hot rod computer; fitting room full of clothes

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was in some dark space with my boss JE and his boss AB. The space may have been walls, maybe brick, opening out to the dark air at the front wall. There was just a thin, yellow-grey light, like from a streetlamp, somewhere. I had my bag at my feet. It may have been really big, maybe even as big as a sleeping bag. It may have been like we were preparing to go on some kind of camping trip or slumber party.

AB asked me to take my computer out of my bag for some reason, possibly to show me some work I needed to do or to illustrate something I was doing for fun that he was interested in. I took my computer out of my bag. AB remarked how cheap and bad my computer looked. He was a little disgusted. I suddenly felt ashamed. AB was right. The computer was extremely light and flimsy, like it was made out of cardboard.AB showed me his computer. It was a nice, solid laptop.

AB was now going to show me the work I needed to do. He may have opened his laptop. But he was also holding my laptop. He was flipping it over in dismay. He asked me, "Does this thing even have a DVD player?" I said it did. I took my laptop. looked for the DVD player and seemed to find it.

I sat my laptop on some stand, something like a square pedestal of wood maybe about 150cm tall. I opened my laptop. It still looked like a cheap laptop on the outside. But the face and keyboard looked something like the hood and chrome grill of a1950s-style hot rod.

I may have done something like try to turn on the computer. But now all the chrome pieces seemed to make a strange-looking stereo, with a CD player and radio on the face. I ran my hand across the devices. The devices seemed to multipy. The computer was now as big as the pedestal it had been standing on.

Dream #2

I was in a clothing store, possibly a lingerie store, like a Victoria's Secret, or possibly the clothing section of a general department store. I headed into the women's fitting area. Apparently I was going to try on some women's clothes. Just outside the fitting room were a few torso mannequins wearing some cheap-looking, form-fitting blouses or dresses of sequins and glitter.

I had tried on whatever I was going to try on. Now I was putting my own clothes back on. But I had decided to change my outfit. I had just been coming back from something like a camping trip or some other kind of multi-day, intense task. I was now on my way home. I hadn't changed my clothes in one or two days. I had a backpack full of clothes, though. So I figured I'd just change now while I was in a fitting room.

I had a bag, like a laundry bag, full of clothes, in front of me. I somehow threw the clothes I'd changed out of into the bottom of the bag. But now that I'd changed, I kind of had second thoughts about it. Now I'd be walking out of the fitting room in different clothes, lugging a bag of clothes with me. Wouldn't that seem suspicious, like I was trying to shoplift some clothes?

I thought that I should just go ahead and change back into the first outfit I'd been wearing and try to put all my other clothes back into my backpack.

But now the bag holding my clothes was enormous! It looked like a cloth bag you can buy at the grocery store to use instead of disposable bags. It was navy blue. But it was about waist-high and maybe a meter wide -- stuffed full of my clothes! A lot of the clothes looked like cotton gloves and other accessories. The clothes were all wet, like they'd just come out of the washing machine.

The clothes I'd changed out of were at the bottom of this sack. I knew that now they'd not only be extremely difficult to get to, but wet and wrinkled as well. And since they'd been dirty when I'd taken them off, the wetness would make them smelly and even dirtier-feeling. It was no use getting back into my old clothes at this point.

I may have started pulling, or imagined pulling, the huge bag of wet clothes out of the fitting room.

injured knight

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was probably in a library with two of my friends, one of whom may have been my old friend ML. We were getting ready to leave the library to hear an author's talk.

ML was a little disappointed with the author, and possibly also with having to go to the talk. I knew this was because he didn't like some themes or some plot devices in the most popular book the author had written.

But I knew, and I wanted to tell ML, that the author himself didn't like his most popular book. He had kind of been forced or swayed to write it the way he had. His other books were written how he wanted to write them, and I liked them a lot more. I thought ML would, too.

I could see an image from the popular book. The book was an old-style, cloth-bound, hardcover book. On the paper glued to the inside of the front cover was an illustration, monochrome, in blue and white, of a knight leading a group of men through the mountains.

I was now out in some wildland of rolling valleys of grass dotted with occasional groves of trees and shrubs. The day was grey, cool, and misty. There were three knights, one of whom may have been me.

The knights all rode big, powerful, fast horses. But the horses may also only have been half-horses, or they may have been like big puppets, or hobbyhorses with curtains of puppet-fabric over them. The knights were also wearing, instead of mail and armor, big, brown coats or vests made out of either animal hide or puppet fabric.

As the three knights sped along, the third knight, with whom I identified, somehow injured himself. One of his legs was broken. He fell off his horse, which then may have stopped running. The knight stood up and may even have gotten back up onto his horse, even though he knew he would no longer be useful at riding.

The other knights were only a short distance in front of the third knight. It was like they weren't moving forward at all, even though they may supposedly still have been charging forward.

I felt a keen sense of dismay and fear at the third knight/myself having broken his leg. I understood now that it may have happened because the knight had been shot off his horse, maybe by an enemy's crossbow. Or perhaps the knight had only fallen and injured himself. But his injury put him at the mercy of the enemy, who were lurking in the wildlands, unseen. I didn't want the knight to be doomed: his doom would be mine.

The knight called out to the other two knights that they should keep going and not worry about him. The knight tried to act like he could still ride, to keep the other knights from waiting for him.

I now understood that this was actually a scene from the popular book by the author my friends and I were going to see. I had felt bad about my friend not liking the book. So now I had gone into the book to make "the ultimate sacrifice" within the book, as a kind of penance. This might have seemed like a kind of silly thing for me to have done, since it might cost me my own as well as the knight's life.

The third knight was somehow keeping up with the other two knights, possibly even beating them. But it was now like he was speeding along on a pogo stick that was covered in shaggy hide or puppet fabric. The knight had chosen to ride on a pogo stick so he would only have to use one leg to move. But he was still afraid that something would happen, either to injure his broken leg even more, or to break his other leg. So he called back to the men that if something bad happened to his legs, he would make them feel really guilty about it.

I was now floating up in the air, maybe twenty meters high. I was looking down on something like a parking lot or a garage where a semi-truck was parked, possibly with two trailers attached to its back end, side by side.

Something had happened, I can't remember exactly what, to make the truck inaccessible to me. The truck had been guarded over by some man at some high vantage point and inside something like a control room. But I was either assigned to drive it, or I'd wanted to drive it, to some destination.

But now the man had been subdued, and the truck was no longer under the man's control. The two trailers were now attached (maybe they hadn't been before?) to the back of the truck, and the truck was now ready for me to drive. I could imagine the trucks being pulled back out of the concrete-walled, stall-like space they'd been in. My trip was ready to be started.

But now I realized I couldn't make the trip. I was scheduled to be somewhere, maybe at some place like my work, at a specific time. But the trip would take me 48 hours (or, at least, the end of one day and the beginning of the next). If I took on this task, I would miss the other thing I was scheduled to do. Plus, I now realized, I was only renting this truck. I had enough money to rent the truck for one day. But going on this trip for two days would be too expensive for me.

I also didn't know how to drive the truck. This hadn't seemed like such a big deal before. I'd thought I would have some time to be taught by my dad, who knew how to drive big trucks. But now the trip was about to start. I'd only have a short time, maybe 24 hours (even though the trip was to start immediately) for my dad to teach me.

Still, that didn't seem like such a big deal. I could learn what was essential, I thought, and pick up the rest by experience. But it was scary to think of needing to to that with such a big, dangerous vehicle.

And now I saw two other trailers standing alone, unhitched, near the stall-like parking space for the truck. I realized that the task was actually to take the trailers that were now hooked to the truck, then to come back, pick up the second pair of trailers, and haul them, too. This would definitely take me four days.

I was in despair. I definitely couldn't do this, and I may have said so, maybe even starting to cry. I didn't have the time, money, or experience for something like this.

I now saw something like the battle which had been fought to wrest the truck and trailers from the man's control. During that fight a father and his son, a young boy, were both shot in the head and killed. I thought to myself what an absurd waste it was that the father and son had been made to give their lives for these trucks.