I don't remember any recurring dreams until I began living with my late wife Helen. She suffered from mental health problems, and she also really believed in dreams as prophetic vehicles in a way. Early on in our life together I literally was sometimes punished for things that "I" said or did in her dreams. And she had dreams that I could and maybe should use to populate horrifying paranoid tv or film scripts or novels.
She also talked in her sleep and would jar me awake with some telling phrases.
But besides that, after some years together I found myself unwillingly remembering more of my dreams, and I had some recurring dream sequences. I think they were just sort of my mind deleting some information stored up and "overloaded" in two out of three instances.
One: liner notes to lp and cd releases, but not REAL ones. Unwritten ones so to speak! Page after page of them streaming through my dreams, sort of in a manner that PKD had some of his pink beam informational visions. Sometimes it seemed I had written them, sometimes they were written by a few members here, sometimes the authors were the usual suspects like Christiern, MC, OK, IG, etc.
Two: database dreams. For years I spent many many working hours within a database that was the work order system for our division and kept being expanded into the sort of "omniscient god" of our agency's mission and accounting. I seemed to be one of the one-eyed men among the blind in the agency and kept getting roped deeper and deeper into modifying and evaluating the database functions and data, until finally the agency hired two persons who had spent years working for the database's creator company to take on those roles. I would see screen after screen of this database stream along and intertwine in my dreams. It seemed that domestic activities and my details of my collecting life would be represented in dataviews and reports. It was the closest I've come to a nightmare in a long time outside of what my wife has related to me of some of her dreams.
Three: the masks of comedy and tragedy. I have had some recurring dreams where these two masks, usually lying among trashcans in a sort of sixties urban alleyway (probably a memory of the one I used to experience off Sommersett St.(sp?) in Philly) and talking to me, analyzing things happening in my dream and/or life and offering me advice. I was usually chain-smoking cigarettes during these sessions; though I've not smoked in nearly eighteen years, I often smoke in my dreams.