snowy airport; the crumbling model city

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was with my family in a car. It was a cold, grey day. A lot of snow had accumulated on the ground. It may still have been snowing a little bit. The clouds hung thick and low.

I may have been in the backseat, on the driver's side, but I may also have been in the driver's seat. We were driving to the airport so I could catch a flight out of town (and "back home" to New York?).

I was also going to meet a friend of mine, probably my old friend Y, at the airport. Both Y and I seemed to be coming to this airport from another airport. We had scheduled our layovers together, and we were both heading into the same city as a final destination, but we may not have been taking the same plane into the city.

But now I was, due to some delays from my family, feeling like I wasn't going to get to the airport on time. I felt like I was going to miss seeing Y during the layover. But something made me think that maybe this wasn't right. If Y was getting into the airport during bad weather like this, chances were her plane would be delayed.

As I thought about this stuff and spoke to my mom about it all, I looked out the window. My view had subtitles at the bottom, in both English and Chinese, or maybe in English and Japanese.

We were just now pulling into the parking lot of the airport. But it looked like a parking lot for a Walmart. A lot of cars were in the parking lot. There were also huge drifts of snow everywhere, where the snow plows had piled up the shoveled snow.

I started to worry a little about my plane departing on time. The weather was really bad, and the airport appeared to be packed. Were there going to be delays on everything?

Now the thick, grey clouds, which had hung very low before, dropped even lower. The top of the airport was obscured by the clouds. But the clouds dropped even lower, until there was no visibility only a meter or so above the roof of the car.

This was very strange and disturbing, but also exciting, in a way. I made a joke about it to my family, saying that we had no visibility at six feet. But, really, I was now more panicked than ever about my flight. I feared that the fog would come all the way to the ground. But it seemed to be holding steady, if not lifting up a bit, now.

Dream #2

I was in a room with an older, Asian man. The room was very tall. Along the walls was a structure like scaffolding. This structure was the beginning of some new building, or even some new city. The man spoke to me about an earthquake he'd felt recently. I hadn't been here to feel it.

The man now had to leave. He would return. I was put in charge of watching or developing the scaffolding structure while he was gone.

I had gone up to a balcony level of this building to do some studying. The balcony looked directly over the tall room where the scaffolding structure was. The balcony faced the wall against which the scaffolding structure stood. On the left wall of the tall room was some other tall structure, made of something else and done in a different style.

The balcony area was like a bedroom, with a bed, a desk, and an entertainment center. I probably lay on the bed with a book, preparing to study.

But just then an earthquake hit. I looked over the balcony to see the scaffolding structure -- which now had little facades of pale wood in between each square of scaffold skeleton -- crumble and fall to the ground.

I had suspected this would happen: the structure had been in the early stages of development. It wasn't yet strong enough to withstand an earthquake. Still, it was a terrible inconvenience that the structure had crumbled completely.

I also watched a TV fall off the structure on the left wall and crash to the ground. The TV fell on its face. I hoped the TV wouldn't break.

I now sat back in the room. I had a TV in this room now. It was playing some video starring a man like George Takei. The man was explaining the reconstruction of something after a disaster.

My view faded into a huge apartment in New York City. The apartment seemed to be as large as an entire building floor. But it was cluttered with junk and not very well taken care of. There seemed to be a party going on here. I recognized a lot of my old friends from college.

I walked up to the kitchen, where I saw my old friend ML at the sink. Over the sink was a wooden board, on which lay either a slab of cooked pork or else an entire roast pig. I grabbed some chunks of the pork and began eating it. It had a good barbequed taste.

ML mentioned that my brother had actually cooked this pork. I now remembered that my brother had made a hobby of mastering the cooking of pork. He had become known among my friends for it, as well, actually. ML told me a story of how my brother had roast an entire pig.

Now another friend, MV, walked up and told me how he had been surprised at how good the pork cooked by my brother had tasted on another occasion. MV had been surprised: my brother had always seemed to lack motivation. But he had a real passion for cooking pork.

MV told me, "I asked your brother, 'Hey man, how'd you learn to cook your pork so good?' And your brother replied, 'Goth, man, goth.'" This was a joke that was, apparently, characteristic of my brother. I laughed really hard at the joke.

I pulled up another piece of pork (the meat was really dark red, and it had a fish-like, ribbed texture). As I ate the pork I thought I really had eaten too much meat, and that I'd need to stop eating. My stomach would be in bad shape if I kept eating like this.

seduced by my psychiatrist?

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was in a hospital. Possibly whatever I had been there for was all taken care of. But I don't know whether I was trying to leave. It seems to me now like I was going up and down in an elevator. I was confused somehow about where I was going on the elevator. Someone else may also have gotten on the elevator and made the elevator go in a different direction from the one I wanted.

Eventually I was outside the hospital. I got into a car with my family. It was a black night. Now it may have been like both my mom and I had been in the hospital. We had somehow brought toys from the hospital for my nephews and niece.

My niece pointed out something wrong with her toy. Her toy was some kind of male action figure. The problem with the toy may have been something in the packaging, like there was a hole or tear in the clear plastic around the action figure. My niece pointed this out to me as if to imply that by giving her a toy with this kind of fault, I was showing that I didn't care about her.

I felt bad that my niece felt this way. I believe my niece (who is only four years old) told me that if I wanted to fix things, I should go to my psychiatrist. My niece may also have told me that there was something going on in my psychiatrist's life that my psychiatrist really wanted to tell me about. My psychiatrist may even have asked my niece to tell me to come see her.

So I went to my psychiatrist's house. My psychiatrist opened the door. She was in a white nightgown. She hadn't expected to see me here, since I hadn't made an appointment or anything. But she let me into the house. She led me through a lit living room, through a room like a study, which was unlit, and into a room I thought at first was a visiting room, but which was actually a bedroom. The room was almost totally dark.

I could hear a football game blaring in the living room. I thought my psychiatrist had been watching the game. I told her that I was sorry I was interrupting the game. I said I didn't need to see her right now, if she'd rather see the game. I was just told to come over here, so I did so as soon as possible.

My psychiatrist said it was no problem, that she was actually glad I'd come. I could tell she really wanted to tell me something, but I couldn't guess what. Part of me thought that she really wanted me here because she wanted to have sex with me.

My psychiatrist said she'd turn on the lights so that we could see each other in her visiting room. She flicked a light switch on. No lights came on. The room was still dark. But my psychiatrist and I were both satisfied, as if the lights had come on.

I could see that my psychiatrist was wearing a protective paper or cloth mask over her mouth and nose. This kind of scared me. I realized that maybe what my psychiatrist wanted to tell me was that she had some kind of really bad illness. My psychiatrist's nightgown, I noticed, was also very sheer. My psychiatrist was wearing white panties, which I could see very plainly. I was really turned on, and I began to hope that my psychiatrist actually did want to have sex with me.

My psychiatrist sat on her bed, with her back propped up against the headboard and her legs stretched out on the mattress. She said she'd been in the hospital all day today. It seemed to me she was feeling pretty depressed. I wasn't really interested about talking about my own problems anymore. I really felt bad for coming to talk about them now, while my psychiatrist was in such bad condition. All I wanted to do was make sure she was okay.

My psychiatrist, though, seemed reluctant to give any details about her own condition. It seemed like she had asked me to talk about myself, like she was really trying to carry on a session between her and me. But she was also still talking about her condition, or at least making her own anguish known through her body language.

She now flopped down and rolled over on the bed, so that she was face down on the bed, laying sideways across the mattress, instead of with her head at the headboard and her feet at the baseboard. For some reason, I took this as another indication that my psychiatrist wanted to have sex with me. I thought I should get on top of her while she was in this position.

hotel liquor; meeting michael jackson; scrumbly liver; not meeting michael jackson

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was cleaning a recently vacated hotel with a young woman. The hotel room was really big. It looked more like a big living room in a house. But it was kind of dim and run down. It was cluttered with all kinds of personal belongings, more like you'd expect in a home. The room was on the ground floor. The front door was open, letting in a bit of bright summer light.

I stood on the far side of the bed, in a small space between the bed and the wall. The young woman stood on the other side of the bed, possibly rifling around through papers on a desk or something. I noticed that on the right (my right) wall there was a little niche, with a little space created for a wet bar. On the bar was a tray with tall glasses full of liquor. The liquor, I knew, was Johnny Walker. But it had been dumped into something like chocolate milk.


I grabbed one of the glasses and started to drink the liquor. Either the young woman or I myself may have started to wonder whether I should really be doing that. I didn't know if I should really be drinking any liquor right now. But I also didn't know whether it was considered stealing if I drank stuff that people had left out after they'd vacated the place.


Dream #2


I was down in the basement area of a big building. I was walking through an area with a lot of janitorial supplies. The light was a very dim, very green fluorescent. As I was about to reach a doorway into another room, someone called from behind me.


I turned around to see who it was. It was a very skinny, frightened looking person. He was all bundled up, so at first I couldn't see who he was. But then I realized it was Michael Jackson. But he was in disguise. I don't even think he wanted me to know it was him.

Michael asked if I could lead him to some place, I can't remember where. I said I could. We walked through the doorway. I started thinking about leading Michael Jackson around. I was pretty excited. But I didn't want to show that I was excited. I didn't even want to show that I knew it was Michael.


I was also a little worried that I'd act like a big know-it-all, which is a major fault of mine when I'm leading groups. Usually it turns out that I don't know anything at all. I didn't want to act like a know-it-all in front of Michael Jackson. And I didn't want to turn out not knowing anything at all in front of Michael Jackson. So I was just trying to be as careful as possible with everything I did.


Dream #3


I had been walking around in some town for a little while. But now I had sat down for a moment to take a rest. It was a nice, sunny day. I was on the downside of some steep slope, looking across the street at a block of small shops. There were a decent amount of people walking up and down the slope.


I had kind of lost myself in thought -- possibly coming up with an idea for a story to write, or something like that. But now I realized that I'd been sitting in one place for too long. If you did that, I thought, people would start to think you were a vagrant. They'd get the police after you.


So I stood up and walked down the slope. I knew that I was headed somewhere in particular. Wherever I was going, money would be needed. I had to grab my money, ID, and phone out of my purse (???) or bookbag.


But when I pulled my bag around in front of me and began rifling through it, I heard somebody marching up from behind me with a very violent-sounding step. I thought that someone saw I had money and that they were going to mug me. So I turned all the way around and walked off the sidewalk, so I could get a clear view of the person.


The person was a black woman, maybe in her early forties, with short hair done in a squarish cut, with flowing curls. She was wearing clothing that somehow indicated she was in the military. I realized that the woman's walk was just a brisk, military-style walk. But the woman also realized that she had frightened me with her walk. She gave me a little apology. I told her not to worry about it.


I felt the need to follow the woman. She headed toward a building that was only a few steps away from us. It was, I knew, some kind of military building. The woman was a building inspector for the military.

As soon as we reached the building, the woman began her inspection. Before we even got in the door, the woman found a fault. The doors were automatic doors, the old swinging-door kind, like in old grocery stores. But there was some sort of issue with the caulking somewhere on the ground in front of the doors.

The woman groaned a bit and said something like, "Oh no. Already?" I don't think she liked giving places bad reviews. But I think she knew she'd have to give this place one.

As we walked through the automatic doors, I was trying to get a closer look at the woman. I was trying, I think, to find out what branch of the military she was in. But now she was wearing a black jacket with yellow lettering on the back. It seemed only vaguely related to the military. I was pretty sure she was wearing a military uniform. So I thought if I could just look at her front, I could tell from her uniform what branch she was in.

But as soon as we got inside the center, the woman quickly bustled away. The center had the same kind of atmosphere as an old, run-down post office. But it was almost completely empty. At the back of the room were some counters with plexiglass window-walls to protect the workers who dealt with the customers. And at the front of the room may have been a wooden bench.

The woman called out to someone at the back of the room that she was here for the inspection. The person acknowledged the woman. The woman walked to the opposite wall of the room and went in through a door over there.

I figured I'd wait for the woman. Just inside the room, just to the right of the automatic doors, was a TV. The TV hung from the ceiling, which was maybe three and a half meters high. Three old people stood huddled together, watching the TV. I think it was two women and a man. Something about the old people being here made me think that this place was a center for military veterans. It was like a place where they came to pick up their benefits, or else have some sense of community.

The TV reception was really bad. But the old people must have been watching the TV, because I'm pretty sure they were mumbling back and forth with each other about the show they were watching. But when the reception got so bad that the screen was nothing but a bunch of liquidy static, I turned off the TV. Apparently I was holding the remote control for the TV. I thought the old people would much rather have the TV off than have it all staticky.

The old people didn't reproach me for turning off the TV. They simply started mumbling among themselves about how they'd really been looking forward to some TV show. Feeling kind of bad, I turned the TV back on. I began flipping through the channels, trying to find one for the old people that wasn't all staticky.

But somehow the old people made me understand that I wasn't supposed to find a channel that wasn't staticky. I was supposed to fix the TV so that the channels generally wouldn't be staticky. The remote control was some kind of bulky box. It had wheel-knobs on it. I was supposed to spin those to adjust the reception and control of the TV image.

I must have gotten to a point where the image was alright for basically any channel. It was night outside. It may even have been snowing. Something about the light in the center may even have felt like Christmas lights.

I asked the old people what they wanted to watch. They all said they'd been watching a cooking show with some famous chef. They just kept telling me, in a kind of half-hearted, mumbly way, "Find us the channel where the chef is cooking liver."

I flipped through a few different channels. One channel was a cowboy movie. There were a few cooking show channels. Then I finally found a channel where someone was cooking liver. The "liver" was two wide, flat pieces of meat bubbling in a frying pan full of grease. The meat looked like seared pieces of Spam. But it was also a little grainy-looking, like the grease it was cooking in was accumulating on the surface of the meat.

The old people were trying to figure out if this was the correct show. One of them said, "Does the liver look scrumbly?" "Scrumbly" was apparently some nonsense word that meant cute, even cuddly, but in a way directly related to food.

Another old person said, "Oh, yeah. That looks scrumbly. He's cooking the food really scrumbly."

"Then this is the right show, if the food looks scrumbly."

I watched the liver frying in the pan. I may have been watching the show really closely by this time, just trying to figure out, I think, how the heck you determined whether food looked "scrumbly."

Dream #4

I walked into some big room. I had come from a back area, possibly a back hallway or a room full of supplies. The room was like a big convention room in a hotel. But it may have felt like it opened directly outside.

The room was being used, at least for today, as something like a coffee shop. There was a line of folding tables set up across the back of the room. The tables would be coffee-serving areas. But there may also have been other items on the tables, such as t-shirts. I was apparently one of the people who'd be working this event, serving people coffee and so forth. The event hadn't started yet. We were still getting everything set up.


I was standing behind the table, working with a young man. The young man was white, kind of pale, and skinny. He was either working fast or giving the appearance of working fast. There was a young woman, whom I eventually may have thought of as my old friend Y, in front of the table. She was kind of like the manager of this event.

The young man told us how, earlier that day, he had seen some really big celebrity. I can't remember if the young man had been excited at all. But we somehow got talking about being excited around celebrities, but not really showing it.

I said, "The only celebrity I think I'd get really giddy around -- and I just couldn't avoid it -- would be... Janet Jackson."

By this time the young man was no longer paying attention to the conversation. I got the impression that he'd really only mentioned his celebrity sighting to impress our manager, because she was a girl.

I tried to explain to the manager how I really had a crush on Janet Jackson. So if I saw her, I probably wouldn't be able to hold back about my crush on her.

I continued, "For instance, today I met --"

I suddenly didn't want to say out loud in front of everybody that I'd met Michael Jackson. But, thankfully, the manager (as if she were trying not to pay attention to the conversation), walked into the back area. The manager was the only person I wanted to tell. So I followed her into the back area.

The manager had walked behind a couple of wheeled garbage cans and was standing between a floor-level mop sink and a regular, metal-basin sink. I followed the manager to that point. I myself kind of felt like a woman now. I felt like I was wearing all kinds of clothing, like a head covering and everything. I had my hands folded together like I was praying. And I was quivering with the girlish pleasure of gossip.

I told my manager, "Just today, I met Michael Jackson. He needed help getting somewhere. And I knew it was him. But he was disguised. He was trying to act like he really wasn't Michael Jackson. But I had to lead him somewhere. But I just acted really calm about it."

My manager said, "Yeah... What I'd tell you is that... if someone is all disguised and they're trying to act like they're not somebody, then you have one of two possibilities. One possibility is that they really are that person, and that they're just disguised. The other possibility is that they really aren't that person, and they're just trying to act like they are."

I understood that the manager meant that, in the case of Michael Jackson, there were so many rumors about him walking around disguised, that people had started walking around in "Michael Jackson disguise" disguises. So if you met someone you thought was Michael Jackson in disguise, it was probably just a Michael Jackson impersonator.

I asked the manager, "So... in this case..?"

The manager said, "In this case, I'd say it was definitely not Michael Jackson."

***

UPDATE: Added drawing for dream #2, July 16, 2012, 2:11 PM, Mountain Standard Time.

fushizen na boy; rock star business card; TV truck crash; garbage bag nostalgia

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was either myself or some guy kind of like me, but maybe with paler skin, more stubble, and a knobbier, but still skinny, body.

I was walking through a crowd of people. The people were all heading off somewhere in the same direction, kind of like they had gotten off the train and were now heading to work.

I was walking in the opposite direction. But as I moved through the crowd, they all seemed to part for me. It wasn't like they were paying attention to me. They didn't even seem to be aware of me. They just moved out of my way.

All this time I was doing the arm movements from the chorus section of the j-pop band Perfume's song "Fushizen na Girl."

Watch "Perfume Fushizen Na Girl with Lyrics *Q*" on YouTube

I was kind of shocked that I knew how to do these movements. But I was also worried that people would know I was doing dances from a girl's song. I wondered if they would think I was weird.

Dream #2

I was in some place like a brewery-grill kind of bar. The place was really big, with a light, airy feel to it, and with brick walls. But it was packed with people. There was something like a singing contest going on. But even though the atmosphere was packed and a little competitive, there seemed to be very little tension. Everybody seemed to be having a good time.

The singing contest was apparently for amateurs. But there were some professional rock singers who were also performing as part of the show.

From behind me came the voice of a woman who was pretty insistent about the fact that she used to be a rock star. She was kind of tall and kind of overweight. She had kind of short, really frizzy, brown-black hair. She looked almost like a guy wearing an afro wig and trying to pass himself off as a woman. The insistent woman seemed to be making rather matter-of-fact demands for something because she'd been a rock star. But I didn't think she was a big deal.

The MC for the show was also a famous rock singer. She looked like the Malaysian pop star Atilia Haron, except with dark black and blonde hair and a darker complexion. She was very kind with everybody in the audience. I got the feeling that she thought of herself as a kind of mother and mentor for all the contestants.

I had originally been standing near the front of the audience and near the center of the stage. But now I was sitting on a stool kind of away and off to the right of the stage. There was a good amount of open space in front of me, like a little clearing where people might dance. But all around that space the crowd was still full.

But across the empty space I saw another woman. She sat on a stool as well. She had her elbows propped up on the stage like the stage was a counter. She looked like a mix between Atilia and the Japanese R&B singer Toko Furuuchi. I knew she was really famous. But nobody seemed to be paying attention to her.

Somebody, possibly on stage, had been speaking with this woman, possibly letting her know that her turn to perform was coming up. But she seemed really shy about performing, for some reason.

But now from behind me came the voice of the insistent woman with the frizzy, black hair. Somebody like an event staff member had asked her who she was, possibly so the staff member could get the insistent woman coordinated for some part of the performance.

But the woman said in her normal loud but matter-of-fact way, "I don't like to say out loud who I am, because I don't want people getting all excited about me and following me all over the place. I'd rather just give you my card and let you read who I am. That way it stays secret and quiet."

I knew this was silliness. The woman spoke loud to draw attention to herself. And she used the secrecy to get people interested in figuring out who she might be.

But the woman now handed me her business card. I was, I somehow knew, supposed to hand the card off to the person the woman had been speaking to. This person was up on stage.

I reflexively, naturally took the card and brought it over to the pretty girl on the stool near the stage. The girl probably then handed the business card up to some guy on stage. During the exchange, I caught a glimpse of the insistent woman's first name -- something like "Marisol."

Dream #3

I was in a car with my mom. My mom was driving. I was in the front passenger seat. We were driving along a highway during the daytime.

I had been speaking with my mom about something like giving her $75. This was probably money I owed her. But I had felt it was important to give my mom this money because it seemed like she really needed it for something. I felt like I had just barely gotten the money on time so that my mom could do whatever she'd needed to do.

But now that I'd given my mom the money (or now that it was settled that I'd give her the money?), my mom began talking about some big TV she and my sister were planning on getting. The $75 would put them right in the range of getting the TV.

My mom talked about this TV like it was so great. But I felt betrayed. I thought my mom had really needed the money. But now she was just using it to go out and buy a TV. I was getting anrgier and angrier. I felt like I was about to start yelling at my mom.

We seemed to be getting off the highway, heading onto some exit ramp. There was a huge semi-truck in front of us. The truck seemed to stop all of the sudden.

We had been going really fast. My mom tried to stop the car as soon as she saw the truck stop. But the car was going too fast. We were veering toward the truck's rear end. I knew we were definitely going to crash. But as we approached the truck, I hoped the crash would only be minor.

Dream #4

I was in some place like a kind of dimly lit kitchen. The kitchen seemed to be pretty quiet. But it felt like some kind of party was winding down in some other room. There were no lights on in the kitchen. The only light seemed to be coming from this other room.

I was having some conversation in my head. I was probably talking through some old and recent memories. I thought about how I'd recently come back home after living in New York City. But now I was thinking about moving back to New York City.

I was thinking about the sadness this might cause for the people close to me in my hometown. But I was trying to justify to these people, in my head, why I needed to move back. As I was doing this I was either licking or thinking about licking the orange dishsoap that had dripped and slimed down the side of a large dishsoap bottle that sat near the sink.

I was now standing over a plastic garbage can. I was in a kitchen. But this kitchen was big and well-lit. My old friend R and his wife L may have been sitting at a table in the kitchen.

I was tying up bags that were in the garbage can. On the left side of the can there seemed to be three bags. On the right side there was just one bag. The three bags on the left side were pretty easy to tie up. But they were kind of like grocery bags, way too small for an outdoor-sized garbage can like this one. The garbage in all the bags seemed to be recyclable materials, like plastic 2-liter soda bottles.

I was having a conversation, either out loud or in my head, with R. It may have had to do with disappointing my family or making them sad. But my R was also trying to work some angle into the conversation. He was looking for some way to take advantage of me, or to stop me from having success in anything I did. I had to monitor everything I was saying very carefully, I felt, so that I didn't say anything to give R an advantage.

I may have started talking with L as well. It seemed a lot nicer to be talking with her, even though I was probably still wary.

I had now moved to tying up the garbage bag on the right side of the garbage can. This bag was really full, and it was a lot harder to tie it shut. I struggled with it for a while, never, I think, quite getting the thing shut.

hospital television

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I woke up in a hospital. I got up and began walking around the hallways. The first hallway I walked through was golden with sunlight. There were people all around. But I didn't feel crowded. Everybody was taking care of their own business. I felt like I was left to myself.

I had apparently had some sort of surgery. I may have woken up from the surgery, or I may have woken up from a long convalescence following my surgery.

People may have been worried whether I'd survive at all. But now I seemed to be completely fine. I may actually have been looking for a doctor or nurse. I may have thought that I was going to be checked out of the hospital this morning.

I wandered down another hallway, possibly on the opposite side of the building. from the hallway I'd been walking down. This hallway was much dimmer. The sun didn't reach through the hospital rooms out into the hallway as it did on the other side of the building.

I wandered into a room where a father and a couple of his children were sitting on a couple beds and watching TV. The room was bright with daylight. I could see through a window to the suburban street below. The father and children didn't seem sick. I had the feeling they were actually waiting for the mother of the family to get well.

I think I had been looking for a doctor in this room. Since I hadn't found one, I walked out and into another room. This room was near the first room, but on the adjacent corner with the other room. This room was a bit dimmer than the first room.

There were people in the room, and the attitude -- one of waiting for somebody -- seemed to be like that of the first room. But one of the people in this room was definitely ill and being treated. This person may actually have been gravely ill. I wasn't as interested in this room as I'd been in the first room. So I left.

I walked back into the first room. I may have paid more attention to the room this time. The room seemed to be divided -- only by means of room shape and a couple square columns in the room -- into two distinct halves. The father and kids sat on two beds in the left half of the room. The family watched a television set that stood in the right half of the room.

I looked down to the family. The beds had only white sheets on them. The family was all sprawled out and relaxed. The father may have been in his mid thirties, a little chubby, but kind of worn-out looking.

One of the kids caught my eye. She was a little girl, maybe six or seven years old. She was tiny and skinny, with short, blonde hair. She lay on her stomach on the bed. She wore only a tiny t-shirt and a pair of pink panties.

The sight of the girl's bottom was arousing me. I decided to look away from the girl, so I wouldn't get in trouble with the dad. I stood behind one of the square columns, kind of to hide from the family, so they wouldn't even be aware that I was in the room.

I looked toward the TV. Something about the TV made me think that this room was a common room. I may have thought that any room in the hospital that had a TV in it was a common room.

The TV was playing some kind of children's channel. Somehow I managed to get the idea of what a few different shows on this channel were like. All the shows seemed to be live-action, studio-style shows, like the old Nickelodeon show You Can't Do That on Television. But many of them also had an anime-like, or Power Rangers-like, edge to them somehow.

I was really interested in seeing more of these shows. But I started to get the feeling that if I stuck around watching children's programming for too long, somebody would accuse me of being a pervert. I wondered myself whether I was a pervert for liking children's shows. But I somehow justified myself to myself by saying that I was planning on subscribing to this channel as soon as I got home.

I walked out of the room and back down the dim hallway. It suddenly occurred to me that I'd been away from my own room for a long time now. I could imagine my room, with some of my clothes, and possibly some kind of round-brimmed camping or fishing hat, folded up on my bed.

I thought to myself that in the time I'd been gone, the doctors may have come looking for me. They may have wanted to check me out of the hospital. But if I was away from my room for too long, they'd decide they'd need to come back later on to check me out. In that case I'd have to wait for hours to get out of here. I may already have missed my chance to leave. But, I told myself, if I hurried back to my room I could possibly catch someone who could check me out.

unlocking door

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was in the hallway of an apartment complex. I stood out in front of the door to the apartment I was staying at. The apartment probably wasn't mine.

I had to make sure the apartment door was locking well. I think I had been asked to do this by the people I was living with. But I think I also wanted to do it because I felt territorial about the place, and I felt like it wasn't well enough protected.

The lock was high up on the door. I had to reach over my head to get to it. The lock had something to do with pressing in a button. There may have been a problem with the button, though, like it was pressing too far into the wall or something. This was what I had to investigate and fix.

I walked inside the door and looked up. I saw how a steel rod, maybe 1/2 centimeter in diameter, would poke through the doorjamb. I could see the rod was long, and that it poked out really far from the wall.

I must have done something, because now I just went into the living room. I had to wait for whatever the results were of whatever I'd done to fix the door.

One of the people who lived in the apartment sat in the room with me. She was a woman who, IWL, lived with one of my good friends, H. The room was dark. The woman, T, sat in a big, leather chair. A television was placed on a set of shelves or something, just over the head of the chair.

Something about how T was sitting or what T was doing while she sat was blocking my view of the TV. I didn't think I could wait here for a long time while whatever was supposed to happen to the door happened.

Finally I decided I had waited long enough -- even though I probably knew I really hadn't. I stood up and went to the door to see how things turned out.

hands off my smartphone

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was in a McDonald's, probably during the late afternoon. The sunlight streaming in through the windows was a really intense, raspy yellow. I sat at one of the long booths against a wall. Nobody else was in the booth with me, all the way along the wall. But I probably felt like I was with other people, a group of people, maybe teenagers, who were kind of annoying to me, even though they may have liked me. I may have been trying to eat something chickeny or fishy, like a chicken strip or something.

I was now on a bus. But the bus' seating was almost like the seating for a large airplane. There were three rows of seats, at least. I sat near the back, near the right hand side of the bus. The atmosphere of the bus was grey, with grey seats that had reddish patterns on them. Whole TVs (I guess) were inset into molded fixtures that jutted down from the ceiling of the bus.

I was typing out a dream on my phone. The format for the blog I was posting onto was kind of weird. It looked like a form. There were a number of different, small blanks. I may have had to fill different parts of my dream into the different blanks.

I was remembering my dream as I wrote it down. I had been thinking of a dialogue I'd had in the dream with some woman. I'd mostly been writing the dialogue as a discussion of what we'd said, rather than the actual speech. But now I remembered that I had actually heard something the woman had said. So I decided to quote it.

I erased a part of the text that I'd entered into one of the small form-blanks. I tried to replace the text with the statement "Then she said, '". But I messed up somehow and entered a capital B, then the opening quotes. I tried to erase this and redo it. But I may have messed up again.

A kind of tall, fat, white man sitting to my left began grabbing at my phone. The man had a short, stubble-scraggly beard and kind of messy red-brown hair. He wore a black, leather jacket and small, rectangular lensed sunglasses. He said something like, "What are you doing there, writing a blog?" But he said it in a kind of mocking way. It was plain he just wanted to take my phone and screw around with it, just to mess with me.

I fumbled away from the man, almost dropping my phone. The man wouldn't stop coming at my phone, though. He reached at me and said stuff in a kind of mocking tone about how I wasn't any good at manipulating the format of the blog.

I got mad at the man and told him to leave me and my phone alone. The man wouldn't really listen to me. I was a little scared by the guy constantly reaching at me. This was stopping me from getting very loud. But the bus was full of people. I figured that if I could yell, I could attract the attention of other people, who might try to stop the man, or at least stare at him until he was too ashamed to continue bugging me.

So I managed to get my emotions together and haltingly shout out, as if I were addressing the other passengers more than the man, "Get your hands off my phone!"

Everybody looked back at me. They seemed to be more shocked that I had the audacity to shout on a crowded bus than they were that somebody would be lunging at my phone. But I was encouraged by having gotten their attention. So I continued yelling "at the man." I made my statement a little more of an offensive statement against the man this time. The only reaction it got from the other passengers, though, was a few chuckles.

The man kept coming at me. He really wanted to take my phone and mess around with it. He just kept grabbing and grabbing at me.

I stood up now, frustrated as hell. I wasn't counting on the other passengers to help me. But I yelled anyway, in hopes that they would help me. But again my shout was violent: "If you don't stop grabbing at me, I'm gonna give you a black eye!"

The crowd all laughed loudly now. It was like they actually approved of everything the man was doing to me. I really wanted to hit the man. But I didn't know if I could hurt him. And if I did hurt him, I thought, everybody on the bus would just turn against me and blame me for being violent.

I sat back down. But as soon as I did, the man started grabbing at me again. Finally, an Asian man sitting across the aisle from the man grabbed the man and shook him by his left shoulder. The Asian man was kind of clean-cut, possibly wearing business clothes. He was apparently the fat man's friend. But while shaking the man, he shouted in an annoyed voice, "Come on man, stop it! I told you already. It's twenty!"