reassuring prince

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I may have been working, standing amid aisles of shelves, like shelves in a store. There were a few other people with me. There were one wall of shelves and display racks and then a series of aisles perpendicular to the wall. I stood staring at the wall of shelves. Something like clear, plastic packets full of papers and study materials hung from the display racks on the wall.

We had to do something like sort papers or make sure that papers were in the right places. This all may have had to do with studies we were doing for reports, like dissertations, each of us was writing. But one of my co-workers thought he had put one of the papers in the wrong place. He was now completely upset and panicking.

I knew that the panicking co-worker was the pop artist Prince. I went to go talk to him, to assure him that everything was alright. I turned away from the wall and walked down one of the aisles. I then turned left and up another aisle, the shelves of which were full of salty snacks, like potato chips and onion rings. Prince was just walking down the aisle. He had long, black, disheveled hair and a thin mustache. He wore a purple bodysuit with a steep, v-necked, lapeled collar that opened all the way down to his sternum.

I knew what Prince had done. I knew he'd thought he'd organized something in an incorrect way. He probably had organized something in an unusual way. But he hadn't necessarily done it the wrong way. I called out to Prince, telling him to calm down, that everything was cool.

I held out my fist, so Prince could tap his fist's knuckles against mine, to show me he understood he was cool. I noticed that Prince had a gold ring on his middle finger. The design of the ring was a gold disc with an upward-pointing pentagram inside of it.

I was now off to the left of the aisles, past an empty gap of floor space, kneeling at the end cap of another aisle. On a low shelf was a tray of meats and cheeses. I picked up some slices of turkey. I tried to pick up slices of Swiss cheese as well. But the slices were so stuck together that I could only tear off fragments. I began laying the fragments down on the slices of turkey. I was going to roll the cheese and turkey together and eat these little turkey roll-ups.

As I did this I could hear someone like a supervisor speaking from the far end of the aisles. The supervisor (probably a woman, but maybe a man) was telling everybody that if they'd done interviews with professors from universities, they were not to treat the paperwork from those interviews the same as if the paperwork for the interviews with people in commercial fields. This had something to do with the fact that professors were, for my co-workers, more than just interview subjects. They were also potential professional contacts.

But someone was continuing to put the professor paperwork into stacks with other paperwork, even as the supervisor was talking. The supervisor kept repeating, "Keep the paperwork separate! Keep the paperwork separate!" The supervisor's voice became more and more insistent. It was like the supervisor was getting more and more urgent and annoyed, but also like the supervisor was becoming more and more convinced that the person working was really too stupid to understand the command.

I felt bad for the person getting chastised. I knew the person wasn't stupid. I even had the feeling that the person was actually doing things correctly. I thought the supervisor may have been too impatient to see that the worker was following directions, just in a different way.

coming back for reports; sitting between guys; internet tattle-tale

Good morning, everybody.


Dream #1


It was a hot, sunny day, probably in some suburban town in the desert. I was driving down a steep slope. I drove behind a family member, possibly my mother. My mom was driving some sporty, red car. Either I had a report or both my mom and I each had a report that needed to get somewhere.


But both our cars got stopped. I don't think it was for speeding. I think there may have been an accident ahead of us, or perhaps my mom's car had gotten into an accident.


My mom was now gone from her car. A police officer (man or woman?) came back to my car. The officer basically told me how this entire incident had been my fault. It seemed like the officer was going to arrest me. But I explained something about getting my report somewhere. Because of the report, the officer let me go, if only temporarily.


I was now inside a house, like everything that had happened had actually happened inside a house. It was night. The house was all dark, except for some dim light that came in through the front window. 


I was walking toward the front door with my report. But I remembered that I needed to take my mom's report as well. Since my mom was gone, she wouldn't be able to take the report herself. 


The report was sitting on the corner of a little breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the living room. But to get the report I actually had to walk up some really steep slope in the house, then go down the slope. The slope was steeper than the staircase up to the second floor. It seemed to float over the staircase. It may also have been invisible.


I came down the slope and grabbed the report. I think my report was small. But my mom's report was very large. I remembered that my report was supposed to go to Michael Aquino. But I don't remember if my mom's report was supposed to go to him, too.


I may have walked out the door of the house. I believe I was talking in my head with some male authority figure. The person may have been Michael Aquino. But he may also have been a tall, young, muscular man with a golden tan and curly, blonde hair. 


I realized I had somehow left my mother's report in the house and on the breakfast bar again. I walked back into the house to get the report. A car may have stood beside the breakfast bar. It may have been a red sports car, like the one my mom had been driving. The passenger side door was open. The tall, blonde man may have been standing beside the car. I may have been continuing my conversation with the man.


Dream #2


It was early morning. The sky was deep blue with pre-sunrise light. I stood out beside a bus in some open space. I walked along the ridged chrome side of the bus and got into the bus. The entire time, I may have been thinking about something I needed to do, like some news I needed to give people, or some report I needed to hand off to people.


I got to some space on the bus. There was one seat open between three men. The men were like stock characters out of a Japanese pink film. They were all dressed like transient people, wearing jackets and skull-caps and baggy clothes like cargo pants.


For some reason, as if because of the position of the seat, but also because of some power of force the men had over me, I had to throw myself, almost like a missile, head first, into the seat. As I did this, the men may either have attacked me or taunted me. 


But then there may have been an understanding among the men that I was protected. I was here under the auspices of a specific person. If anything happened to me, the person who had sent me here would hurt whoever was responsible. This may have caused the men to stop attacking or taunting me.


It could also possibly have been that the men had taken a liking to me, so that they no longer wanted to hurt me. They may even have felt bad about having hurt me in the first place.


Dream #3


There had been three girls in some shadowy room. I could really only see their silhouettes. They had each been talking on a phone. But their phone conversations all had to do with some kind of internet attack. The attack had something to do with me.


I knew that I was going to have to report this attack. The girls all decided to call off the attack. But they were all accusing me of being a tattle-tale. 


I felt bad. I didn't like to think of myself as a tattle-tale. And I didn't want the girls to feel bitter toward me, because I didn't want to have to face the consequences of their bitterness later on.


But I suddenly realized, and I may have shared this news with the girls, that I only knew them by their avatar names. I didn't know their real names, only the names they had used to communicate with people during this attack.


This made the girls feel a little more at ease. They'd decided to stop their attack. And they knew that if they were caught afterwards, their real identities having been found out, that I wouldn't be to blame.