Good morning, everybody.
I may have been a woman. I had been with a group of other women. We had been out in some place like a forest at night. We had been doing something, but I had been sent out to retrieve one of our cars.
I, possibly as myself, was now at the car. I may have been "outside," though the appearance of my surroundings was more like the inside of a gigantic warehouse. There were huge, towering shelves everywhere, filled with supplies.
I drove the car out around some chain-link fence. But as I drove, my vision got worse and worse: hazier and scratchier. Finally my headlights must have gone out. I couldn't see anything. I really didn't think it had anything to do with my headlights being out. I thought I couldn't see because something was wrong with me physically or mentally.
I lost control of my steering and crashed into the chain-link fence. Now that I'd crashed, I could see again. I looked to my left. There was a long corridor, bordered on either side with chain-link fence. I may have seen a police car coming down the corridor, to where my car had crashed.
I was afraid of trouble with the police. I didn't want the police to catch me (as myself or the woman?) in the car. Apparently I'd done something against the law, and I didn't want the police to identify me as the person who'd done it.
So I got out of the car and started walking down the corridor. The police had also gotten out of their cars. There were two officers. I passed the first one without any interaction from him at all. As I approached the second one, though, my vision became hazy and scratchy again. The officer said, "I really like your sweater. What is it? Liz Arden?"
I was, I thought, myself, wearing my own clothes, my dress clothes for work, including a dress sweater. But now I realized I was actually wearing women's clothes that were done in a style traditionally considered to be male. I wondered whether I was actually a woman.
I passed down the corridor, to a point where I'd need to turn right. But at this point there was a German Shepherd, a police dog. It was attached to a leash, which was attached to a wooden, red-painted breakfast table. There was a chair next to the table. I was afraid to pass the dog. I was afraid it would smell guilt on me and attack me.
But I had to keep walking. So I did. The dog sprung at me as I passed it. It obviously had smelled something on me.
My view lifted high up in the air, high out of my body. The person now being attacked by the dog was a different man. I knew his story. He was being sought after by the police. He was suspected of murder and cannibalism.
I was watching some video showing a lot of children playing around, probably in some really colorful, stage-like area, like a stage for a children's television show. One of the children was wearing a really big diaper. The child looked too old to be wearing diapers by at least a couple of years.
The thought of being too old to wear diapers, but wearing a really big diaper nevertheless, turned me on. I wished I could wear a big diaper, too.
I was now in a bed in a dark bedroom. The TV I'd been watching may have been somewhere nearby. I was wearing a diaper. I also had a gigantic diaper wrapped around a blanket. I was rubbing myself against the diaper and the blanket, as if I were having sex with a real person.
But the diaper was so huge that my body was tilted up at a forty-five-degree angle. It was really uncomfortable. I wished I could either have sex with a real person or find a smaller diaper to put on my blanket.