Good morning, everybody.
I was flying around in some craft with probably three other people. I think the craft was a spacecraft, possibly even a space capsule. We may already have gone up into space. We were now flying the craft around, maybe a few thousand meters above desert-mountain landscapes, like the craft was a small plane. Then we landed.
On the ground, probably standing somewhere near the tarmac, I was disappointed in myself. I may have felt like my role in the mission had been almost nothing. I may have felt like people had given me nothing to do. Or I may have felt like I had been too lazy to do anything. I may also have felt like my fear at some point during the mission had ruined some kind of mood for the people around me. Maybe my fear had been during the landing. Or maybe my fear had caused an early landing.
I watched an SR-71 Blackbird come out of the sky. I knew the Blackbird was practicing landings. The plane looked a bit flatter and more brittle than a usual Blackbird, and it had a bit of a milky-bluish tint to its black body. The landing was executed, I knew, almost perfectly. I really admired it as I watched it land and then coast down the runway. But I felt anxiety as I watched it coast away, like I couldn't be actually sure it would come to a complete stop before crashing into something.
I was now in a basement of some building which seems to me now like a hospital. I was in a room full of old scientific equipment: box-shaped monitoring equipment with knobs on the front and cords coming out and so forth, all stacked up on various shelves along the walls. There may also have been some bigger pieces of equipment, almost like dentist chairs or x-ray machines, in the room.
I walked into the hallway. The hallway was kind of cluttered, too. The rest of my crew was somewhere around here. We were all getting ready for a space flight, maybe a flight on a space shuttle. But something about the space flight had been delayed. Somewhere I could see the back end of a rocket booster. It looked really small, and it appeared to be stuffed full of tissue paper.
Some man came up to me. He was tall and strong, and he was carrying an iPad around with him. He was apparently my supervisor. He was trying to find some way to keep me from going on this mission. I'm not sure why. He almost seemed like an Adult Baby Daddy to me. I think he just wanted to keep me from going on the mission because he wanted to keep me from doing anything adult-like.
But there were, I now knew, two flights taking place. The one that had been delayed was the one my supervisor was trying to keep me out of. But there was another one that would take place after that. I had already somehow gotten in contact with my crew members. We had all worked together to set things up so that I could look like I wasn't going on any flights at all when the first flight went off. But I could then sneak into the second flight.
I was in a department store, probably with my mom and a few other people. We were looking around in the girls' clothing section. The floors and walls of the store were white, and the store was filled with a white, fluorescent light.
I stood in front of one rack with my mom. My mom stood to my right. My mom told me I could get any outfit of clothes that I wanted. I looked through the girls' clothes, wanting to get a really pretty outfit. I found an outfit I thought I'd like. I tried it on right then and there.
I could see what it was once I put it on. It was like black dress pants, a black jacket, and some kind of layered, cream-white shirt. The shirt seemed to be of a satiny fabric on the outer layers. But on the inner layers it was a soft fabric, maybe like cashmere.
I wanted to see how I looked. But I didn't want to walk too far around in the store and have other people see me. I saw a mirror attached to a column a couple racks away from where I stood. The column was wide, and the mirror was maybe 250cm tall and 150cm wide.
I looked at myself in the mirror. I don't think I saw my face. My suit looked like a tuxedo. Nothing looked feminine about it except the way that the shirt created this kind of layered v-like pattern along my chest. But my "shoes" were also feminine. They actually were just these big, cream-white, satiny bows attached to the tops of my feet.
I could tell that under this tuxedo, I was actually wearing a dress that looked quite feminine. But I was afraid enough to be around people in public wearing this tuxedo-like outfit. I'd be even more afraid to wear the dress in front of everybody.
As I walked back to the rack, I had an image in my head of a twelve-year-old girl. She had dark olive-colored skin, big, round, brown eyes, and frizzy, blonde and black hair. She wore a tight, blue and green tie-dyed tank top and tight blue jeans. This young girl was really sexy to me. I was hoping she'd come into my life and hit on me.
I was back at the rack, again with my mom standing at my right. I was now reluctant even to have my mother look at me. I didn't want her to know that I liked wearing women's or girls' clothing. And I didn't want her to buy any women's or girls' clothing for me. I felt like if she acted on the idea that I was a transvestite, our relationship would get too embarrassing. The part of me I really didn't want my mom to see were my shoes.
Off to my left I saw a Hispanic family walk up to the girls' clothing section. It looked like a dad, a mom, and two younger children. But I wondered if the twelve-year-old girl I'd fantasized about just a moment ago would be part of this family. I thought that if she was I shouldn't do anything anyway. I wouldn't want to get in trouble with the girl's family. I also didn't want the family to see me as I was, dressed up in girls' clothing. Again, I especially didn't want them to see me in these shoes.
I was in a big vehicle like an SUV, riding through some area like a complex full of tall, wide, sheet-metal-walled warehouses. It was daytime. I was with a whole group of people. I'm not sure exactly where I was sitting. Sometimes I felt like I was in the front seat. Other times I felt like I was in the backseat. I think I always felt like I was on the passenger side.
One of the people I was with was this young guy. He was maybe twenty-five years old. He was tallish, slim, with olive-colored skin and short, curly, black hair. He wore big, black sunglasses and a smallish, pale-blue (?) t-shirt.
It was understood that the guy had a cut or a number of cuts on his face (although these cuts may not have been visible). I'd asked the guy how this had happened. But the guy was too embarrassed to answer. He was trying to make me feel like I shouldn't ask anymore questions. But I needed to know what was going on. The guy had a tendency to overwork himself and injure himself. I wanted to make sure he wasn't doing it again.
So I pushed the guy to answer me. Finally he said, "I made a deal with myself last night that I wouldn't answer my cell phone after midnight. That way I could get some sleep. But I was in bed and I checked my phone at 11:56. There was something on it, so I thought I should take care of it. But I must have fallen asleep as I was doing that. When I fell asleep, I dropped the phone right on my face."
I said, "Oh!.... Oh, no...," like a caring mother would when she wanted to sympathize with her child after he got hurt, yet she also couldn't help seeing a bit of humor in the situation.
I could see the phone in my mind's eye. It was a huge and clunky, as tall as a landline phone's receiver. It had a huge, black antenna coming out of its top. It had a shiny, black face and a dull, grey casing. I imagined the young man dropping the phone on the bridge of his nose, causing a kind of deep gash.