can't have babies; can't have relationship; can't wear diapers

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

A movie starring Will Ferrell. The basic idea was that Will Ferrell and his really beautiful wife kept having babies, and that it was now getting to the point where they couldn't afford to have any more. So the couple was trying to do things to make it so they could either stop having sex or stop having babies every time they had sex.

There was a kind of flashback montage that showed various times where the wife was in bed, waiting for Will Ferrell to get out of the bathroom. Each time Will Ferrell would come out of the bathroom doing something wacky or charming, and it was pretty obvious that Will Ferrell and his wife would then have sex and that the wife would get pregnant. I may have seen a lot of this montage from the wife's point of view.

But in the last little scene of the montage, when Will Ferrell came out of the bathroom acting all wacky and charming, the wife said, "Okay, let's get out of bed. Let's go into the living room and paint portraits of each other."

Will Ferrell repeated, "Paint portraits of each other," very seriously and quickly, like a chastised child. He understood that the wife was doing this to get the couple's minds off of sex. But it was pretty obvious that the couple would get aroused by each other again while they were painting each other and that they would have sex and get pregnant again.

Dream #2

There were either three or four people in a loft-like space, sitting on a couple of couches. A more mature man and woman sat on one couch. A younger man, and possibly a younger woman, sat on the other couch. All three or four of the people were colleagues working for the same company.

The older man told the younger man (and woman?) that the older man and woman knew about the romantic relationship between the younger man and woman. The older man said that the younger couple had to stop seeing each other, that relationships at work were not accepted or considered professional.

The younger man didn't really have any intention of breaking off his relationship with the younger woman. He told the older man, "Yeah, we'll go ahead and stop seeing each other. But I know of an older man and woman within the company who are doing the same thing as we are."

The older man understood that this meant him and the older woman. The were, in fact, having a relationship. So if the younger man and woman were supposed to get in trouble for their relationship, then the older man and woman should get in trouble for their relationship, too.

The older man, knowing that he was caught, but still not wanting to admit it, gave the older woman a strange sign to indicate that they should stop harassing the younger couple about their relationship for the time being. The man hunched over, almost down to his knees, then lifted his left hand behind his back and bent his index finger up and down in a "come here" gesture. While the man did this, an image of a transparent newspaper -- like a newspaper made out of a sheet of glass -- rose up behind him. Behind the image of the newspaper, a man could be seen walking around.

Dream #3

I was in a department store. I had walked away from the men's clothing section. But there were some shirts I  had been interested in. So I went back. But as I returned to the section, a big, black man was kneeling down in front of a wall-rack of shirts, completely blocking the aisle between the wall-rack and a standalone rack, the only aisle of entrance into the clothing section.

I asked the man to excuse me, but I couldn't control my motions very well, so I kept walking, bumping into the man a little bit. As I bumped into the man, I apologized and patted him on the arm and back. The man wore a pale blue polo shirt of soft thread in a roughly woven pattern. I liked the shirt a lot. I may have thought at that point that I was attracted to the man, or that I was giving him a false indication that I was attracted to him. I got embarrassed and tried to avoid any more interaction with the man.

But while I was looking at shirts (shirts that were way too huge for me) a couple of racks over from the man, the man turned to me and asked for my help. He was trying to get a shirt just like the shirt worn by some basketball player. But he couldn't remember the name of the basketball player. All he could remember about the player was that he was, even by basketball standards, huge, and that he probably played for the L.A. Lakers.

I tried to figure who that person could be. I had a deck of basketball cards in the left pocket of my jeans. So I pulled them out. I shuffled through the cards. There was one really huge player, with a huge, 1970s-style afro. But he played for a team called the Golden State Suns.

I found a couple of cards with basketball players from the L.A. Lakers. I pointed them out to the man. The first guy was not, I knew, the guy the man was referring to. But he was 6'9", which seemed to me to be pretty huge, as if this player would be one of the biggest people in the NBA. The second guy may actually have been the one the man had been looking for. In fact, I was pretty sure he was, and I was excited to have found him. But he was only 6'8" tall, a whole inch shorter than the first guy. It didn't make sense to me.

Suddenly, where the wall rack had been, there was a front yard for a suburban house. The yard was elevated, so that "ground level" for the yard started at about my shoulder. The yard was bounded by a chain-link fence.

A little chihuahua ran up to the fence and began barking furiously. It scared me and annoyed me a whole lot. There may have been another chihuahua in the yard that was less active than the first chihuahua. Even that chihuahua may have been annoyed by the first chihuahua. Something about the first chihuahua's face really disgusted me, like the nose and a patch of flesh around the nose was mottled or swollen or slimy.

I tried to ignore the chihuahua and continue helping the man. I managed to do so, even over the dog's barking. But then the dog started acting annoying in a different way. It was jealous of the attention I was giving the man. So now it acted all sad and whiny. It was poking its muzzle as far through the fence as it could, hoping that I would pet it or hold out my hand so it could lick my hand. But I was afraid that if I got close to the dog at all, it would bite me.

The whole area had now widened out into an outdoor space something like a rooftop on a big building. There were a couple of tiers on the rooftop. The tiers kind of served as bench-like ledges or stage-like platforms.

I sat at the edge of one of these tiers. I was talking with a young woman, maybe in her mid-twenties. The young woman was practicing to become a psychiatrist. But she may also have been involved in theater in some way. She was thin and pretty, with short, brown-blonde hair.

The woman reminded me of my having spoken with her before in some kind of therapy session and telling her that I had a fetish where I liked to wear Pampers Baby Dry diapers. I vaguely remembered the session -- as if it had been part of a dream I'd had but forgotten. The woman told me she had spoken with some of the more senior psychiatrists, and that they all agreed that my wearing baby diapers was something that should be considered illicit or unacceptable. She told me I should stop doing it altogether.

I told the woman I had no intention of stopping wearing diapers, and that there was nothing illegal or illicit about it. I was afraid that the woman could find some way of hurting me, getting me in trouble for my fetish. But I wasn't going to stop just because I was afraid. I could tell the woman was angry and disgusted with me. I looked off to my left. There was a group of men and women playing some kind of silly game. I thought it might be fun to join them.

***

UPDATE: Added illustration to dream #3, September 28, 2012, 7:25 AM, Mountain Standard Time.

bedroom and bookshop; anger at office

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was in a bedroom in an apartment that was probably my apartment. It felt like a really nice, big apartment on a high up floor in some busy part of a big city. The ceilings were high. I may have been kneeling on the floor and looking up toward my right, to a tall, narrow window with shutters and some kind of gauzy curtains around it. It was night, and my bedroom lights were on.

I was apparently doing something perverted in my room. I might actually have been wearing a wedding dress. I was worried that the people in the apartments across the street from me would see into my room and see what I was doing. The gauzy curtains were drawn over the windows. I couldn't quite convince myself that this was enough. I thought I might draw something more over the window. But I didn't want to stand in front of the window and have people see me. So I just kept crouching.

I was now walking into a small bookshop in some small, but clean and quaint, kind of Main Street area, like in a small town. I had been in the bookstore before, and I knew that the woman who worked there knew me. In fact, I kind of worried that I'd been coming to the bookstore too often, and that the woman would start to think I was some crazy guy who was attracted to her.

The bookshop had small bookshelves, all through the front room, like in the children's section of a public library. Some guy was working between one of the shelves and a big window wall off to my right. I didn't see the guy at first. But then he stood up from behind the shelves. I figured that since the guy was working today, the woman wouldn't be here. I was a little let down. The woman would know me and treat me somewhat indifferently. But I was worried that the guy would eventually get suspicious toward me or start trying to annoy me.

But then the woman showed up. I tried to act like I wasn't very aware of her. I walked into some other room, off to my left. There were tall shelves in this room. But against a wall off to my right was a waist-high bookshelf that held books on mysticism and spirituality. I knelt down and looked at some of those books. They were all paperbacks, kind of old. Some of them had covers more indicative of science or business books than of spiritual books. One book may have been written by W.B. Yeats, although I may have thought of him as a business writer instead of as a poet.

Dream #2

I was in an office. The office was one room, maybe ten meters long and five meters wide. There were two long tables set up in it: one at the center of the room, and the other on the right side of the room. People sat working at computers all along these two tables. I sat at a computer in the corner of the room, at the end of the table along the right wall.

Some of my co-workers began discussing how they might get me to do some of their work for them. They were mumbling this to themselves, as if they thought I couldn't hear them. I got mad. I knew they were going to try and find a way to dump a bunch of work on me without asking me beforehand whether I could do it.

Now one of my co-workers, a guy about my age, tried to play friendly with me, to butter me up before all the work got dumped on me. I was wearing a hoodie. The man walked up behind me and pulled the hood over my head. The man just thought he was making a funny joke. But something about it really pissed me off and panicked me.

The guy had walked back to his desk and sat down, like he'd realized he'd done something dumb, but that he didn't think it was a big deal. But I followed the guy to his desk and began screaming and yelling at him. I also began yelling at everybody I thought was in on the plans to get all their work dumped on me. Among these people was some woman who sat near the guy.

I walked back to my desk. I now noticed that one of my old co-workers, DE, was sitting at the computer to my left. He began typing on his phone. I knew he was gossiping about how violent I had just been. IWL he had always criticized me for being too emotional in situations that made me uncomfortable.

Now the woman who was among the people I had screamed at walked up to me and asked me about something not work related. It may have had to do with some kind of university course she was taking. The woman had a binder filled with papers of about the same consistency as coloring book paper. The papers all dealt with psychological disorders.

The woman asked me how I'd interpret some kind of diagnostic passage relating to some kind of specific mental disease. She read it in a mumbling kind of voice. I tried to catch everything she said, especially because I felt she was trying to "catch" me or "expose" me somehow as not being smart enough to understand her studies. But it sounded like she'd only read half of the text. It even seemed like she got discouraged about halfway through reading and just walked back to her desk.

So now I stood up and walked toward her desk. I was starting to piece together what the woman had read, and everything started to sound familiar to me. I was pretty sure I knew what disease the woman had been talking about. I asked the woman for the book. I looked things over. The woman said that the one thing she wasn't understanding was where it said this disease, which was purely psychogenic, caused an actual physical decay of the brain.

I told the woman that this was correct: that this disease did lead to a physical decay of the brain. Now everybody was listening. Everybody seemed to be pretty shocked that the disease could do this. But I said it wasn't such a strange thing. I began discussing how the abuse of certain drugs could also lead to conditions where people developed decay in their brains.