is real life.
My husband (I’ll call him Monty) and I belong to a bowling league. One of the men on the other team, I’ll call him Bowling Bill, intrigues me, but as we are both married, well, end of story. I’ll call his wife Lois. We don’t double date or anything or hang out outside of bowling. We don’t know each other that well. Just friendly, but not social friends. I really like this guy for some reason. But like I said, I’m married, he’s married and I only know him from our Bowling League, which is not very representative of anyone’s actual character. As a rule, I don’t give much thought to this sort of thing, but I admit that I really do look forward to seeing him at the Lanes.
Every few months, there is this break between seasons. A couple of days before beginning this recent new season, I had this dream.

It begins with me, Monty, Bowling Bill, and Lois stretched out comfortably in front of a fire place, drinking hot rum toddies or something like that. We’re on a large white semi-circular couch, in the large white circular living room of an overly bright, white ski chalet. It has a 1960s feel. Kind of a James Bond style ski chalet or something like that. We’d all decided to rent it together for a long holiday weekend.

Suddenly Bowling Bill and I are upstairs in a kind of foyer, anti-room to the bedrooms. He’s pulling me to him for a kiss, and I want to kiss him, and then I see that he’s covered his face with Saran Wrap! I’m stunned! I’m thinking, Hello? Does he think I have coodies, do I have bad breath, did he suddenly decide that there’s no attraction? What’s this about!

Now we cut to Bill struggling with a strong wind from a helicopter that he’s climbing into. He’s been hired for a secret mission to save all the good American soldiers in Iraq, from all of the bad, “Brownshirt” American soldiers who work for Donald Rumsfeld.
Now, Bill is looking like Cat Stevens as he was in 1972, toting guns and a camera, and he’s jumping out of helicopters, and racing down rocky dirt corridors, and elbow-crawling on his stomach through cramped watery tunnels. He’s like the hero in a Mission Impossible movie.

But then it turns out that he’s NOT there to save our good soldiers from the evil Rumsfeld Brownshirts! He’s a psychopath American terrorist who’s going to shoot everybody he sees, whoever they are! I’m in the dream audience freaking out, thinking wait a minute! This isn’t in the script! This isn’t supposed to happen!

Suddenly Bill and I are back in the foyer in the ski chalet. He’s back to his old self, and the Saran Wrap is gone. I think Bill and I made out at some point before this, but I can’t remember. We’re standing very close, with guilt written all over our faces. We’ve decided that, yes, we are definitely going to sleep together. Monty walks up the stairs having overheard our plans, and drops himself down onto this convertible sofa. He’s in shock. He’s heart broken. My heart feels as flat as a pancake. I turn to Bill first for agreement, and then to Monty, and now, Lois, who is just walking up the stairs, and invite them to join us. As if to say, “Don’t feel bad! We can all do it together!” This wasn’t as any kind of kinky sexual foursome, but rather as a way of not making them feel sad or left out.
The dream ends. Well? What do you say, Doctor?
- White Chalet

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2008/05/11

Dear Chalet,

Mmmm. This is a tough one.

NOT

This is a textbook guilt dream. Albeit, big guilt. A carved triple six into your forehead guilt. But, please, even a toaster could figure this one out. Let’s do the math, shall we?

First, you begin this dream in an environment that is far, far away from home, so as not to shit where you eat. You have it be “A double date weekend of fun!”, which lets you off the hook for having arranged what you were hoping to be an opportunity upstairs. [And you do this twice] Your fear and guilt about getting caught is evident by referencing espionage both at the chalet with 007 and the war scenes with Mission Impossible. You’ve got spies, and you might get caught or killed.

You’re obviously pretty attracted to Bowling Bill outside of your dream, because you’ve made him the object of your desire. But Bill is not who this dream is about, of course. You know that. He’s just you playing Bill on TV! [Most of the time we are actually every character in a dream. We infuse each character with a different aspect of our struggle.]

He may be the object of your desire, but in this dream, his job is to be your conscience.

So you’re upstairs alone with Bill, and quicker than you can say seal in the freshness, he’s covered his face with Saran Wrap. In your dream movie you’ve cast him as the person who wears it, but since he’s really you, it’s really YOU who puts on the Saran Wrap. Get it?

This is your invisible shield, your protection. Intimately close! Buuut, weeell… not really close.

You want something that you don’t want to want, Chalet, something you’re ashamed of wanting, so you’re trying to save yourself by putting something between you and your desires, who is in this case, Bowling Bill.

You want to kiss him [AKA indulge in whatever naughty behavior you’re trying to avoid in real life], but you don’t want to feel bad about it. So, employing a Bill Clintonian sort of logic, you ask yourself, “If you kiss somebody whose face is covered in Saran Wrap, so that you can’t actually touch their lips (meaning, allow any genuine contact), does it count?” Well, yes. It counts. Just like fucking somebody with a condom counts.

And, because you’re too smart not to see how transparent (Sorry. Couldn’t help it) and ineffective this Saran Wrap barrier strategy is working out, you come up with yet another – “save yourself from yourself” – device. You call yourself names. “Ewe Coodies, bad breath, She’s not as good up close”…all making you feel as attractive as athletes foot.

Who wants to get laid when they feel like that, right? Now Bowling Bill won’t want anything to do with you! You’re safe!

But, nahhh… not gonna work either. Neither ugly name calling, nor even Saran Wrap are enough of a barricade to keep you away from what you want, but shouldn’t want. You need more. You need faster, stronger, better protection than before. You need something or someone able to keep you away from yourself for good.

So you hire Bowling Bill out as a secret agent consultant (who looks like Cat Stevens? You GO girl) who’s precise mission it is to save the “good you” from the “bad you”; the good soldiers verses bad soldiers.

But that’s still no good! ‘Cause as it so happens – he’s really a terrorist out to kill everybody, so nobody’s safe from him! Both the good you and the bad you are in deep shit.

The sorry fact is that in this internal, Secret Agent-Terrorist-War movie, everybody’s found out, and everybody dies.

Back to the foyer. If you don’t remember kissing him, I’m going to say that you didn’t, which means no crime has yet been committed. But you are planning it.

The bad you is getting stronger.

Monty overhears, and even-though you’re stricken with grief over his despair – you don’t actually turn to Bill and say, “This is wrong. We have to call it off”. That thought doesn’t even occur to you. Uh-uh. Nope. You’re gonna fuck this man. But because your heart “feels as flat as a pancake”, you invite Monty and Lois to join you as a cheap consolation prize, when you know in your heart that they couldn’t possibly go for it.

The bad you is the size of Europe.

Chalet, girl, I don’t envy you. You have some kind of big decision to make. A decision so difficult, that in your mind it could mean killing off your world. Bill, the terrorist has you cornered. All attempts at saving yourself from yourself have failed.

Chalet Skywalker, like it or not, you have come to the Dark Side,

My advice is that you figure out exactly who this “bad you” is, and what’s so bad about her that you need so much protection. You know, it may very well turn out that she’s the actual protagonist of this story. Killing everything off is our way of cleaning the slate and giving birth to something completely new.

In Tarot it’s the Death card. Ominous looking card, but it’s actually an announcement that an important change is on the horizon. It’s a painful and scary doorway to something marvelous and new. Generally, it’s a very positive card. I mean, I’d rather make out with Cat Stevens circa 1972 galaxies more than some guy with Saran Wrap on his face.

In other words, Chalet, maybe the bad you has the right idea? Who knows. In either case, you’re going to have to take responsibility for your choice, and as we all know – that sucks.

But you can do it.

Thank you for writing. And yes, yours was the first dream on my new blog, and what a fabulous introduction!

Let me know what you end up deciding. I’ll be thinking about you.

Very Warmly,

Doctor Gladstone

And remember. I am not a real Doctor, so I can’t get you any pain killers.

Nor, my dear Chalet, though I wish I could, any real answers.

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