Good morning, everybody.
Dream #1
I was in a house, and then I was outside on a road in a suburban neighborhood. In the house, I was probably in my body. Outside the house my view may just have been floating, bodiless, along the road. The road bowed out to the right and then back to the left. One area of the road seemed to have a row of tall cypress trees.
All this time, I was making up and singing some punk-sounding song. The song sounded really original to me.
Dream #2
I was in a bedroom, standing over a bed. I was putting lifting up large paper cut-outs of action figures, mostly robot-like figures or armored figures, like Samus from Metroid. The paper cut-outs weren't actually put together. They were still flat, and I could still see the tabs sticking off of their bodies.
All this time, I was making up and singing some kind of song. I may have thought the song was punk-sounding. But it really wasn't.
Dream #3
I was at a fast food restaurant. The restaurant seemed a little bigger than normal, and it felt empty: either empty of people or empty of chairs and tables. The light coming in from the window walls was bright grey and somehow sterile, although the place also had a somewhat grimy feel to it.
I was reading a John D. MacDonald novel, either from a book or on my phone. The novel had the feel of Barrier Island and Condominium, though I'm pretty sure its subject was outside the field of real estate. I had reached a point in the novel where an over-assured man was planning to go get aggressive with another man who had put him in a compromising position.
Feeling the suspense of this moment I put down my book/mobile device and chuckled, "Whoa, no!" I knew already that, if this book followed the usual structure of a MacDonald novel, the man would get himself in trouble through his over-assuredness. Either he or the man he was out for would get killed, when all the man likely intended to do was cause a little scare and end the problem.
As I walked along and pondered this whole thing, I saw an older man sitting and eating. He looked to me just like a character I'd imagine out of a MacDonald novel: a little short, kind of dumpy, but tough-looking, probably well-off, and someone you wouldn't want to mess with in general.
I walked down a short hallway. There were probably bathroom doors on the right wall. At the end of the hallway I found myself in a coffee shop, possibly a Starbucks. I may already have placed my order, so that now I was just waiting for it.
The man at the cash register, a young, skinny, black man, handed me my coffee. Apparently I was waiting for something else. The young man gave me an easygoing assurance that my other item would be here in a moment.
In the meantime, I figured I'd fix my coffee. I took the lid off my coffee. I wanted to stir in some sugar, but I didn't have a spoon. I was going to reach for a spoon, but the young man planned to give me one instead. He was a couple meters away, doing something else. He spun around, away from me, still looking more concerned with the other thing he was doing, while he threw a white plastic spoon toward me from behind his back.
The spoon lilted steeply up into the air, then dashed lightly downward. It all took me by surprise, but I still reached out to grab the spoon. I had to stretch a bit to get at the spoon. I caught the spoon, but I managed to fumble it and let it drop to the floor.
I picked up the spoon. I didn't want to look like I was rejecting the young man's offer of the spoon. But I figured I'd just grab my own spoon, a clean one that hadn't touched the floor. I'd just look like I was using the spoon the young man had thrown to me. But I then figured that I didn't even want to use a spoon at all before washing my hands. I'd touched the floor in grabbing the spoon. So my hands were just as dirty, now, as the dirty spoon was.
Dream #4
I was in a bedroom with my ex-girlfriend H, sitting on the floor. H had a bunch of stuff all pulled out of paper shopping bags, like bags from really nice clothing boutiques. The stuff was strewn all over the floor in between us.
H was concerned with something, maybe with packing up so she could go on a trip somewhere. But she was making remarks that I thought were kind of stupid. I may also have felt offended by the remarks, like she was making them to make me feel bad about myself.
I got frustrated with H's remarks and said something that I thought would shock H into being reasonable. I then picked up one of the paper bags. The bag was full of items, mostly brightly colored bands of the same material as elastic-fabric hairbands, but really large, maybe 15cm in diameter.
I took the bands out of the bag and began arranging them on the floor. I then kept some of the arranged bands out and put others back in the bag. I then organized the rest of the materials that were inside the bag. The bag looked really well-organized now. I was pretty proud of myself, and I thought H would be impressed.
But when I looked back up at H, she had her face turned away from me. She held her hand in front of her face as well. I could tell that H was trying to hide the fact that she was crying. I felt really bad. I could tell that the remarks I'd made had sounded a lot meaner than I'd expected them to. I also knew that I'd made these kinds of remarks so many times before that H was finally getting sick of it, and of me. I had a feeling that H would finally stop liking me and would leave me.
Dream #5
I sat at a long table, like a table in an elementary school's cafeteria. Across the table from me sat a woman and two children, maybe a boy and a girl. The woman was drawing with the two children. Papers were scattered all over the table.
I was trying to draw the woman as she drew with the children. The woman was wearing a big, flat, black hat with a bit of a fishnet veil hanging down from it. It obscured most of her face. But I could still see enough of her cheeks and mouth to get an expression.
But when I looked down at my drawing, I was disappointed to see that I'd drawn the woman with far less of her face showing! There was almost no expression at all! I looked back up to the woman, thinking that I'd re-draw her, this time making sure I got all of the visible part of her face.
But when I looked back up at the woman, I noticed that she'd shifted her head so that very little of her face was visible from under the hat. I may have shifted my view a bit by leaning downward at a really odd angle. I may have seen more of the woman's face that way. But I knew I couldn't draw and hold my head at that weird angle. I had no idea how I was going to get a good view of the woman's face for my drawing.
Dream #6
I was walking toward a classroom. I was apparently taking a few classes like therapy classes. I was just about to graduate from one cycle of classes. But there was another cycle of classes that had preceded this one. I thought I had already graduated from that cycle. But I'd actually needed to complete one last class. Without completing this one last class, I wouldn't be considered as having passed the second cycle of classes once I'd completed it.
I was a little afraid, going into the last class of the first cycle. I had a feeling that somebody, maybe the teacher, wouldn't like me, and would try to find some way to fail me in the last class, so that I wouldn't pass the first cycle, and I wouldn't be considered as having passed the second cycle.
Showing posts with label ex-girlfriend. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ex-girlfriend. Show all posts
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Sunday, September 30, 2012
the young man's not a fraud
Good morning, everybody.
Dream #1
An Adam Sandler movie. Adam Sandler played some guy who befriended a young man. It may even have seemed like Sandler was going to marry this young man. But the young man somehow turned out to be a "fraud," and he'd vanished from Sandler's life. Sandler was bitter and sad. A young woman who may have been Sandler's main or real love interest through the film may have explained to Sandler how she'd warned him about this young man.
I was now at some scene near the middle of the movie. Sandler and the young man were out on a dock over a lake. The young man seemed to be really shy and sensitive. Apparently Sandler had done something aggressive or loud to upset the young man. The young man may have been so upset that he had been perched on a roof, reluctant to come down. But slowly the young man felt good enough to come back down from the roof.
Sandler had made a huge plate of nachos (with something like chili sauce on them?). Sandler and the young man sat down on the dock with the huge plate of nachos between them. There was a little conversation, mostly carried on by Sandler: the young man was too quiet to carry on much of a conversation. But from the conversation, it became apparent to me, even though I think it was plain throughout the whole movie, that the young man had a little daughter.
Sandler was doing his best not to act aggressive and frighten away the young man. But it seemed to be wearing on him. And he seemed to resent the young man because of it. He felt like the young man required him to act better than he was, like the young man was some kind of better person, and therefore to be resented, simply because of his sensitivities to crude actions.
Sandler then mentioned some kind of punk rock festival. Sandler thought that was a somewhat artsy thing. And Sandler thought the young man liked artsy things. So Sandler figured that the punk rock festival might be a good way to get the young man to like Sandler again.
The punk rock festival was taking place in some Main Street like area in a small town. The first act the movie showed was of a woman-fronted punk band that was playing on a rooftop. The woman wore a white sweater and had short, auburn hair. She played guitar and sang. She sang a heavy, thrashy, but not quite punky, song.
It suddenly became clear that this girl was the young man's old lover. The young man was going to meet up with his old lover. It would be plain to both of them that they were still in love with each other. When the girl's band left town, the young man would go with the band, leaving Sandler alone.
I realized now that the young man hadn't left Sandler because the young man was a fraud. He left Sandler because he and Sandler weren't emotionally compatible and because he and the girl were still in love with each other. I wanted somehow to explain this whole thing to Sandler so that Sandler wouldn't be so sad and bitter toward the young man.
***
UPDATE: Added drawing, September 30, 2012, 7:30 AM, Mountain Standard Time.
Dream #1
An Adam Sandler movie. Adam Sandler played some guy who befriended a young man. It may even have seemed like Sandler was going to marry this young man. But the young man somehow turned out to be a "fraud," and he'd vanished from Sandler's life. Sandler was bitter and sad. A young woman who may have been Sandler's main or real love interest through the film may have explained to Sandler how she'd warned him about this young man.
I was now at some scene near the middle of the movie. Sandler and the young man were out on a dock over a lake. The young man seemed to be really shy and sensitive. Apparently Sandler had done something aggressive or loud to upset the young man. The young man may have been so upset that he had been perched on a roof, reluctant to come down. But slowly the young man felt good enough to come back down from the roof.
Sandler had made a huge plate of nachos (with something like chili sauce on them?). Sandler and the young man sat down on the dock with the huge plate of nachos between them. There was a little conversation, mostly carried on by Sandler: the young man was too quiet to carry on much of a conversation. But from the conversation, it became apparent to me, even though I think it was plain throughout the whole movie, that the young man had a little daughter.
Sandler was doing his best not to act aggressive and frighten away the young man. But it seemed to be wearing on him. And he seemed to resent the young man because of it. He felt like the young man required him to act better than he was, like the young man was some kind of better person, and therefore to be resented, simply because of his sensitivities to crude actions.
Sandler then mentioned some kind of punk rock festival. Sandler thought that was a somewhat artsy thing. And Sandler thought the young man liked artsy things. So Sandler figured that the punk rock festival might be a good way to get the young man to like Sandler again.
The punk rock festival was taking place in some Main Street like area in a small town. The first act the movie showed was of a woman-fronted punk band that was playing on a rooftop. The woman wore a white sweater and had short, auburn hair. She played guitar and sang. She sang a heavy, thrashy, but not quite punky, song.
It suddenly became clear that this girl was the young man's old lover. The young man was going to meet up with his old lover. It would be plain to both of them that they were still in love with each other. When the girl's band left town, the young man would go with the band, leaving Sandler alone.
I realized now that the young man hadn't left Sandler because the young man was a fraud. He left Sandler because he and Sandler weren't emotionally compatible and because he and the girl were still in love with each other. I wanted somehow to explain this whole thing to Sandler so that Sandler wouldn't be so sad and bitter toward the young man.
***
UPDATE: Added drawing, September 30, 2012, 7:30 AM, Mountain Standard Time.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
"weird al loves this place"; modular homeless; golden field; blocked images
Good morning, everybody.
Dream #1
I was in a grocery store. I was possibly near the back end of the store, on the left side of the store (as a person would face the store from front to back). The aisles near me seemed to be in disarray, like they were being rearranged, or like new stock had come in and was being added to the shelves.
There were a few workers in the area that was disorganized. One of them was a tall, white man, probably young, even though his face looked a little worn-out. This man was probably the manager. I had probably been afraid of interacting with the workers. They seemed really boisterous, and I was afraid that they'd start making fun of me if I got too close to them.
But the manager walked up to me. He said, not as if he was saying it to me, but as if he were saying it to his friends, but loud enough that I could hear, "Weird Al loves this place." I knew that the manager meant the comedy singer "Weird Al" Yankovic. I didn't think it could be true that Weird Al even came to this grocery store, let alone that he could love the store. So I thought that somehow the manager had found out that I liked Weird Al, and that he was just saying this to impress me.
But the manager motioned me to come along with him to the back room. The back room was really small, for a grocery store. The man told me that he seriously meant that Weird Al came to this store a lot, and that he really loved the place.
I was now a worker for the store. Perhaps I had been this whole time. The manager brought me back out into the main area. We were all alone in the side aisle now. The place was still cluttered up. There were even big boxes running across the aisles, slanted diagonally from the floor of one side of the aisle to the top of the other side of the aisle. The boxes were thin, like they might have carried poles or fluorescent bulbs in them.
The manager was walking backward as I walked forward. He was speaking to me excitedly. He said, "In fact, Weird Al is just now coming back from a concert tour. He'll be coming in here one of these nights. We already have a cake made for him."
In my mind's eye I could see a round, white cake with red words on the top. I had to walk either under or over one of the tall, slanting boxes that took up the aisle. As I did so, a bright flash of light probably filled my view.
The man continued, asking me, "What else do you think Weird Al would like? What do you think he would like to hear from us?"
We were now at the front of the store. The window walls of the store probably showed that it was dark outside. The store was basically empty of customers. There was a long expanse of checkout lines. The manager stopped at the registers nearest us. A couple of blonde girls had a couple of registers, and the manager needed to check in on the girls.
I walked down a few registers. There was another blonde girl. But her hair was shorter, and she looked less girly, more tomboyish, than the other two girls. I was a little attracted to her. She seemed to be wearing a kind of dumpy uniform, more like the 1980s style of uniform for Burger King than a modern uniform for a grocery store.
I don't know whether we talked, but we seemed to have some kind of interaction. I may have stood into the register beside her, as if I were going to start working that register. But then I walked away again. I had a big, fat book in my hand. I lay it down, probably on the woman's register, but possibly on my own.
I turned around and walked back toward the registers where the manager had been seeing to the other girls. Apparently a shift change was occurring. Some girls were counting the money in their registers, while other girls were putting their own new cash tills into the cash registers.
One of the blonde girls ran up from behind me to tell the manager that she was only sixty-five cents off on her register. She seemed really happy about this, as if, for all the time she'd been working here, she'd never been able to balance her register so well.
I had been -- at some point! -- carrying a paper coffee cup, like from a coffee shop. But now all I was holding was the heat-protector sleeve. I wanted to get rid of it. So I tore it up into tiny pieces. I walked past a thin column in the store. There was a small, white, plastic garbage can, like for use at an office desk. I tossed the shreds of paper in there. But when I looked, the garbage bag was empty, other than my shreds of paper and a ten dollar bill!
I thought that one of the cashier girls must have dropped ten dollars out of their register. I thought that somebody's register would come up really short. I thought that somebody would definitely get in trouble for that. But I didn't call attention to the ten dollars. I'm not sure why. I just noted it, looked up, and kept walking.
I walked back up the aisle I had come from. But now the aisle was clear, with no clutter or boxes. I walked all the way to the back of the store, then turned to walk toward the right side of the store. But as I walked, I realized I probably needed to head back to the registers. I have left my book -- which I now knew was Jim Marrs' Trillion Dollar Conspiracy -- laying on the woman's cash register conveyor belt. I couldn't just leave my book sitting there. I needed to go back for it before I could continue walking around the store.
Dream #2
I was in an apartment. The apartment unit was on the ground floor, but it may actually have been two stories tall. But the apartment was also something more like a hotel. It was obtained only for short periods of time. Either I had gotten the hotel, or some other person had gotten it and was having me watch the place, since I had nowhere to live.
It was night. The photo and video artist Laurel Nakadate had just entered the apartment. We stood just in front of the door, in a space between the living room and a dining area. I was probably holding blankets and a pillow. Nakadate was kind of tall. She was wearing a tight, black tank top and tight, brown pants, maybe of some kind of suede-like material. Her hair was a little bit disheveled.
Nakadate had probably come here for the night. She knew I had this place, and I'd probably told her she could use it. But I was trying to keep the details of the place, and of my life overall, secret from her. I didn't have a job anymore, and this place was only temporary. In fact, I didn't know what I would do once I had to leave this place. I didn't want Nakadate to know any of this about me. I felt like, if she knew, she'd reject me as a worthless person.
Nakadate and I had a conversation about something I can't remember. It was a very calm and natural conversation, but I can't remember what it was about. But all through the conversation, I did my best to conceal my situation and to act like everything was just fine.
We agreed that Nakadate would go take care of something, maybe taking a shower?, and that we'd then meet in the bedroom just past the living room. I could see the light on in the bedroom. I walked through the living room and into the bedroom.
My ex-girlfriend H, who had taken the place of Nakadate, was sitting on the bed, waiting for me. The bed was set along the back wall. H was watching a TV, which was set along the opposite wall. The bed H sat on was like a bed that had a second, pull-out bed in its underside. The lower bed was pulled out just enough so that H could use it either as a seat cushion, like the bed was a couch, or like a footrest, with the top mattress being used as a seat cushion. The rest of the room was completely empty.
I sat down beside H. She may have been eating a cup of ramen. I "watched TV" with H, even though I'm not sure I actually saw a TV at all. I may just have been staring at a blank wall. H and I began having some conversation, which may also have had to do with my living arrangements.
My thoughts drifted into a woman talking about the living arrangements she and her husband had. The woman seemed to be a 1950s kind of woman, even though I'm not sure what time period she really lived in. The woman and her husband both had very similar professions. And whatever the man and woman did, they liked to travel while doing it. They especially liked living in the mountains.
So, the woman explained, the man and the woman opted to get a kind of extremely modular house. The houses were cheaper than normal houses. They were also much smaller than normal houses. But the man and woman didn't like having a lot of space. They preferred having freedom. The houses were good for this. They could be picked up or dropped off by the buyers very easily, wherever they needed to go.
However, the woman had lately found that the couple's finances weren't stable enough for the couple to afford the modular houses. So the woman was having to take her modular house back to the modular house store. All she did, actually, was get on a bicycle, to the front of which was attached the modular house, and pedal it down a mountain road. The house was so light that the woman could just pedal it away.
The woman rode along a beautiful, undulating mountain road that was lined with pine trees and fields of yellow flowers. The sky was blue, marbled with wisps of white cirrus clouds. The woman was pale, and she wore a pale, rusty-tan dress, in the 1950s style, very understated, with thin buttons running down the blouse, and the skirt belling out just a bit, going down all the way to the ankles. The woman's red-brown hair was done in a short, elegant style.
The woman was "narrating" over this view. She said that this wasn't unusual for her and her husband. They would often take their modular houses back to the store when they felt they couldn't afford them. (I'm not sure what they did when they didn't have houses. Did they camp?) But, eventually, the husband would start to feel good about his life and finances again. Then the couple would go out and get another modular home. After a while, the woman would see that the couple's finances could no longer support their having a modular home. And the couple would take the modular home back to the shop.
The woman looked very cheerful. And her narration had a cheerful tone. But it was evident that the woman was distressed about the couple's financial situation. The woman probably wished that the husband would find some way of being more responsible.
I now got a better view of the modular home. It didn't look like much of a home at all. It was a wooden structure, like it was made out of old shipping pallets, or out of rough-hewn, wooden boards. I don't think I could make out much of a house-like structure to the construction. And it looked really small, maybe not more than three meters long and wide, and not more than a meter or a meter and a half tall.
Nevertheless, it still looked really heavy. I wondered how the woman could just bike it all the way down to town, especially on a mountain road like this. The woman, in "narration," cheerfully answered that most of the ride was downhill anyway, that the modular home was small and light, and that the modular home actually was even lighter than it already looked.
I watched the woman from the crest of a hill. As the woman seemed to be coming round a bend, something happened. I could tell ahead of time that the woman was going to crash. She did. The bike and the modular home wound off onto the shoulder of the road. The woman flew off the bike and landed face down in a patch of pink flowers. I thought the woman was dead. But apparently she was alive. I probably heard the woman, in narration, explaining why the crash hadn't hurt so much. But she hadn't stood up yet.
My view panned up the slope. I drifted along the road, back up to the spot where the modular home used to be. But the modular home was still there. I now heard the husband's voice in narration. But it was like the husband's voice was my voice as well, or, actually, more like my thoughts and feelings were controlling the husband's voice, which was a lot more dignified than my voice. I could also see an image of the husband in my mind's eye: a 1940s style photo of a handsome young man in military dress uniform.
The husband/I was explaining how he/I wasn't planning on getting rid of the modular home. The wife had always been anxious about finances. But the husband/I had a feeling that the couple's finances would be fine soon enough. The husband/I felt like everything was going to be okay, so there was no reason to get rid of the modular home.
The modular home was built on a square deck of wood. At each corner of the square stood a wooden pillar, kind of like a tower. In the center of the wooden deck stood the house itself. The house was rather small, almost like a child's playhouse. Its walls were square, but its roof may have been rounded, or teardrop-shaped. The whole thing was made out of rough-hewn wood. The design may have reminded me of a miniature version of the Taj Mahal.
I may have thought that this little place was definitely not big enough for me an H (or for me and Laurel Nakadate?). I thought that I would definitely want to keep the modular house. But I would probably want to change the model for one that used the space of the plot a little bit better, i.e. one that incorporated more of the deck space into the interior of the house.
I may have heard the woman's narration again, or I may have heard some other woman's voice in narration. It was like the woman was acting as a real estate agent, or a modular home sales agent. She was supporting all of my feelings regarding keeping the modular home and possibly trading into a new home.
Dream #3
I stood out in some mountain landscape, in a valley full of golden grass. The golden grass was filled in places with pockets of white snow. I had apparently journeyed a long way to get here. I still had a great deal of journeying left to do. I may have remembered a conversation I'd had with an old man before I'd started this journey. The man may have been tall, slim, bald, dressed in an old-fashioned pinstripe suit of very dark material.
Dream #4
I had been discussing a number of images with an old man. It was like I was in a dream, trying to rehearse all the elements of the dreams I'd had over the course of the night. I reached the end of the sequence of images, and I was kind of surprised by them. There was some sort of unity to them I hadn't expected. I think this unity had to do with celebrities.
But the dream images all clouded over -- like they had been drawn over with heavy amounts of crayon! It was like a succession of images piled over the images I'd just organized in my head. A chain-link fence clouded over everything: the chain-link fence being shaded all through with opaque browns, greys and greens. Then a man's head, also colored with heavy, dark colors, appeared before the chain-link fence. Then another chain-link fence. Then another man's head.
***
UPDATE: A discussion of some of the images in these dreams can be found at this entry of my dreamday journal.
UPDATE 2: Added two drawings to second dream, July 25, 2012, 3:18 PM, Mountain Standard Time.
Dream #1
I was in a grocery store. I was possibly near the back end of the store, on the left side of the store (as a person would face the store from front to back). The aisles near me seemed to be in disarray, like they were being rearranged, or like new stock had come in and was being added to the shelves.
There were a few workers in the area that was disorganized. One of them was a tall, white man, probably young, even though his face looked a little worn-out. This man was probably the manager. I had probably been afraid of interacting with the workers. They seemed really boisterous, and I was afraid that they'd start making fun of me if I got too close to them.
But the manager walked up to me. He said, not as if he was saying it to me, but as if he were saying it to his friends, but loud enough that I could hear, "Weird Al loves this place." I knew that the manager meant the comedy singer "Weird Al" Yankovic. I didn't think it could be true that Weird Al even came to this grocery store, let alone that he could love the store. So I thought that somehow the manager had found out that I liked Weird Al, and that he was just saying this to impress me.
But the manager motioned me to come along with him to the back room. The back room was really small, for a grocery store. The man told me that he seriously meant that Weird Al came to this store a lot, and that he really loved the place.
I was now a worker for the store. Perhaps I had been this whole time. The manager brought me back out into the main area. We were all alone in the side aisle now. The place was still cluttered up. There were even big boxes running across the aisles, slanted diagonally from the floor of one side of the aisle to the top of the other side of the aisle. The boxes were thin, like they might have carried poles or fluorescent bulbs in them.
The manager was walking backward as I walked forward. He was speaking to me excitedly. He said, "In fact, Weird Al is just now coming back from a concert tour. He'll be coming in here one of these nights. We already have a cake made for him."
In my mind's eye I could see a round, white cake with red words on the top. I had to walk either under or over one of the tall, slanting boxes that took up the aisle. As I did so, a bright flash of light probably filled my view.
The man continued, asking me, "What else do you think Weird Al would like? What do you think he would like to hear from us?"
We were now at the front of the store. The window walls of the store probably showed that it was dark outside. The store was basically empty of customers. There was a long expanse of checkout lines. The manager stopped at the registers nearest us. A couple of blonde girls had a couple of registers, and the manager needed to check in on the girls.
I walked down a few registers. There was another blonde girl. But her hair was shorter, and she looked less girly, more tomboyish, than the other two girls. I was a little attracted to her. She seemed to be wearing a kind of dumpy uniform, more like the 1980s style of uniform for Burger King than a modern uniform for a grocery store.
I don't know whether we talked, but we seemed to have some kind of interaction. I may have stood into the register beside her, as if I were going to start working that register. But then I walked away again. I had a big, fat book in my hand. I lay it down, probably on the woman's register, but possibly on my own.
I turned around and walked back toward the registers where the manager had been seeing to the other girls. Apparently a shift change was occurring. Some girls were counting the money in their registers, while other girls were putting their own new cash tills into the cash registers.
One of the blonde girls ran up from behind me to tell the manager that she was only sixty-five cents off on her register. She seemed really happy about this, as if, for all the time she'd been working here, she'd never been able to balance her register so well.
I had been -- at some point! -- carrying a paper coffee cup, like from a coffee shop. But now all I was holding was the heat-protector sleeve. I wanted to get rid of it. So I tore it up into tiny pieces. I walked past a thin column in the store. There was a small, white, plastic garbage can, like for use at an office desk. I tossed the shreds of paper in there. But when I looked, the garbage bag was empty, other than my shreds of paper and a ten dollar bill!
I thought that one of the cashier girls must have dropped ten dollars out of their register. I thought that somebody's register would come up really short. I thought that somebody would definitely get in trouble for that. But I didn't call attention to the ten dollars. I'm not sure why. I just noted it, looked up, and kept walking.
I walked back up the aisle I had come from. But now the aisle was clear, with no clutter or boxes. I walked all the way to the back of the store, then turned to walk toward the right side of the store. But as I walked, I realized I probably needed to head back to the registers. I have left my book -- which I now knew was Jim Marrs' Trillion Dollar Conspiracy -- laying on the woman's cash register conveyor belt. I couldn't just leave my book sitting there. I needed to go back for it before I could continue walking around the store.
Dream #2
I was in an apartment. The apartment unit was on the ground floor, but it may actually have been two stories tall. But the apartment was also something more like a hotel. It was obtained only for short periods of time. Either I had gotten the hotel, or some other person had gotten it and was having me watch the place, since I had nowhere to live.
It was night. The photo and video artist Laurel Nakadate had just entered the apartment. We stood just in front of the door, in a space between the living room and a dining area. I was probably holding blankets and a pillow. Nakadate was kind of tall. She was wearing a tight, black tank top and tight, brown pants, maybe of some kind of suede-like material. Her hair was a little bit disheveled.
Nakadate had probably come here for the night. She knew I had this place, and I'd probably told her she could use it. But I was trying to keep the details of the place, and of my life overall, secret from her. I didn't have a job anymore, and this place was only temporary. In fact, I didn't know what I would do once I had to leave this place. I didn't want Nakadate to know any of this about me. I felt like, if she knew, she'd reject me as a worthless person.
Nakadate and I had a conversation about something I can't remember. It was a very calm and natural conversation, but I can't remember what it was about. But all through the conversation, I did my best to conceal my situation and to act like everything was just fine.
We agreed that Nakadate would go take care of something, maybe taking a shower?, and that we'd then meet in the bedroom just past the living room. I could see the light on in the bedroom. I walked through the living room and into the bedroom.
My ex-girlfriend H, who had taken the place of Nakadate, was sitting on the bed, waiting for me. The bed was set along the back wall. H was watching a TV, which was set along the opposite wall. The bed H sat on was like a bed that had a second, pull-out bed in its underside. The lower bed was pulled out just enough so that H could use it either as a seat cushion, like the bed was a couch, or like a footrest, with the top mattress being used as a seat cushion. The rest of the room was completely empty.
I sat down beside H. She may have been eating a cup of ramen. I "watched TV" with H, even though I'm not sure I actually saw a TV at all. I may just have been staring at a blank wall. H and I began having some conversation, which may also have had to do with my living arrangements.
My thoughts drifted into a woman talking about the living arrangements she and her husband had. The woman seemed to be a 1950s kind of woman, even though I'm not sure what time period she really lived in. The woman and her husband both had very similar professions. And whatever the man and woman did, they liked to travel while doing it. They especially liked living in the mountains.
So, the woman explained, the man and the woman opted to get a kind of extremely modular house. The houses were cheaper than normal houses. They were also much smaller than normal houses. But the man and woman didn't like having a lot of space. They preferred having freedom. The houses were good for this. They could be picked up or dropped off by the buyers very easily, wherever they needed to go.
However, the woman had lately found that the couple's finances weren't stable enough for the couple to afford the modular houses. So the woman was having to take her modular house back to the modular house store. All she did, actually, was get on a bicycle, to the front of which was attached the modular house, and pedal it down a mountain road. The house was so light that the woman could just pedal it away.
The woman rode along a beautiful, undulating mountain road that was lined with pine trees and fields of yellow flowers. The sky was blue, marbled with wisps of white cirrus clouds. The woman was pale, and she wore a pale, rusty-tan dress, in the 1950s style, very understated, with thin buttons running down the blouse, and the skirt belling out just a bit, going down all the way to the ankles. The woman's red-brown hair was done in a short, elegant style.
The woman was "narrating" over this view. She said that this wasn't unusual for her and her husband. They would often take their modular houses back to the store when they felt they couldn't afford them. (I'm not sure what they did when they didn't have houses. Did they camp?) But, eventually, the husband would start to feel good about his life and finances again. Then the couple would go out and get another modular home. After a while, the woman would see that the couple's finances could no longer support their having a modular home. And the couple would take the modular home back to the shop.
The woman looked very cheerful. And her narration had a cheerful tone. But it was evident that the woman was distressed about the couple's financial situation. The woman probably wished that the husband would find some way of being more responsible.
I now got a better view of the modular home. It didn't look like much of a home at all. It was a wooden structure, like it was made out of old shipping pallets, or out of rough-hewn, wooden boards. I don't think I could make out much of a house-like structure to the construction. And it looked really small, maybe not more than three meters long and wide, and not more than a meter or a meter and a half tall.
Nevertheless, it still looked really heavy. I wondered how the woman could just bike it all the way down to town, especially on a mountain road like this. The woman, in "narration," cheerfully answered that most of the ride was downhill anyway, that the modular home was small and light, and that the modular home actually was even lighter than it already looked.
I watched the woman from the crest of a hill. As the woman seemed to be coming round a bend, something happened. I could tell ahead of time that the woman was going to crash. She did. The bike and the modular home wound off onto the shoulder of the road. The woman flew off the bike and landed face down in a patch of pink flowers. I thought the woman was dead. But apparently she was alive. I probably heard the woman, in narration, explaining why the crash hadn't hurt so much. But she hadn't stood up yet.
My view panned up the slope. I drifted along the road, back up to the spot where the modular home used to be. But the modular home was still there. I now heard the husband's voice in narration. But it was like the husband's voice was my voice as well, or, actually, more like my thoughts and feelings were controlling the husband's voice, which was a lot more dignified than my voice. I could also see an image of the husband in my mind's eye: a 1940s style photo of a handsome young man in military dress uniform.
The husband/I was explaining how he/I wasn't planning on getting rid of the modular home. The wife had always been anxious about finances. But the husband/I had a feeling that the couple's finances would be fine soon enough. The husband/I felt like everything was going to be okay, so there was no reason to get rid of the modular home.
The modular home was built on a square deck of wood. At each corner of the square stood a wooden pillar, kind of like a tower. In the center of the wooden deck stood the house itself. The house was rather small, almost like a child's playhouse. Its walls were square, but its roof may have been rounded, or teardrop-shaped. The whole thing was made out of rough-hewn wood. The design may have reminded me of a miniature version of the Taj Mahal.
I may have thought that this little place was definitely not big enough for me an H (or for me and Laurel Nakadate?). I thought that I would definitely want to keep the modular house. But I would probably want to change the model for one that used the space of the plot a little bit better, i.e. one that incorporated more of the deck space into the interior of the house.
I may have heard the woman's narration again, or I may have heard some other woman's voice in narration. It was like the woman was acting as a real estate agent, or a modular home sales agent. She was supporting all of my feelings regarding keeping the modular home and possibly trading into a new home.
Dream #3
I stood out in some mountain landscape, in a valley full of golden grass. The golden grass was filled in places with pockets of white snow. I had apparently journeyed a long way to get here. I still had a great deal of journeying left to do. I may have remembered a conversation I'd had with an old man before I'd started this journey. The man may have been tall, slim, bald, dressed in an old-fashioned pinstripe suit of very dark material.
Dream #4
I had been discussing a number of images with an old man. It was like I was in a dream, trying to rehearse all the elements of the dreams I'd had over the course of the night. I reached the end of the sequence of images, and I was kind of surprised by them. There was some sort of unity to them I hadn't expected. I think this unity had to do with celebrities.
But the dream images all clouded over -- like they had been drawn over with heavy amounts of crayon! It was like a succession of images piled over the images I'd just organized in my head. A chain-link fence clouded over everything: the chain-link fence being shaded all through with opaque browns, greys and greens. Then a man's head, also colored with heavy, dark colors, appeared before the chain-link fence. Then another chain-link fence. Then another man's head.
***
UPDATE: A discussion of some of the images in these dreams can be found at this entry of my dreamday journal.
UPDATE 2: Added two drawings to second dream, July 25, 2012, 3:18 PM, Mountain Standard Time.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
sex with married lesbian; escape from friend; missed race; irate showgoer
Good morning, everybody.
Dream #1
I lived in a big apartment in a big city, maybe New York City, with another man. The man was black, a bit overweight, with kind of big hair. He was maybe in his early forties. The place was mainly his. I rented out a small room in the apartment. But even the small room was very opulent. Most of the surfaces in the apartment were white, lit with golden, incandescent lights from chandeliers.
My ex-girlfriend H was coming over to visit. But I might not have been sure when. It was night already. I may have gotten a call from her at some point. But I may have felt like I'd like a little more assurance on when she'd show up.
I floated out of the apartment. The sky was a warm, dark blue, like there was still just a trace of sun sinking down far past the horizon. But it was supposed to be late night. All the buildings and streets were bathed in orange streetlamp light. The streets were packed with cars; the sidewalks, with people.
In order to get a lock on who was were in this mass of cars and people -- mainly so I could see whether I could find H, I began using a video-game-like viewing technique. I would impose a pink- or red-outline square onto a car. Somewhere in my field of view I would get a readout of the people in the car. I would do a number of these cars at once. I would do a similar thing with the people on the sidewalks, except that, probably, instead using a square outline, I just pointed at them with something like a small dot.
I may now have seen H walking down the street toward my apartment building. I began floating back into the building. I saw myself inside through one of the windows. I saw myself sitting at something like a dinner table and nodding very seriously at some person I couldn't see. I figured that I was talking with my roommate. He may have been telling me stuff I could and couldn't do. But I wanted to see who I really was talking to, so I floated into my body in the room.
I was face-to-face with H. She was talking to me about how, just today, she'd had what she was talking about as a silly idea to marry a woman. She reminded me that lesbian marriages had been made legal recently. She told me that one of her friends, who was a lesbian, suggested that they just go get married as a joke. So H and her friend had gone off and gotten married.
H seemed to think this was just a joke. I felt like she, as usual, wasn't getting the importance and permanence of what she'd just done. I was probably jealous of H being in a lesbian marriage. But I was even more annoyed that she thought it was all a joke. If it was something she'd regret later, she needed to know. I thought either she was really in love with the woman and she didn't want to tell me, or else she thought she'd done something for fun and now it would come back to get her.
While I was trying to think of the best way to tell H all this, H and I had moved to the bed, which may have been in the same room as the dining table. H and I were laying on our sides and embracing each other. We may have been kissing. H was wearing a long, greenish khaki skirt and a purple tank top. I had the skirt pushed up the back of H's legs. I was feeling H's bottom.
H asked me something like, "Do you like this?" I responded yes, possibly thinking that H meant, did I like having sex with a lesbian.
Dream #2
I was in a small bedroom with an adult woman and someone else, possibly a child. The room was dimly lit with a stark, incandescent bulb, like some bulb just laying on the floor. The walls were bare, probably white, but there was some kind of a blue tinge to them. The whole space was empty and pretty clean, but everything felt tight and restless.
My old friend R was coming to attack us. He may have gone completely insane and started killing a lot of people, with us as his next targets. Or else we may have exposed him for something, and he may now have been trying to stop us from doing something like giving conclusive evidence. He may have done something criminal in a business or political sense. Or we may have seen him murder somebody.
We knew R was way downstairs but was working his way upstairs. We had to get out of here as soon as possible. I gathered everybody up. There was a back door in this bedroom. The door led to something like a spare room. I got us all into that room. The woman was slightly panicked. But the child was very panicked. It was hard to keep it in the room.
I was kind of dizzy, and it was really hard to see. I pushed on all the walls. One of the walls opened up, in two layers -- the first layer coming in toward the room, and the second layer pushing out away from the room. I knew this was a secret exit from the house or apartment.
I had already jumped into this exit. It was now something like a small slide, with either a flat metal sheet or metal rollers for a floor and white walls and ceiling. It was so small that I couldn't stand inside of it. I had to sit. And it was steep. It was hard for me not to slide down. I was already a couple meters down.
I shouted up to the woman to get the kid inside here. This was the place I'd been looking for. We needed to escape quick. The other two got inside. But my friend R had taken one of the people's places, I'm not sure whose. The other two slid down the slide. I closed and locked the exit. Then I slid down.
We landed out in some area full of small shops and restaurants. It was early evening, and the sky and atmosphere were deep blue. There were gleams of light from the shops and restaurants. There were a few people here and there, but nobody noticed us just landing here, apparently from out of nowhere.
I told the woman and child (R was no longer there) to stay calm and not look suspicious. We began walking down one of the streets. We soon found ourselves in something more like the back end of a residential neighborhood.
I told the other two that we had to escape now. I said that the best way to escape would be to take a train -- there was a stop just a few blocks down the road -- to one of the cities up north of here. Apparently we were in New York City. So we were going to head up to one of the cities farther upstate in New York. I named a town, as if the naming of the town itself would save us. The name may have been Osceola. But I'm not sure.
Dream #3
It was daytime. I was out at the edge of some park. I stood on a promenade with a stone fence at the top of a steep hill that overlooked some town. The stone fence had a chain-link fence built out of its top as well, for extra protection. I stood before a bench.
A race had just finished. It wasn't quite a normal running race. There had been something else involved, maybe wheelchairs, even though nobody in the race really needed wheelchairs.
My old friend R showed up. He sat down either in a bench next to the bench I stood in front of, or else on the stone barrier itself. I told R that he had missed the race.
A woman now appeared and sat down at the right (my right) side of the bench before me. I sat down next to the woman and began talking to her. But now R got upset. I had a feeling he was really just jealous of the fact that I was talking with a girl. But he was doing something to indicate that he was feeling bad, like it was important for him to have someone to talk to.
I managed somehow to get the woman out of the way so I could get a better look at R. R told me that somebody he knew had cancer. I realized that R had been sad about this the whole time. I suddenly felt bad for having made such a big deal out of his having missed the race.
Dream #4
I was walking into some room. This room was like a lobby in a theater. In some other room something was going to happen, like a movie was going to be shown or something.
But coming out of a doorway opposite the lobby from the door through which I'd entered were two men and a woman. One of the men was the theater's proprietor. The other two were husband and wife. All three were older, maybe in their fifties or sixties. The proprietor was kind of short, a little shabby looking. The husband and wife were kind of tall and wealthy looking.
The proprietor was trying to explain to the man that he'd done something bad. Since the man had done this bad thing, the theater couldn't let him stay. This one bad thing done indicated that similar bad things would probably also be done once the show started. This would distract the audience. The proprietor couldn't allow that.
But the man was acting up like a spoiled child. He was yelling and screaming about wanting to see the show. It was like he thought if he could convince the proprietor he wanted to see the show badly enough, it shouldn't matter whether he would behave well at all while he was in at the show.
But the proprietor wouldn't let the man back into the show. So the man started threatening violence. The proprietor was obviously afraid. I figured I should at least step in at this point. Both the proprietor and I were small, compared to the man. But I figured if I stepped in, I could fight better than the proprietor, and maybe I could even stop the man.
The man was now yelling at me personally about how he'd been in the military. I was trying to determine how big of trouble I was in physically with this guy. I asked him what he'd done in the military. He now appeared to be in his forties. He had brown hair and a brown mustache. He wore sunglasses, a denim shirt, and blue jeans.
The man told me he'd worked with the Navy. I asked him where he'd been stationed. He gave me some location in the United States. I understood that his service with the Navy hadn't been much more than floating around on a ship just off the coast of the United States.
I could tell the man felt kind of bad about this, like he hadn't been able to risk his life like others had. So I didn't want to make him feel worse by getting into a fight with him and winning (???). So I just started talking nice to the guy. The guy, his wife, the proprietor, and I all sat down in the lobby, in some seats just like movie theater seats. A small screen was playing a movie. We all started watching the movie.
***
UPDATE: A discussion of some of the images from this dream can be found at this entry of my dreamday journal.
UPDATE 2: Picture added to dream #1 on July 8th, 2012, at 2:12 PM Mountain Standard Time.
Dream #1
I lived in a big apartment in a big city, maybe New York City, with another man. The man was black, a bit overweight, with kind of big hair. He was maybe in his early forties. The place was mainly his. I rented out a small room in the apartment. But even the small room was very opulent. Most of the surfaces in the apartment were white, lit with golden, incandescent lights from chandeliers.
My ex-girlfriend H was coming over to visit. But I might not have been sure when. It was night already. I may have gotten a call from her at some point. But I may have felt like I'd like a little more assurance on when she'd show up.
I floated out of the apartment. The sky was a warm, dark blue, like there was still just a trace of sun sinking down far past the horizon. But it was supposed to be late night. All the buildings and streets were bathed in orange streetlamp light. The streets were packed with cars; the sidewalks, with people.
In order to get a lock on who was were in this mass of cars and people -- mainly so I could see whether I could find H, I began using a video-game-like viewing technique. I would impose a pink- or red-outline square onto a car. Somewhere in my field of view I would get a readout of the people in the car. I would do a number of these cars at once. I would do a similar thing with the people on the sidewalks, except that, probably, instead using a square outline, I just pointed at them with something like a small dot.
I may now have seen H walking down the street toward my apartment building. I began floating back into the building. I saw myself inside through one of the windows. I saw myself sitting at something like a dinner table and nodding very seriously at some person I couldn't see. I figured that I was talking with my roommate. He may have been telling me stuff I could and couldn't do. But I wanted to see who I really was talking to, so I floated into my body in the room.
I was face-to-face with H. She was talking to me about how, just today, she'd had what she was talking about as a silly idea to marry a woman. She reminded me that lesbian marriages had been made legal recently. She told me that one of her friends, who was a lesbian, suggested that they just go get married as a joke. So H and her friend had gone off and gotten married.
H seemed to think this was just a joke. I felt like she, as usual, wasn't getting the importance and permanence of what she'd just done. I was probably jealous of H being in a lesbian marriage. But I was even more annoyed that she thought it was all a joke. If it was something she'd regret later, she needed to know. I thought either she was really in love with the woman and she didn't want to tell me, or else she thought she'd done something for fun and now it would come back to get her.
While I was trying to think of the best way to tell H all this, H and I had moved to the bed, which may have been in the same room as the dining table. H and I were laying on our sides and embracing each other. We may have been kissing. H was wearing a long, greenish khaki skirt and a purple tank top. I had the skirt pushed up the back of H's legs. I was feeling H's bottom.
H asked me something like, "Do you like this?" I responded yes, possibly thinking that H meant, did I like having sex with a lesbian.
Dream #2
I was in a small bedroom with an adult woman and someone else, possibly a child. The room was dimly lit with a stark, incandescent bulb, like some bulb just laying on the floor. The walls were bare, probably white, but there was some kind of a blue tinge to them. The whole space was empty and pretty clean, but everything felt tight and restless.
My old friend R was coming to attack us. He may have gone completely insane and started killing a lot of people, with us as his next targets. Or else we may have exposed him for something, and he may now have been trying to stop us from doing something like giving conclusive evidence. He may have done something criminal in a business or political sense. Or we may have seen him murder somebody.
We knew R was way downstairs but was working his way upstairs. We had to get out of here as soon as possible. I gathered everybody up. There was a back door in this bedroom. The door led to something like a spare room. I got us all into that room. The woman was slightly panicked. But the child was very panicked. It was hard to keep it in the room.
I was kind of dizzy, and it was really hard to see. I pushed on all the walls. One of the walls opened up, in two layers -- the first layer coming in toward the room, and the second layer pushing out away from the room. I knew this was a secret exit from the house or apartment.
I had already jumped into this exit. It was now something like a small slide, with either a flat metal sheet or metal rollers for a floor and white walls and ceiling. It was so small that I couldn't stand inside of it. I had to sit. And it was steep. It was hard for me not to slide down. I was already a couple meters down.
I shouted up to the woman to get the kid inside here. This was the place I'd been looking for. We needed to escape quick. The other two got inside. But my friend R had taken one of the people's places, I'm not sure whose. The other two slid down the slide. I closed and locked the exit. Then I slid down.
We landed out in some area full of small shops and restaurants. It was early evening, and the sky and atmosphere were deep blue. There were gleams of light from the shops and restaurants. There were a few people here and there, but nobody noticed us just landing here, apparently from out of nowhere.
I told the woman and child (R was no longer there) to stay calm and not look suspicious. We began walking down one of the streets. We soon found ourselves in something more like the back end of a residential neighborhood.
I told the other two that we had to escape now. I said that the best way to escape would be to take a train -- there was a stop just a few blocks down the road -- to one of the cities up north of here. Apparently we were in New York City. So we were going to head up to one of the cities farther upstate in New York. I named a town, as if the naming of the town itself would save us. The name may have been Osceola. But I'm not sure.
Dream #3
It was daytime. I was out at the edge of some park. I stood on a promenade with a stone fence at the top of a steep hill that overlooked some town. The stone fence had a chain-link fence built out of its top as well, for extra protection. I stood before a bench.
A race had just finished. It wasn't quite a normal running race. There had been something else involved, maybe wheelchairs, even though nobody in the race really needed wheelchairs.
My old friend R showed up. He sat down either in a bench next to the bench I stood in front of, or else on the stone barrier itself. I told R that he had missed the race.
A woman now appeared and sat down at the right (my right) side of the bench before me. I sat down next to the woman and began talking to her. But now R got upset. I had a feeling he was really just jealous of the fact that I was talking with a girl. But he was doing something to indicate that he was feeling bad, like it was important for him to have someone to talk to.
I managed somehow to get the woman out of the way so I could get a better look at R. R told me that somebody he knew had cancer. I realized that R had been sad about this the whole time. I suddenly felt bad for having made such a big deal out of his having missed the race.
Dream #4
I was walking into some room. This room was like a lobby in a theater. In some other room something was going to happen, like a movie was going to be shown or something.
But coming out of a doorway opposite the lobby from the door through which I'd entered were two men and a woman. One of the men was the theater's proprietor. The other two were husband and wife. All three were older, maybe in their fifties or sixties. The proprietor was kind of short, a little shabby looking. The husband and wife were kind of tall and wealthy looking.
The proprietor was trying to explain to the man that he'd done something bad. Since the man had done this bad thing, the theater couldn't let him stay. This one bad thing done indicated that similar bad things would probably also be done once the show started. This would distract the audience. The proprietor couldn't allow that.
But the man was acting up like a spoiled child. He was yelling and screaming about wanting to see the show. It was like he thought if he could convince the proprietor he wanted to see the show badly enough, it shouldn't matter whether he would behave well at all while he was in at the show.
But the proprietor wouldn't let the man back into the show. So the man started threatening violence. The proprietor was obviously afraid. I figured I should at least step in at this point. Both the proprietor and I were small, compared to the man. But I figured if I stepped in, I could fight better than the proprietor, and maybe I could even stop the man.
The man was now yelling at me personally about how he'd been in the military. I was trying to determine how big of trouble I was in physically with this guy. I asked him what he'd done in the military. He now appeared to be in his forties. He had brown hair and a brown mustache. He wore sunglasses, a denim shirt, and blue jeans.
The man told me he'd worked with the Navy. I asked him where he'd been stationed. He gave me some location in the United States. I understood that his service with the Navy hadn't been much more than floating around on a ship just off the coast of the United States.
I could tell the man felt kind of bad about this, like he hadn't been able to risk his life like others had. So I didn't want to make him feel worse by getting into a fight with him and winning (???). So I just started talking nice to the guy. The guy, his wife, the proprietor, and I all sat down in the lobby, in some seats just like movie theater seats. A small screen was playing a movie. We all started watching the movie.
***
UPDATE: A discussion of some of the images from this dream can be found at this entry of my dreamday journal.
UPDATE 2: Picture added to dream #1 on July 8th, 2012, at 2:12 PM Mountain Standard Time.
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