Good morning, everybody.
I was probably in the cockpit of a small airliner, taxiing down the runway. The runway seemed to be in some kind of military base. The runway may have been cluttered, or it may have been bordered by a lot of clutter. I was involved with whatever operations took place at the base. I was in the cockpit with someone else who worked at the base. This person may have been piloting the airplane. I was acting as more of a passenger.
We were trying to get up to a part of the runway where we'd be able to lift off. But there was some delay up ahead. I felt kind of inconvenienced, but I tried not to. I knew that the delay up ahead was being caused by something I'd normally be in awe of.
We now approached what I thought may have been the cause of delay. It was a gigantic aircraft. The gigantic aircraft moved along on an awkward set of wheels that looked like stilts made out of chrome bars, like the chrome frames of a hospital bed, at the bottom of which were smallish (for such a large aircraft) wheels. The body of the aircraft was beautiful: like a mix between an F-117, a B-2, and an SR-71. But it was a gigantic craft.
At first I thought we were going to taxi our airliner underneath the aircraft. I was a little afraid to do this, but I also wanted to do it. But we turned off to the right and worked our way over to a runway that almost sent us back in the direction we had come from.
As we taxied away, I heard or understood that the gigantic aircraft was an F-XXX (can't remember the number, maybe something like 149). I was a little surprised. I'd thought the craft was a B-2. I was a little ashamed of myself for having thought the craft could have had the name "B-2." I really thought the craft was what I knew as a B-2, and that I had just mistakenly concocted the name "B-2." I couldn't believe I had gotten the model name so wrong.
We may eventually have ended up flying. While in the air, we may have seen one or two other strange aircraft. We then landed. I, as well as a number of other pilots who had been out flying today, was walking through a hallway like a school hallway, to get to a classroom where I, and the others, would apparently review the day's flights.
I walked into the classroom, holding a few photos with me. I may have been disappointed in myself. Perhaps I hadn't remembered certain aspects of my flight. Perhaps I had gotten so afraid at one point during my flight that I'd closed my eyes or blocked my perception out in some other way. Whatever had happened, I felt like I had missed some aspect of my flight, and I was disappointed. But I was also trying, somehow, to prove that I actually hadn't missed anything from my flight.
I shuffled through the photos in my hands. The photos were glossy and about the size of a standard sheet of paper. Either I had taken the photos or the photos had been taken from the airplane I had been in. The photos were of an X-15 rocket.
The photos mainly showed the X-15 right as and just after it had lifted off the ground (although, in actuality, X-15s, as far as I know, never lifted off the ground but were dropped from the wings of a larger plane at about 45,000 feet altitude, where they would begin flying on their own).
I was disappointed with myself for having been so close to an X-15 in action but either not having remembered it or having been so afraid of whatever flight patterns my own craft was going through that I had blocked out all my perception, including my perception of the X-15. I may have looked closer at the photos, hoping to see something that would spark a living memory in my head.
But now I began to doubt that the vehicle in the photos was even an X-15 at all. It had a strange shape for an X-15. It was broad and triangular instead of thin and stub-winged. It actually reminded me of (what I would have recognized in waking life as) an F-35. But I began to justify the shape to myself, saying that, of course, I'd only seen the X-15 from a couple different angles and that, at angles I wasn't familiar with, the X-15 might look kind of awkward to me.
I was in an office. I had come into this part of the office to take care of some kind of work that I usually didn't have to take care of. The part of the office I was first in may have been dim and grey, like all the lights were off and the only light was coming from a window in a separate room or a part of this room that was blocked off from my part of the room by a big partition.
Some guy, or a few guys, in the office had always been following me around, trying to prove that I was doing something illegal. But this place was an area I didn't usually go to. The guys following me didn't expect me to come here. I was all by myself in the room for a moment. But soon I could feel the guys coming after me, to stalk and skulk around behind me. I got the image of the guys being little, bug-eyed semi-humans enshrouded in trench coats and massive fedoras.
Feeling followed again, I immediately decided to walk somewhere else, at least to throw the guys off my trail for a moment or two. I was also hoping that, if I went somewhere totally unusual and the guys were following me even to that place, that I could really prove to myself that I was being stalked. I could then hopefully do something about it. But, more than that, I just simply wanted to throw the guys off my trail and be by myself.
I was outside, walking on a sidewalk like the sidewalk that runs along a street along the top of the slope outside my old elementary school. My aunt M was there, putting a little baby and her car seat into the front seat of a shiny, red SUV.
When my aunt saw me she called to me, insisting that I take a ride with her. I really didn't want to take a ride with her. I was afraid that since she smoked her car would smell like smoke, which was kind of disgusting to me. I also wasn't too interested in listening to my aunt M talk during a car ride.
I tried to make up some polite excuse for not riding with my aunt. But as I approached her car, she continued to insist that I ride with her. She was even already moving the baby and car seat out of the front seat and into the backseat.
I resigned myself to the fact that I'd have to ride with my aunt. I got into the car and tried to act happy, hoping there was something happy and distracting I could immediately get talking about with my aunt, in order to mask the fact that I didn't want to be here at all.
I was in "my bedroom," possibly with one or more of my family members. My bedroom may have had two cheap-looking beds in it. The room was, otherwise, pretty barren. I lay on my left side on the floor, looking underneath my bed while my family member(s) probably sat in a chair (or chairs).
A man came into the room. He had been here to check out some problem I'd been having in my house. Immediately he went to the wall next to the bed I was facing. The man pointed out a big gap running along the bottom of the wall and said, "Oh. Yep. I knew it. There it is, right there."
The gap looked like an even strip of space that normally would have been covered up by something, maybe a floorboard. It was like it was customary for the drywall of the wall ended about half an inch from the floor, and that a strip of floorboard -- or something else -- was customarily installed to cover up the gap. But whatever had been there was now gone, either torn off, worn away, or something.
The man said, "Yep. That's just what the mice are getting through." I now had a vague memory of having suspected, without actually having seen, mice in my room. But now the man confirmed it with me. I had a mouse problem. I looked for some other evidence of this. In the shadows under the bed I searched for mouse droppings. I thought I saw a little sliver of something that could either have been a scraping of dirt from my shoes or a (very large) mouse dropping.
The man somehow (the bed was still, as far as I know, pushed flush against the wall, so that nobody could get between the bed and the wall) ran his finger along the wall, pointing out the gap. He said, "I had a suspicion, because your next door neighbor is also having mouse problems. And, you see, the mice come in through the walls. Then they use this gap, on both sides, to go into your place and his."
I tried to see how my room was connected to my neighbor's room by this gap. I thought I should be able to see into my neighbor's room if both our rooms were connected. But I couldn't see into his room. Instead, just beyond the gap was another layer of drywall that went securely down all the way to the floor, thus sealing off my room from my neighbor's room.
I was in physical therapy room in a hospital, watching my mom do physical therapy. My mom had recently gotten done with some kind of operation. But she seemed to be progressing well. Her performance during physical therapy, though it wasn't phenomenal, seemed to show that she would be able to get released from the hospital and go home soon.
I walked out of the physical therapy room and down the hallway. I may possibly have been planning to meet my mom in her hospital room. I may even have been planning to get my mom ready to be released and go home.
The room my mom was in may have seemed a lot like an intensive care room in a hospital, cluttered with a lot of life support and monitoring machinery. The room may have held two beds, with a curtain separating one bed area from the other.
I was surprised to find my mom's bed empty. I had been expecting my mom to get back to the room before I did. I had a bad feeling that this meant something wasn't good with my mom's health and that my mom wouldn't be able to get out of the hospital today.
Now a group of doctors and nurses rushed my mom into the room and laid her on her bed. My mom looked pale and sweaty. Her hospital gown was almost hanging off her chest, almost exposing her right breast. I had a bad feeling about my mom, like she had suddenly taken a turn for the worst.
The doctors and nurses left the room. The room also changed a bit. My mom's bed was the only bed in the room. The bed was almost in the center of the room. The bed was turned so the head faced the door. My mom was in a half-sitting position on the bed, so it was like her back was to the door. The room was a lot dimmer than before. The only light coming into the room was hallway light that came in from a window to my mom's left. The window was shaded by half-turned Venetian blinds.
My mom must have felt like she was going to die. She began reflecting on her life, talking to me about the things she felt she should be proud of. She felt that the way she had lived her life was very unique. The uniqueness came, my mom felt, from the fact that she had made choices with her heart, because she had cared about people.
My mom then said, "And I'm the only person in my whole family who graduated from high school. Nobody else did that." That statement kind of scattered my brains for a moment. After reflecting for a moment, I knew that my mom meant that between herself, her sister, her father, and her mother, my mom was the only one to have graduated from high school.
I considered my mom's life for a moment. I thought that, given all her life's difficulties, she actually had been able to do a lot of things that she should be proud of.