lunchtime in the darkest hour

Dream 1

I may have seen or been in scenes in a movie. There may have been a first scene, in which a man was in some sort of dire situation. He may even have been in prison. But he was apparently writing something, a novel or a screenplay or a song, that would save him.

But the man needed some particular help in one passage of his creative work. It may have been that he needed his old teacher's help with the passage. Or he may have actually written a passage that his teacher would act in or sing.

The man may have been discussing all this with the woman, who was probably black, in a really small room, of which I may only have had an obscured, as if from the corner of a hallway and then through the doorway into the room.

The woman was now in a room with the teacher, an older, black man. The woman may have looked like Dorothy Dandridge. The teacher may have looked like Quincy Jones. The woman was discussing things with the teacher. The teacher was excited about all the ideas the man had. He gave his blessing to the man's work.

But the woman explained that the man actually needed the teacher in the work. The teacher reacted as if a little ashamed of not having understood what the woman had said before. He quickly said that that was okay.

Now my view shifted to me writing in a notebook a pink-covered spiral notebook, exactly like the one I'm currently using for my daily notes. I was lying on the floor on my stomach in some room like a living room, probably with a couch directly to my left, so close my left arm may have been rubbing against it.

The conversation between the woman and the teacher was still taking place, maybe just in my head. But now the conversation was about some passage of a novel or a story I was writing. The passage may have been about how a young man had written a song and then revised the song to make it even better. But I'd taken out a whole passage in the story where the young man's teacher had been convinced by a woman to help the young man out with a certain part of the song.

In the conversation in my head, the teacher told the woman that he'd liked this entire segment of the story -- kind of in three passages: the passage where the young man made the song, the passage where the teacher got involved, and the passage where it became clear that this song was really good.

The teacher said that he was happy helping, but that it was also important that I keep the second passage. He told the woman he knew I had taken out the passage because I was worried that I hadn't edited things down enough. But he said the passage was really good.

I may have been writing everything I was hearing in my notebook. Or I may have been writing notes on the story as I was kind of making a strategy for my writing or editing process. Or I may have been writing this very part of the novel or maybe a part more toward the end of the novel.

But I now realized that I needed to go back and put the second passage of this segment of the story back in. I was kind of relieved at that. I'd really liked that part of the story. But I also wasn't quite sure how I'd be able to find the passage in my notebook and then get everything back in order -- even though I'm pretty sure I was also directly looking at that part in my notebook already.

I was caught up by my mom, who was now sitting up on the couch. Something about her presence put a stop to everything for me. She couldn't know about my writing. She may have been part of some group of authorities who were kind of waiting to see whether I'd write something like this, so they could stop me.

I may have tried to tell my mom I was writing something else. I may have tried to explain this other thing I was writing. But my language may have trailed off. I was really just trying to shake my mom out of my mind so I could get re-focused on my work. But it may have gotten harder and harder as I tried to keep both things in my head to keep track of what was actually happening in my notebook and how I was supposed to rearrange the story to get it back into its good, original order.

There was now some conversation going on on the couch. My mom may still have been there, though as some other person, or she may no longer have been there at all, and a young woman may have been in her place. There were two other people: at least one guy, and maybe one other woman, but maybe one other man. The three people were office workers. This living room with its couch was like their office.

The office workers were complaining about some guy downstairs. The guy may have been a person in another office, in another business. But the people had to deal with him a lot. They didn't like him because he was kind of boisterously nasty, always seeming to get some sort of giddy pleasure out of showing up the office workers. He was often right about the things he said, too, which made the office workers like him even less. I saw the guy in my head: kind of tall and rangy, with olive skin and a close-shaved flat-top of tightly-curled hair. He may have worn a clunky, tan polo shirt.

The office workers were currently really annoyed by something the man had just said. The office workers all knew the man would end up being right. But he'd issued his statement as a bit of a challenge to the office workers. It was also said in a way that shamed the office workers a bit, like they knew they should be doing something about what the man had been talking about, but they really didn't want to. The man may even have said that the office workers were talking to someone they knew they shouldn't have been talking to. And even though they knew this was true, his saying it just made them even more annoyed.

I wasn't a part of this conversation. I was, apparently, one of the office workers. But I was treated like I wasn't a part of their little group. I may have been treated like I wasn't even a part of the company most of the time. I may have been treated like I was just a little kid, or even like I was someone who wasn't wanted around at all.

However, even though I was basically disregarded by my coworkers and was maybe not even wanted around, I still started feeling a little weird and guilty as I listened to them speaking about the man downstairs. I knew how annoying the man could be. But I also knew that we all probably needed to respect some of the things he said a little bit more. But I was guilty feeling this way. I knew my coworkers would feel I was betraying them if they ever knew I had these feelings.

I was now downstairs, all the way on the ground floor of the office building. On the ground floor was a deli-like restaurant. But the seating area for this deli was a lot more like a kind of big casual dining restaurant, like an old Bennigan's or Chili's. But, surrounded by this huge seating area was the deli counter.

The annoying man was working behind the counter. Apparently he owned the deli or was just one of the deli workers. I'd come down here to deliver something or pick something up, like I was performing the duties of the mail room person for my office. There may have been a sense that people were actually trying to get me to do these duties more and more so they could actually take away my current job and throw me into the mail room full-time.

I'd made whatever exchange I was supposed to make with the deli man. I was probably sitting on a bar stool, making small talk with the man. The deli was completely empty. A TV may have been on over the deli counter. The deli man was just doing stuff behind the counter like cleaning up.

The deli man had asked a question. I casually responded in a way that let the man know that the office workers had been annoyed by some of the stuff he'd said. The man acknowledged what I'd said and took a little bit of snide pleasure in my coworkers' annoyance.

But then he got a little more serious. He tried to make the point again that what he'd told the office workers was true and that it should be listened to. He somehow conveyed to me that he thought I was different. He was hoping that by speaking to me a bit more honestly and seriously he could drive the point home that the office workers really needed to think about this stuff.

But I could sense that the man had also sort of given up on the office workers. I could also sense that the man was sort of hoping that he could entice me to come work for him instead of them. But I was doing my best not to convey any sort of interest in working for the man. I was already dumped on enough working with the office workers. I didn't want to imagine what people would start doing to me if I went back to some position like working in a deli.

I had only come down to make whatever exchange I had made with the deli man because it was lunchtime and I was on my way out of the building. I told the man I had to get going so I could grab some lunch.

Then I realized how insensitive what I'd said had been. The deli had no customers at all. I could tell that the deli man was even expecting to have no customers over the course of the day. The deli man was getting less and less business all the time. And now I'd come here just to make some exchange, and not even to buy anything? It seemed mean of me. And I didn't want the deli man to think poorly of me. So I decided I'd get a couple small things and then find some other place to get the rest of my food.

But I already had two hot dog buns in my hands. I had actually already eaten half of one of the buns. I looked sort of back and over my shoulder, into some bag, maybe even a bunchy, black, leather purse I was carrying. In the purse was an entire thing of salami and an entire block of cheddar cheese. There may even have been an entire, unopened jar of Dijon mustard in my purse!

So now I realized I had enough food that I could just get a couple more items from the deli and then just walk somewhere outside, like a park or something, to eat my lunch. That way I could just get a couple things from here, make the guy feel good because I bought something from him, and not risk having the guy hear that I'd gotten food from some other restaurant as well.

I asked the guy for a bottle of soda. I would also get a cookie out of a box atop the glass display case -- which was now really tall, so that I'd had to reach up really high to grab the cookie! As the guy walked away to grab the soda, I calculated that I'd pay $5.86 for everything. That, I thought, was a good amount for the time I'd spent in the deli.

I grabbed the cookie. The cookie was wide and flat, probably a sort of chewy cookie, wrapped in a clear wrapper. But the front of the wrapper said something I found disgusting, like some sort of beef-based meal or something. At first I thought that meant the cookie was flavored like some kind of beef-based meal. I obviously didn't want that. I fumbled to see the next cookie. It also had some kind of meal label, like split-pea soup or something.

I didn't want a cookie that tasted like beef or split-pea soup. But I also felt like, at this point, I just had to grab what I'd ordered and leave. However, I then realized that the label on the package meant what kind of food should be eaten with the cookie. It was like a food pairing suggestion. I could see (maybe even somehow taste) that the cookie in the beef-meal package was a lemon-flavored cookie. I knew I'd like that a lot.

I left the deli. I walked outside and into the dark night. I looked back at the door of the office building (and deli). It was now like I was looking at the display window of a cheap electronics store, like the kind in Times Square (if they still exist). There was an old neon sign advertising the old, clunky electronics.

I may have tried to figure out where the heck I was for a second. The street was on a slope, at the bottom of which was the electronics shop. So I was pretty sure I was in San Francisco.

I had a strange sense of déjà vu. It was like I had been here, instead of with the office workers, earlier in my dream (or my experience, or whatever I called it while I was dreaming). I had walked down the sidewalk and toward this door, I vaguely remembered. And now I was coming out.

I felt like something about my professional destiny had to do with this clunky electronics shop. Maybe I was trying to get a job here. But I also felt like the electronics shop actually still was a restaurant and that I had gotten my meal, and maybe even had a job interview, there. But I'm pretty sure I also still had to go find a restaurant where I could get my lunch. But I probably also wanted to do this stealthily, so I could avoid the deli man finding out where I'd gotten my lunch. And I probably also still already had all my food for lunch and was just looking for a place to eat.

I was right on the corner of the street. So I crossed the sidewalk. At first it may have been like nobody was around. But now there were a lot of people crossing the street. It was pitch black. There were no streetlights. Maybe there weren't even any stoplights, though everybody seemed to be crossing the street as if following a streetlight.

Off in the dark distance I could see or sense a small park. I really didn't want to eat at the park. I didn't really want to eat my food at all. I felt it was too heavy and too random. It wasn't a healthy meal. And I was trying not to gain any more weight. But I also didn't want to go to a park to eat. I knew that as soon as I sat down a flock of annoying people would gather all around me and make my eating experience hellish. But I didn't know what else I could do. I knew I had to go to the park to eat.

I kind of suddenly had a positive attitude about everything. I probably wouldn't have any trouble at all once I got to the park. Maybe there wouldn't even be anybody at the park.

I was still walking across the street. For some reason I looked back over my shoulder. A group of older white people were leisurely riding their bikes across the street. One of the men in the group dropped his scarf on the white lines of the crosswalk.

I tried to call out for the man. But I couldn't do so quickly enough. So I grabbed the scarf off the ground. I looked over to my left and saw a young, white man watching me. I didn't want the young man to think I was stealing the scarf. So, looking at the young man, and still not able to articulate myself, I pointed in the direction of the old man.

The young man smiled and nodded knowingly at me. He then kind of looked up and toward the old man. He may have made some random noise to call out to the man. At this point I got a little more control over my own voice, at least enough to say something simple like, "Hey! Hey!"

At this point it was like the young man was more in control of the situation than I. But I didn't want it that way, because I wasn't sure the young man wasn't going to try and make it look after all like I had tried to steal the old man's scarf.

At this point we were all crossing the street all weird, like we had made it from one corner to the next, but like we were all now crossing across and along the street to our right, so that we were still in the middle of the street, though we were probably also about halfway up the block. At this point we wouldn't reach the other sidewalk until we were at its far corner. And everybody was going this way. We were all one long flow of people on this dark road.

The old man and probably his biking mates had stopped and turned around. I could still barely control my speech. But the old man understood me well enough. He laughed and said something about dropping his scarf -- not like dropping his scarf was something he always did, but more like randomly doing things to oblige the people around him in public situations to sort of clean up his messes or take care of him. At least one of his biking mates, an older, white woman, laughed about this and said it was true.

The young man was still there -- though, now that he had seen how the old man was interacting with me, he'd kind of shied away from the situation at present.

The bikers all pedaled slowly away. I was sort of proud of how I'd dealt with that situation. I may have projected to myself how I could handle things to my advantage in my professional life based on how I'd handled that situation. I may even have thought that the old man himself might offer me a job in the future.

But now the young man was back. I knew there was now a new reason I had to prove my innocence to him. He may have been speaking to me a little, trying to pry information out of me. I may have started telling him something, trying to sound philosophical about the ins and outs of social and professional life. But I may also have been trying to speak in a clear enough way to prove my innocence to the young man, while also in a humble enough way to make it clear to the young man that the old man would never try to give me any sort of professional position that the young man would want.

I probably knew by this time that the park I would have to eat my lunch at was just a bit off in the dark distance, possibly just across the street,(though caddycorner from where I and all these people would end up after we'd reached the corner we were aiming for).  I was hoping that by that time I'd be able to shake off this young man so he wouldn't stick around me and annoy me with his insinuations of my guilt the entire time I was eating.

pink trick dogs; dog coughs up a mouse; tall checkout stands

Dream 1

I was with another person, probably a man, walking in some area like a corridor that was divided into rooms. The corridor curved along, as if we were walking on the outer edge of some circular structure, like the circular structures atop the Space Needle. The person walked to my right, closer to the outer wall.

In one room we walked past a pink dog. The dog was tiny, maybe the size of a teacup poodle. But it may not have looked quite like a poodle. Its fur may have been long and flowing, like that of an Afghan Hound.

In the next room we walked past another dog. This dog was maybe about half a meter long. It was also pink, with a poodle-like appearance, but long fur. It saw us and wanted to do a trick for us, apparently. It did something like a headstand. But it did a headstand in such an uncanny way that I remarked on it to the person walking with me.

We entered another room. There was a kind of big dog. It was white. But it had the same kind of fur as the other dogs. It was sitting in a kind of big, leather chair. This dog did the same trick as the second dog had done, but with a little bit more of a twist on its hind legs. The dog may have been showing off its genitals. But I couldn't tell whether the dog was male or female.

The dog was off to our left. We had to exit this room and head outside, possibly onto a balcony. We may have had to exit through a door right in front of us. Or we may have had to exit through a door off to the left of and behind the dog. Either way, I felt bad and a little awkward. The dog had done such a good trick. But we really couldn't stop and praise the dog or give the dog a treat. We had to keep moving.

Dream 2

I was with a group of people in a kind of small room. We were all like family or friends. We were all here for some kind of casual get-together. I sat at a tall, narrow, circular table. I may have been eating a small plate of food or drinking something. Everybody else was gathered in a different area, talking and laughing.

A dog off to my left started coughing and hacking. There may have been a cat somewhere near the dog. Both the dog and the cat were my family's pets. As the dog started coughing I realized that our new pet, a mouse, was missing. The dog had probably eaten the mouse and was now trying to clear it out of its throat.

I was really disappointed that the dog had eaten the mouse. I'd really liked the mouse. But there was a little boy near my table. I was more concerned for him. He may have liked the mouse or he may have been indifferent to it. But he'd definitely be devastated if he saw it dead -- especially coming out of the dog's mouth!

My mom was somewhere nearby. She must have had the same thought as I, because she was now distracting the little boy, showing him something up near the table I was seated at. The boy was turned toward my mom and turned totally away from the dog.

The dog now coughed up the dead mouse, which was curled up in a ball, and whose hair was all wet and dark grey. Someone, maybe I or maybe my mom, picked up the mouse to throw it away. I was really disappointed that the mouse was dead. I was also kind of disappointed in the dog for having eaten the mouse. The two of them were supposed to be friends. I may possibly have reflected with a little annoyance that the dog was too stupid to recognize who its friends were.

Dream 3

I may have been in a grocery store. At first I may have been somewhere near the back of the store. Then I may have been up near the front of the store, near a weird checkout stand.

The checkout stand was probably really tall, like maybe almost over my head. Its conveyor belt may have been used as a display shelf for piles of merchandise. The merchandise may have been electronics or some other kind of hard, plastic stuff.

space helmet pressure; spacecraft in the zombie apocalypse; learning a little girl's dance

Dream 1

I was in outer space. I may have started out in a space capsule or a space station. I was probably with a woman astronaut.

We were then out in space. We had to get from one structure to another structure. The second structure may have been a space capsule that would transport us to the space station that was our base.

We had to put on our space helmets before we went into the second structure. I put my helmet on. As the helmet clicked into place, some oxygen started flowing through the helmet area, and possibly through the rest of my suit.

But then the air pressure of the oxygen got really high. I felt like my head was getting squeezed or smashed. The astronaut floated directly facing me. She got worried. She asked me if my suit was malfunctioning. She thought it might be because I had put my helmet on incorrectly. She wanted to help me take my helmet off as soon as possible so I wouldn't get injured. But I said I thought I was fine. I decided we would just float into the structure and I'd see if things got worse from there.

We floated up through a narrow, tube-like area. At the end of this passage was a shallow, dish-like dome. I knew that beyond this space was the cabin of the structure. Once we were in there we would fly to the larger structure.

We were now in the larger structure, the space station that was like our home base. I was in one room that was like some sort of control room. The floors were shiny black. The walls were covered in machinery and monitors that displayed data, etc.

A man stood in the room. He was some sort of high-ranking person in the space station. He wore a crisp, square-bodied uniform. His chest bore a pretty big grid of decorations. He may have been holding his cap or helmet in his arm, kind of close to his body. And he stood really straight.

The man probably asked me about my condition. There may still have been a worry about whether I'd been badly injured by the helmet incident. I said I was okay. But even I couldn't be sure.

Dream 2

I was probably watching some movie about some kids who discovered a spacecraft in the woods. The spacecraft was sort of lime-shaped, but with shell-like ends. It was hard and dark green, like an avocado. But it was ornamented all around with silver, pipe-like fixtures. The craft itself may have opened like a clam shell. Or it may have had an entrance via a ramp leading up into the bottom of the craft.

Two boys had discovered this spacecraft. They then decided to fly it. But they stayed on earth. Some time had passed. Possibly one of the boys had gotten some sort of illness and had gone into a coma for a while. When the boy awoke, he probably found out that a zombie apocalypse had taken place.

The boy may have found the other boy. The two boys then took their spacecraft on journeys all around the earth, where they'd always have to avoid or fight zombies.

Then, almost as if by accident, one of the boys, or possibly both of the boys, flew in the spacecraft all the way off the earth. The boy went to some distant place in space, where he kind of settled down. After that the story became a lot more calm and a lot less interesting.

I seemed to have seen a good amount of the calm part of the boy's story. I was sort of disappointed by it. It was now like I was reviewing this whole story, almost as if it were starting over again. I thought to myself how much I liked all the zombie stuff and how I'd have liked to see the zombie stuff continue.

I'm not really sure whether I was still dreaming at this point. I seemed to imagine a few different scenarios of the story that I would have liked better. But I'm not really sure whether I ever saw any of the scenarios play out. I kept on seeing the spacecraft at the beginning of the story, as if the story were always stuck at the beginning.

All throughout the dream, my view was obscured, as if it were blocked by columns that were totally in the shade or darkness, though sometimes it was also like the columns were two huge, shaggy legs of orange fur or a huge column of a tree the bark of which was coated with some fur-like vegetation.

Dream 3

I may possibly have been out on a beach or a field. The beach or the field was wet, so the sand or soil was pretty muddy. It was probably a cloudy day.

I was probably out with a few people: some adults and a little girl. The little girl may have been a cheerleader or a dancer, dressed in some cute costume.

The little girl was trying to teach me a cheer or a dance. I may have been doing a bad job of learning the dance, or I may have been too shy really to have put my whole effort into the dance. So I looked kind of terrible.

The little girl didn't seem disappointed in me. She kept trying to teach me the dance. But the adults were sort of annoyed by or angry with me. I felt like the adults thought it was stupid that I wasn't dancing well. Didn't everybody know how to dance well? I also felt like they thought I was purposely acting like an idiot in front of the girl, to kind of subtly demonstrate to the girl that I didn't care about what she was doing. But I also felt like they thought I was attracted to the little girl and that I was trying to hit on her by practicing a dance with her. So I felt like they were disgusted and angry with me.

rude girl cut from team; young drag queen and rich little boy

Dream 1

I was in a really confused space. It may have been a big space, like the Rose Reading Room at the New York Public Library. But it may have been divided up into separate areas somehow.

I was here with some kind of group of people -- maybe a group of actors or athletes or some kind of artists. I had been assigned to choose from this group of people to assemble some kind of team.

One girl was supposed to be the star of the team. But I spoke with her. She was really kind of terrible and rude. I knew it wouldn't be worthwhile to deal with her.

I also got the feeling there was another girl in the group who was actually a much better athlete. This girl had been overshadowed by the rude girl because the rude girl was so vocal. But the rude girl actually wasn't a good athlete at all. It was just that she dazzled everybody with her personality into thinking she was good.

The girl may have been an adult at some point. But then it was like she was a kid. But then it was like she was a really little kid. She may not even have come up to my knees in height.

I went to talk with someone about my decision. I may actually have walked with the rude girl in my arms, carrying her supported by my arms so they were like a seat for her, probably while she kept shoving something in her mouth, like a ring lollipop, but maybe pale peach colored and dough-like.

We walked up a narrow, shallow ramp, to another section of this big room, where a crowd of people, possibly in their teens or early twenties, were all hanging out. The girl may have continued saying rude things to me as I carried her.

Probably at the front of this group of people was the head person for this group. The person may possibly have been a woman. I reported to the head person that I was cutting the rude girl from the team and putting the good athlete girl on the team instead. I said this was the only way we could win.

I walked away from the group of kids and back down the narrow, shallow ramp. My thoughts kind of wandered along as I walked through a section of empty bench seats made of nice, heavy, dark wood.

I looked over to my right. The team was all gathered there, complaining to the coaches about my decision to cut the rude girl and put the good athlete on the team. The team was young people, maybe in their teens or twenties, men and women. The team all stood against the front railing in front of a set of wooden bench seats. Across the aisle from them, the coaches stood backed against a tall chain-link fence.

I was sort of afraid to confront the team. But I walked over. Without really waiting for my turn to speak, I immediately went into a speech. I asked the kids if they really wanted to win the game. If they wanted to win the game, then they needed to have a player who was actually good. They could either have someone who was rude all the time and couldn't play, or they could have someone who could actually play and win them the game.

As I spoke to the kids, I may have started shrinking, so that I was eventually the size of the tiny girl I'd cut from the team. Or I may have knelt or even gotten down on my hands and knees to crawl before the kids.

Dream 2

I was in a room with a preteen drag queen, who is a friend of mine on Twitter, and probably a few other people, possibly also including the drag queen's mother. The drag queen sat in front of me on a kind of tall chair. Everybody else probably sat in random chairs or on the floor on the walls off to my side and behind me.

I stood before the drag queen with a big rectangle of cardboard wrapped in cellophane. On one side of the cardboard was a poster-sized picture of my Twitter friend.

I now flipped the board around. On the other side was a poster-sized picture of some preteen boy, kind of wealthy looking, white, with blonde hair swept back, wearing a suit jacket and nice looking shirt. The boy's signature may have run across a wide swath of the bottom of the poster.

I told my drag queen Twitter friend that I hadn't seen the wealthy boy in some time. Apparently the boy had also been a star, maybe on Twitter and elsewhere. And then he just sort of dropped off everybody's radar. But only recently he'd come back, possibly only briefly. I'd been so happy to see him again.

I also noted that I still found the young boy attractive. This was sort of to make the young drag queen less worried. I think I'd acted in such a way or said something that implied that I may have been attracted to the young drag queen. That may have made the drag queen think I was some kind of pervert. So I wanted to show that I really wasn't attracted to the drag queen, and that I was instead attracted to this young boy. That would somehow be considered by the drag queen as more normal and less perverted.

explaining my eviction; k-pop versus retail

Dream 1

I was somewhere, possibly a bedroom at night. The bedroom light was kind of bright. On the bed may have been a long board, like if a long folding table had its legs folded up and was just laid out flat on the bed.

I may have been using the tabletop to look through some documents or fill out some forms. The documents were probably eviction documents. I knew I had been evicted from my place because of something I'd done or possibly because of something I believed in.

I may have been explaining to someone, possibly my mom, how I'd gotten evicted. As I explained, it struck me more deeply how serious this situation was.

Dream 2

I was somewhere, maybe in a bedroom or in a booth area at a night club. The room was lit all in pink, like pink neon lights were the only thing illuminating the room.

I was probably sitting with someone, possibly a blonde woman. The woman may have been in her thirties or forties. She may have seemed a little worn out. She may have been kind of pale, but with really dark eye shadow. The woman may also, or simultaneously, have been a K-pop star.

I was involved in a frustrating conversation with the woman. Apparently there was some sort of retail space that was getting re-branded. The branding was at least inspired by K-pop. The retail space may also have been selling clothes with K-pop stars on them or some other products, maybe even K-pop CDs, etc.

However, the woman was saying she didn't want any K-pop specific branding on the stores at all. She didn't want the name of the store to reference K-pop. And she didn't want any of the signs in the store windows to reference K-pop. No K-pop stars could be mentioned in any of the branding. The woman wanted everything to look and sound as American as possible.

As we had this conversation, my viewpoint was probably really weird. It was probably like I was floating over the woman, maybe even drifting upward toward the ceiling without being able to control myself.

I was pretty upset. I may have walked away from the conversation altogether, or the conversation may have ended naturally, but in a way that left me really frustrated. I felt like the woman was going to do what she wanted and not really respect K-pop at all.

I may have figured that I needed to take matters into my own hands. But I was sort of afraid that if I did, I would be thwarted anyway by the woman, who was in an actual position of power, whereas I was just someone who cared about the situation.

I went to some place like an apartment complex. It was probably where a K-pop star lived. I may actually have been in the K-pop star's apartment, explaining to her, probably in a completely disjointed way, how my conversation had gone and what the woman was planning.

But then it was like I was just on the balcony, outside the K-pop star's apartment door, waiting to come in. The K-pop star may have been out front, maybe smoking a cigarette or having drink or just talking with her friends. It was sort of like I wasn't there until a certain moment. At that moment I may have needed to ask the K-pop star if I could come in and talk with her.

But now it was like I was heading to the K-pop star's apartment. The K-pop star probably lived on the second floor of the apartment complex. It was like I was coming down from one or two floors up to visit the K-pop star. I may have been walking down (or up???) a stairway that somehow faced the balcony in front of the K-pop star's house. But it was also like I was floating down or up to and then straight toward the K-pop star's front door.

I had a weird, eerie feeling. It was like I was in a losing race against the woman who was re-branding the retail spaces. I felt like she was also approaching the K-pop star's apartment. I had a bad feeling that even if I got to tell the K-pop star what was going on, the retail woman would still win. Maybe she would confront me while I was talking with the K-pop star and browbeat me into submission. Or maybe she would wait until after I'd spoken with the K-pop star and tell her that everything I'd told her was a lie.

walking to school in the desert

Dream 1

I was probably out in the parking lot of a mall. It was night. I had probably met someone here to pick them up.

I met the person. The person was possibly a man. We may have been walking to my vehicle, which may have been a big, black SUV.

But along the way the person needed to pick up a bike. Apparently the person was going to ride part or all of the way to wherever they were going next. We stopped in front of a station where people could rent bikes. The person possibly paid a machine and then got to rent a bike.

But the bike the person got was really weird. All the bikes may have been weird. It was like the bikes were all hooked to poles like seesaw panels. The person got on the bike. That action, I think, pushed the seesaw pole down to the ground. The person could now pull the bike off the pole. It was like the bottom of the bike was a square tube that slid around the pole.

The person tried to pull the bike off the tube. But it was really hard for the person to do so. I may at this point have noticed that the bike had no wheels. Its "handlebars" were also a wheel-like object, like on a Sit 'n Spin toy.

The person may apologetically have said how hard it was to manage this bike. I could tell. The bike was heavy and awkward and had no wheels. But I also started to wonder how I was supposed to fit this bike into my car. I assumed I could put it in the back. But it was so big and clunky, I wasn't sure it would fit back there.

Now the person may have been my sister. We had driven out to some parking lot in a landscape of red sandstone. It may now have been morning or daytime. I was probably dropping my sister off at some school.

We got out of the car and walked away from the parking lot and down a road on a slope. At the bottom of the slope the sandstone went up on either side of the road in ten-meter-tall cliffs.

I looked over my shoulder, thinking of my car. I told my sister that I'd have to bring her her bike later. There was no way I could go back for it. We needed to get her to school. So I'd either drive it over to her while I was between errands or carry it and walk it over to her at some point during the day. But I still couldn't quite figure out how or when my sister would use the bike.

We walked along a desert highway. As we went up a slight slope, the shoulder of the road was blocked by a cliff of orange, powdery material on our right. We couldn't walk in the road because so many cars were coming down it. So we had to edge our way between the cliff and the white line at the road's edge, like we were toeing a ledge of a steep cliff.

I led the way. I kept trying to look back to my sister. But at this point my vision was really weird. I felt dizzy and disoriented. My head felt heavy. I could only look at the ground. And I couldn't even see the ground very well. I would force myself to turn my head back to look for my sister. But I couldn't see her anyway.

We got past the tight squeeze in the road and walked a ways up and over the rest of the slope. We were now back up on a concrete path, with a bit of lawn or wild grass separating us and the road.

We approached an intersection. The roads were really wide here -- maybe absurdly wide -- so that it felt like the intersection was 100 meters wide, going caddy corner. But caddy corner from us was a shopping center. This was the first sign of a city we'd seen since parking.

I knew that we had to keep on going straight along this road, the same direction we'd already been walking. We'd pass the shopping center. Then there would be more empty, desert space. And then there would be my sister's school. At this point I may have wondered why I couldn't have just driven my sister straight to the school.

grocery store criticism; a sculpture garden of friends

Dream 1

I was standing in a grocery store. It was a huge structure with dark cinder block walls and dusty floors. It was only lit by natural light, which was kind of orange, like the sun was low in the sky.

The grocery store may have been flooded out. I may have stood in the grocery store while it had been flooded. I may have been a little surprised by how back the grocery store looked. Everything was in disarray. There were no shelves for the food. Everything was just piled up. But I may have told myself this was just because of the flood.

But now the flood was gone. People were working on getting the grocery store back to normal. In fact, the grocery store was just about to reopen.

I was walking around, looking at the store. I was surprised by how rundown it looked. The floor was just dirt in many places, though it was concrete in others.

The store was more like a factory or warehouse than a grocery store. It had a kind of L or maybe U shape. And one side was like it was divided into cinder-block rooms, like different large storage rooms, at the end of which may have been a big, wide opening to the outside.

A woman, maybe Hispanic, came up to me and asked me what I thought of the store. We started walking back toward the front of the store.

I wanted to give the woman a somewhat honest opinion. This place didn't look like a grocery store at all to me. But I also didn't want to make the woman feel bad about the place -- especially if it was about to reopen. I decided to stick to the stuff I liked and try and sound as objective as possible about that stuff.

We stood out near the front of the store, right at the corner of the L or U. We were looking toward the doors into the grocery store, which were like automated swinging glass doors. Workers were coming in and out of the doors. They were also going around the doors, like the front of the store continued beyond the entrance, like the entrance was just inset into the store about halfway along the front of the store.

I commented on how I liked the space at the front of the store. I said the place felt spacious. I said that was a good feel for a grocery store, as most grocery stores are pretty wide and open. I was trying to say -- though I couldn't find a nice way to say it -- that I couldn't quite understand why the store wasn't just a big, open square like most grocery stores.

I then said that I liked the floors in this part of the store. They were made of concrete. But they could probably use a little bit of sweeping before the store opened. I may have made a mental note to myself to avoid reviewing any of the places where the floor was dirt. But I couldn't remember where those places were. The front of the store itself may have had dirt floors before. But now the floors were concrete.

I may now also have wondered where all the products were. There was nothing in the front area. The space was completely empty, except maybe some kind of plyboard leaning against the wall and a bit of construction clutter next to that.

Dream 2

I may have been at a party for some art community, maybe the Denver art community. It was getting toward early morning. A lot of people were leaving. The party had been outside. The party had possibly been big, with a lot of people, many of whom were now filing away.

Among the people, I saw my friend LN, who is the owner of a Denver art gallery. I had kind of stopped being friends with her about a year ago. I shyly called out to LN. I was happy to see her. But I was a little afraid she'd be mad at me and wouldn't want to talk to me.

LN seemed happy to see me, but in a subdued sort of way. I was so relieved that she wasn't mad at me that I hugged her tightly and told her how much I missed her. I hugged her kind of awkwardly, from the side, though with both arms. And while I hugged her we kept walking forward.

LN wore a kind of tight shirt, more like a bodysuit with jeans over it. The top was kind of pink-beige, with a soft but ridged or ribbed feeling to it. And the chest was lacy, like a bra had been built into it. I may have reflected that LN would usually not wear an outfit like that.

We were almost totally alone now. We were walking down a sidewalk on a slope that may have been bordered by a park or field on our right. A couple of party stragglers may have been walking near us. But soon even they were gone. The edge of the horizon may have been getting a tiny bit lighter with morning.

LN and I turned off the sidewalk and into the field. I don't think I ever let go of LN. I may have been talking to her about how bad I felt about not talking to her and about how I really did like her. But at some point she may have said that we needed to hurry on our walk. Apparently we needed to get across this field within some time frame -- either before the sun rose, or before some bus we were trying to catch reached a stop on the other end of the field.

We were moving through a field of tan, waist-high grass. We passed a lone tree with no leafs. After this it may have been like LN picked me up and ran with me in her arms. But it wasn't like she was carrying me in her arms. It was more like she was embracing me and arching her back a bit so my feet were a couple inches off the ground.

We sped through the field. I suddenly realized this field had been turned into a garden of abstract or conceptual sculpture. One sculpture was an abstract shape made out of mirror-like chrome. Another sculpture (or the same sculpture?) may have had bright neon or LED lights on it. I may have felt like LN and I had purposely come to this field so we could review the sculpture garden.

We headed up a slope near the end of the field. At this point I was carrying LN. It was like she was tired or maybe even sick. I may have been carrying LN in my arms. But we still sped along -- almost like we were floating rather than running.

It was pretty light now, maybe way past sunrise. We made it to the bus stop. A young guy may have been heading toward the bus stop, too.

LN and I were now in some room, a kind of small room, maybe with cheap, fake-wood-paneled walls, at the very back end of some sort of makeshift office building. We may have been sitting at some really low, circular table, in chairs that were probably too big for this small room. Our belongings, like coats, bags, etc., may have been cluttered all over the room.

LN stood up and said she had to go into a meeting now, and that it had been nice to see me. We were now not quite in the same room we had been in before. There was a glass door into another room.

A young man who was probably famous in town as a rapper or poet walked into the room beyond the glass door. LN was scheduled to interview the man, probably for some project they were hoping to collaborate on. Both LN and the man wanted to impress each other, as they were both hoping for success from this project. But LN probably wanted to impress the man more than he wanted to impress her.

But when I saw the young man, I was really excited. I poked my head into the room as LN walked in and said hello to the man. I said hello to the man. I may also have said something about how I thought it was cool he was working with LN.

At the same time another young man walked into the room, probably from an entrance directly from outside, on the left wall of the room. The first man may have been Hispanic. The second man was black. I also recognized him as a rapper or poet from around town. I also said I was really excited to see that he was working with LN.

The first man may have recognized me a tiny bit from around town. He seemed to be a bit more relaxed now that I said I was happy to see him. He said something to me and then closed the door to start the interview with LN.

I stood (maybe even sat? like a pet dog?) out in front of the door for a second. I gloated a little to myself that one advantage I had over LN was that I actually knew the artists around town in human terms. I didn't think of them as business propositions. And that always made people feel more comfortable.

I walked back into the small room LN and I had been in. I knew the men would think it weird if they found me outside the door. They were here to interview with LN. And it would be awkward if I kept putting my nose in their business. Anyway, it was getting to be time for me to leave.

I picked up my belongings and was getting ready to leave. Now LN was in the room. She was also picking up her belongings. She was apparently getting ready to leave, too. But it was also like she still had to continue her interview with the young men.

LN spoke to me a bit about some money troubles she was having. It was like she and her husband were barely scraping by for a living. They were even worried about getting kicked out of their place. In fact, they may have gotten kicked out of the place they'd been in when I'd last spoken with LN. They may now have been living in some non-residential space that some friends had let them stay in. They may even have been living in this space. LN may even have been preparing her bedding so she could get some sleep.

I thought back to all the reasons I'd been angry at LN. And I started feeling really guilty. After all, it wasn't really worth it to be mad at her. She liked me. I knew that. And, yes, she was sort of stuck up sometimes. But, really, that was just part of her act. At the end of the day, her reality was this. She was trying to build up young artists' careers. And while she was doing this, she was basically making no money at all.

LN led a hard and frustrating life. And wouldn't it be better of me, I thought, if I could stop being so hard on her and just play her game, let her act her act, and let her feel good about herself for a change?

girl in hospital gown; a pile of diapers; back of the food line

Dream 1

I walked into a bedroom. Possibly a lot of natural light flowed into the room, making it bright and white. The room may have felt really cluttered. A young girl lay on a mattress that was on the floor in the back right corner of the room. The mattress was crowded all around with all kinds of boxes and other clutter.

I approached the girl, maybe to tell her something. But when I saw her, I was attracted to her. She was still asleep. She rolled around under the blankets. She was wearing something like a hospital gown. I saw her back. I got really aroused.

I got into bed with the girl. I figured, weirdly, that if she'd rolled around to show me her back, she must be attracted to me, too. The back of the woman's gown had snaps on it. So I started to undo the snaps. I saw more and more of the girl's back.

Now an older, tall, kind of fat and burly man walked into the room. He may have asked me whether I'd woken the girl yet. Or he may have said impatiently that we needed to get going, so I needed to get the girl out of bed. But he may have implied through all of this that he didn't approve of me trying to seduce the girl.

I felt ashamed and a little afraid. But I also couldn't remember: had the girl wanted to be with me? Or had she been sleeping all this time and I'd just taken my own attraction to the girl as a sign that she was attracted to me?

Dream 2

I was probably in a place like a hotel room with my mom, my brother, and my sister. But the hotel was also like a bedroom in a duplex my family lived in when I was in sixth grade. My brother and sister may have been kids. But I was probably my current age. It was time for us to leave the hotel. We had to pack up all of our stuff and get going.

I noticed some diapers on the bed, maybe like Pampers Baby Dry. I thought for sure they had to be mine. I must have just worn diapers on some night and forgotten to throw them away the next morning. The diapers weren't dirty. They were just worn.

So I picked up the diapers off the bed. But then I noticed more and more diapers on the bed -- again, not dirty, just worn, like I'd slept in them for the night, then tossed them aside. I went down to the foot of the bed and noticed a ton more diapers. I pushed the bed aside. There were piles of diapers back there.

I knew I'd have to make a real effort to clear out all these old diapers. But I also wanted to make sure that I had them all cleaned out before my mom came back in the room. My brother and sister, as kids, may have been sitting up on the bed, maybe oblivious to all of this.

My mom came back into the room at some point. She stood over me as I was cleaning stuff, maybe not diapers, off the floor. I may have been a kid at this point.

My mom may have said we needed to go somewhere. We may have headed somewhere in a car.

Dream 3

I sat in a chair in some empty restaurant. The restaurant was huge, maybe more like a dance club. I sat at a tall table along a back wall of the restaurant. Off to my left was the cashier's counter. Off behind that may have been more restaurant space. Before me, the space was just empty floor, maybe like a dance floor. The floor must have been some sort of clear material. It may rhythmically have shifted color, from deep blue to white to deep purple.

Somewhere, maybe up near the ceiling, a television may have been playing. The show may have been about Michael Jackson or about the Jackson family. I knew I had something to do with whatever was taking place on the television.

But I was in this restaurant waiting for the cash register to open so I could buy some food. My mom showed up behind the cash register. She started setting it up.

For some reason I was a little afraid to get out of my seat. I felt like I was really high up in the air. Maybe I was high up on some top bunk bed. Or maybe my seat, being at normal height, was near some high ledge.

My mom had opened the cash register. So I walked over to the register. The place had been completely empty before. But now a few people had shown up, and I had to stand behind them in line. I may have been annoyed that I'd been here first but still had to wait. But I just acted like it didn't matter.

dead mall jewelry commercial; bunk bed exercises; not here for the movie business

Dream 1

I walked down some wide, marble steps into a large, tall area, the floors and walls of which were like marble. The place was a shopping mall. The lighting in the space was dim. There were a few people milling around. In the back left corner were probably a few food shops, like for a food court.

I may have been with someone. I may have been speaking with them. But the person I was with, or just some person in the mall, interrupted me. They asked me whether I didn't know about the mall. They then pointed to a sign at the foot of the stairs.

I looked at the sign, which was like a metallic plaque placed at an angle at the top of a waist-high brass pole. I knew the sign said that the mall had closed down. But I couldn't quite read the sign. The words were all blurry, like they were covered over with a sheet of plastic.

I turned around and looked at the mall. People were still here. So the mall wasn't completely closed down. And the food court shops were open. The only thing I'd really wanted to do was get some food. So maybe I could still do that. But I felt like if I even tried to get over to the food court, I'd be offending the person who just told me the mall was closing down.

I turned back toward the steps. The steps may now have looked like they were loosely covered over by a big sheet of plastic. I looked up to the top of the steps. The steps seemed to open directly out into a beautiful, blue night.

My view shifted up to the top of another set of steps. I may have been remembering an old commercial for the mall, maybe from the 1980s. A glamorous couple, maybe in their late forties, walk-danced their way down the steps. The man was in a tuxedo, but I barely saw him. The woman was in a red gown.

The couple were famous for their ads for a jewelry store, which was in the mall. This walk down the steps they were taking may have been a commercial from the 1980s. But it was also their last walk down the steps for the mall.

As the couple progressed down the steps, the woman became older, shorter, and less glamorous. She was speaking rather bluntly and possibly smoking a really terrible cigarette. The man was still hardly visible. There was a second woman coming down the steps, something like a servant or assistant for the couple.

The woman was discussing, maybe with the man or assistant, but possibly also with some member of the media, what the couple would do now that they would receive no more money from the jewelry commercials.

The woman tried to remained poised and polite at first. But then she started talking about how maybe she should go to the mall later, even if they were closed. She then spoke about taking some sort of action against either the owners of the mall or the owners of the jewelry shop. Whatever she wanted to do, I knew, would cause a lot of trouble for people. And that's all the woman really wanted to do.

Dream 2

I was down in a small, stuffy basement, possibly at night. I was standing on the side of some structure like a bunk bed. It may have been a bunk bed, but with framing like cheap, thin, stainless steel for some sort of outdoor structure. I was trying to do some sort of exercise on the bed, like pull-ups on the frame. But it wasn't working out.

I went to another bunk bed. A middle-aged man was seated off the side of the bed. I grabbed onto the frame of this bed, also made of cheap metal, and started doing some exercises.

The man smiled up at me and said, "I'm sorry I wasn't at the other bed. I know you were trying to do your exercises."

I had a feeling, looking at the man's smile, that he had meant to stop me from doing my exercises by not being at the other bed. I knew that now, even though I was doing my exercises, he'd hope to annoy me by making it clear he had meant to stop me.

I simply said, "Oh, it doesn't matter. That bed had the wrong exercises, anyway. I wasn't supposed to do those exercises today. I was supposed to do these ones." This was probably true. But I probably didn't need to say it, really. I just wanted to, to let the man know that even though he'd tried to stop me, I'd still succeeded at getting my exercises in.

I was now laying on a regular bed, reading a huge book. There was some noise coming from somewhere. I went into the kitchen, where the noise was coming from. The room was small and cramped, filled with a bunch of furniture, random stuff, garbage, and possibly huge sheets of plastic. There may also have been some leaking or dripping somewhere in the room.

The man was there. He may have been quite a bit older now, with a bald head and huge, watery eyes. He towered over me and looked down close to my face, blocking out the light from the ceiling bulb.

The man told me we were supposed to go somewhere. But I knew that wasn't true. I also knew I was supposed to be doing something else here. The man was just trying to pull me away from what I was really supposed to be doing, and he knew it. But when I told him I wasn't going anywhere, I could tell he was simply going to take that as an indication of how lazy and unwilling to work I was.

I was in a bedroom, laying on a bed and reading a huge book. The book may have been about Winston Churchill or about Winston Churchill and some other historical figure. I was getting through the book at a surprising speed. I knew that this book was incredibly important to some work I was getting ready to do. I couldn't believe I was finishing the book so quickly. I was really happy.

The bedroom I was in had a door on my left side and a door on my right side. Both doors connected the room to a whole lot more space. The door to my right opened into a long hallway.

The man stood in the doorway on my right side. He said he'd gotten back from wherever he'd gone, and wasn't it too bad that I'd not felt like going with him.

I was really mad that the man had said that. He was implying again that I'd been too lazy to go. But I'd gotten a lot done while he'd been gone -- including reading this book. I just wanted the man to leave the room. I was so close to finishing the book. I didn't want to argue with the man right now and lose my train of thought.

I was in a different room now. I may have thought of it as being upstairs from the bedroom I'd been in. The room was long and wide, with somewhat high ceilings. The floor was likely of polished stone, maybe with some black and white patterning on it. The man was in the room as well, discussing something with another, younger man. There may have been one or two other people in the room, off in the distance.

The two men were discussing some items of business we three needed to take care of. I had to be here for the conversation. But I knew that I really wasn't invited to say anything. Anything I said would be thought of as stupid and worthless. But the two men weren't really talking about getting any sort of business done at all. So I started to get bored.

I imagined some sort of game using the colors of the floor, like avoiding certain colors on the floor by jumping over them. I sort of regretted that the colors on the floor weren't in a nice checkerboard pattern, because that would make my game a lot more practical.

The men now discussed getting in touch with someone from the media. There was a local TV station, possibly a local PBS channel, that always had a really good news show on. The news show starred these two guys. And it was always a good idea to get interviewed on their show. But the guys couldn't remember the name of the show.

I couldn't quite remember the name of the show. But I had a vague idea. I called out, "It's something like The Ron Paul Show, isn't it?"

The two men laughed. One of them derisively said, "No. It is definitely not Ron Paul."

The two men may have walked off to the other side of the room. I knew that the men were wrong. I may not have been totally right about the name of the show. But I was pretty sure that if the guy's name wasn't Ron Paul, it was pretty close. That had always been one of the things that had been interesting to me about the show, was how close the two names sounded.

I knew the guys wouldn't listen to me. So I gave up. I knew that likely I'd be vindicated when the guys learned that the name of the show was something like what I'd said. But I was sure that, even then, they wouldn't admit that I'd been right, and that they'd likely still try to make me feel stupid for what I'd said.

Dream 3

I was in some place like a diner. I sat at the counter. The counter apparently surrounded the kitchen on three sides. The back side was a wall, possibly with doors into another kitchen. The walls of the place may have been a dull, green color. The kitchen was really busy, as was the dining area.

A woman behind the counter was quickly, briskly fiddling around with some of the kitchen machinery. She was talking with some guy near me. The two of them were talking about some kind of business -- probably making movies or something. They were talking logistics, and it all had to do with why the man, but also the woman, had come to this place (maybe Minneapolis or somewhere in Wisconsin).

I felt like I may have been wanted as a part of the conversation. Something suddenly occurred to me. So I said that this was actually a great city for making movies.

I may have started to give some examples or some pointers, which I'd also thought were wanted. But the woman looked at me and said something like, this wasn't a great city for making movies, and that wasn't the reason she or the man had come here. The woman acted like I'd rudely distracted her and the man from their main discussion, so that they'd now have to figure out all over again what they were supposed to be doing.

I stayed quiet. I knew now that I really wasn't wanted as part of this conversation. But I also knew that I was probably right about what I'd said.

I was now in some sort of room, like a huge lounge where parties were thrown. The place may have been nicely furnished. It was supposed to be a nice place. But the ceilings were really low. So the place felt uncomfortably closed in. And there was clutter all over, so that it felt like the place was just being moved into or being vacated because it was being closed down.

There was a small crowd of people, all probably rich and well-dressed, in the room, kind of off to one corner of the room. I was there, but maybe just by sight, or maybe just as someone who was supposed to be there only as an observer.

A man knelt on the ground before the crowd, like he was meditating. He then stood up and conducted some sort of fight sequence. He may have fought some of the rich people. Or he may have ran toward the other side of the room, through a doorway and into another room, where he'd fought some hidden martial artists, eventually bringing the fight out to this room.

Now the scene repeated itself. It may have been like the scene was all an act and the meditating man had decided that he would repeat the scene for the better enjoyment of the spectators.

The man was Asian now. He was probably dressed in a tuxedo. He knelt on the ground again and meditated. He finished meditating and stood up. He got really close to the woman at the front of the crowd of rich people. The woman was old, maybe in her seventies or eighties. She was dressed in a shimmery flapper-style dress and headband with a feather, and she probably wore a lot of diamonds, as well as a monocle or pince nez eyeglasses.

The man explained to the woman how he was going to redo the fight. The martial artists now all came out into this main room. They fought. But it was also possible that now a lot of the rich people were being fought against. Or it may have been that the rich people felt that this fight could get out of hand and eventually involve the rich people.

I now sat back up in the diner. It was like the scene between the man, the woman, and me was being repeated. But it was also like we'd still had our previous discussion.

The man and woman were still trying to figure out why they were in this town. They knew it was good for getting into the movie business. But they were sure that wasn't why. The woman had a piece of paper, which she may have called a deed. And she wasn't even sure why she had it.

I called out again to the woman, asking her if she really wasn't here because of the movie business. I said everything she and the man kept talking about really made it sound like she was here because of the movie business.

The woman and the man were now pretty annoyed with me. They both kind of ganged up on me, told me that they were absolutely not here because of the movie business, and basically made it clear they both thought I knew nothing. The woman and the man went back to talking.

A woman seated to my right, maybe a friend of mine, asked for my attention. She then asked me to pay attention to the deed the woman was talking about. The woman behind the counter, even though she was still fiddling around with all the kitchen machinery (not really making any food), was holding the deed in her hand.

The deed now appeared before me, maybe as if the woman seated to my right were now holding it. The paper wasn't whole. It was like rectangles of it had been cut out. And the words on it were either vanishing or had already vanished.

I knew the deed said something specifically related to this place (maybe now Minnesota, or just "MN," instead of Minneapolis or Wisconsin). But the words were either too hard to read or were already gone. So I couldn't figure it out.

So now I knew that the deed was the reason the woman was really here. But I didn't know what the deed led to. And I felt like I still wanted to help the woman and man figure out the answer to their mystery. But I also felt like I was simply not wanted by them. They didn't think I knew anything. And they didn't want my help. In fact, I even started to wonder whether the woman seated to my right hadn't been nice to me only so she could shut me up and stop me from annoying the woman and man, who were actually her friends, maybe even her employers.

rejected body switch; pink adult diapers; little girls at the theater; gigantic domed building

Dream 1

I was probably getting my body switched with someone. I don't know where we were. I was looking up, as if I were almost lying on the ground, toward a woman or a person who had been body-switched into a female body.

The person was bald. Her eyes were rather blank. The underside of her head exposed muscles, like the skin was gone, or like the skin was fabric or material that had run out while the body was being made or reconstructed. But the muscles were flesh-colored, not red and bloody. I probably saw all of this through a tangle of close, black wired.

I was now walking around outside, probably in some big parking lot. It was a sunny day. It was probably morning. But the sunlight was golden, like in late afternoon. The asphalt was dark black, like new.

I was out ahead of some other people. I looked behind to them. Among them was a woman who looked like a cyborg -- probably with a human head but a robotic body. I knew that woman had had her body switched with mine. She'd wanted to be a man, and I'd wanted to be a woman. So we'd switched bodies. But I think her new body wasn't taking so well, and there was a bad feeling that she might die.

I turned my head and started walking forward. I had some misgivings about my new body, too. I had a weird feeling around my jawline, like my face was starting to get rejected, like the tissue was starting to die. I'd be left without a face.

Now I was noticing how difficult it was to walk. It was like the muscles or tendons all around my hips, on the front of my body, were extremely weak. It was like the muscles or tendons were made out of garbage bags. I was more and more exhausted with each step I took.

My body was probably all some kind of black metal, just like the body of the person in the distance behind me. We apparently had real, human bodies -- each other's old bodies, in fact. But the bodies were also these strange, robotic bodies.

I wondered whether my legs weren't being rejected. Were my leg tissues dying? If so, I imagined, my whole body would likely die. However, I also thought that maybe my body was just healing after the body switch. It might take time for my body to get back to normal. But I didn't really know.

I was worried. But I figured that, regardless of what the truth was, I might as well just go about my daily life as if my body weren't going to fail. After all, I didn't want it to fail. I was finally in a woman's body. I could finally live life the way I wanted to.

I got to some place, probably my office, which was a weird, thin structure, like the stairwell up to the bridge-like overpasses that take you from train platform to train platform in railway stations. The inside was very dark, like the walls were all black. The stairway was black. It was also probably made of some kind of marble or granite. A lot of people filed into the building, a stream of business people heading to and up the stairs.

By now, the people who had been walking behind me in the parking lot, who were now likely the scientists who had performed the body switch, were ahead of me, a few steps up the stairway. I knew I needed to follow them so they could monitor my progress.

But I walked only a couple steps up the stairway before I got extremely exhausted. It was so hard to walk with these legs! I didn't think my heart would be able to handle getting all the way up the steps. I really did think now that my body was doomed to fail.

I stood down at the foot of the steps again. There may have been so many business people heading up the steps that it was hard for me not to be carried by their momentum into walking up the steps. But I was trying to figure out what I should do. Should I stay down here and try to find medical help?

I decided to start walking up the steps again. I needed to stay with the scientists. And if I was going to die, I might as well just keep on going, anyway. But maybe my body was just getting back to normal. I decided that what I would do is take each step very easily and slowly, so that I wouldn't put too much strain on myself. I figured that if I couldn't even handle the strain of walking slowly up the steps, I would make a new plan.

Dream 2

I was probably in my house. It may have been a bright day, or it may have been night, and I had lights on in my house. I stood in front of a white wardrobe I have in my living room for linens and cleaning supplies.

I opened the door to the wardrobe. Apparently there were adult baby diapers inside. As soon as I saw them, I was wearing them. I was naked, except for a pink pair of adult baby diapers.

I looked at myself in a mirror that was probably fixed to the back wall of the wardrobe. I was surprised by how good I looked. My body was skinny and smoothly muscular. The adult baby diapers also made my hips look nice.

I swayed my hips back and forth in the mirror. I then turned away from the mirror, probably heading toward my bedroom. I felt so sexy, I thought I would play out some sort of fantasy in my head.

Dream 3

I was probably backstage at some play or musical performance. I had probably come to see the performance. Maybe some of my friends were in it. But I had somehow ended up backstage, like I'd needed to help with things. And now, getting all mixed up in the things happening here, I couldn't be sure whether I'd get out to my seat on time to see things, or whether I'd miss finding out that the performance had been totally canceled.

At some point there was a bald, kind of heavy, white man with thick-rimmed glasses who stood above the rest of the working crowd. He probably had a megaphone. He giving the workers direction. Things were really starting to move now. So I felt like maybe we'd wrap up with whatever we were doing and I could get out into the audience in time for the start of the show.

As the man spoke, the crowd of workers became something more like a big sea of tables with people, like at a big bar or a big awards ceremony. But it also felt like a huge cafeteria or beer garden, with long rows of tables. The light was yellow-grey-green, but very warm-feeling. Everybody seemed like they were in a good mood -- like they were all out drinking and having a good time. I figured that everybody was relaxed enough that there was no doubt I'd be on time to see the show.

I walked a bit farther. I may have heard some voices. I was basically by myself now. I saw, off to my left, a group of people at a microphone. They were all reading a script. It was like they were speaking for people who were out on stage. I realized that the show had already started. But I wasn't here to see the whole show. I was just here to see an act.

I knew now that I was pretty far backstage. I wanted to walk up as close to the stage as I could to see what act was on, to figure whether I'd have enough time to get seated for the act I'd come to see. The backstage area was enormous: a huge, white room, with occasional stage-like black wires and metal frames hanging down here and there. But overall it looked more like the interior of a gigantic Spanish mission than the backstage of a theater.

I probably felt a flash of stage lights, like I was almost to the stage. I may even have imagined myself for a brief instant as the beautiful, 1940s-style starlet up on stage.

I was now looking through some sort of railing, like heavy, classical stone railing. On the other side of the railing was something like a church. A lot of people were seated in pews. But the pews really looked like booth tables at a restaurant. There was a gigantic room filled with these booth tables.

All of these people were here for the show, which hadn't started yet, and which was to be either a church service with a sermon by a really powerful speaker or some kind of performance by a Christian performance group that would visit churches. Everybody seemed very friendly. But they were all very Christian. So I knew they wouldn't like me if they got to know my personal beliefs and inclinations.

I focused on one particular booth table. It was up in some section of tables that was elevated about four or five feet above where I was standing. It was actually like a lot or all of the table areas were elevated about the walkway areas.

The man at the table, the father (the mother was probably there, too), was tall, muscular, white, but tanned like he did a lot of outdoor activity. He wore a t-shirt, green khaki shorts, and a pink, weathered baseball cap. I knew that if he met me, he'd probably like me for a second or two then decide not to like me, maybe because of my olive skin, maybe because he could sense some kind of weirdness about my sexuality. So I tried to stay out of his field of attention altogether.

The man was calling for his daughter. I thought I'd try to help find the man's daughter, but without drawing attention to myself. I saw the man's daughter somewhere. She was a young girl, pretty and blonde. She may have been really girly, with hair in poofy ringlets and wearing an old, frilly kind of dress.

I found the little girl very attractive. So I wanted to talk to her. But I knew that if the father saw me talking to the girl he'd really be angry at me and probably find ways to make me feel bullied, by him or others, for the rest of the time that I was here. But I still wanted to help the daughter get to the father. So I knew I needed to somehow get the girl's attention, then draw her attention back to her father. The girl may also have seen me and wanted to talk to me. But she may have been too shy.

I might simply have given up on talking to and helping the little girl. I may just have seen that there was no way I could win.

The walkways now all ended in something like a close, dim elevator lobby. The lobby had dark, rich carpet and dark, polished stone walls. The elevator doors were made of polished gold or brass. There were shiny, black panels that would occasionally display messages in red, digital lettering. It was like this was a hotel. But it was also like it had a museum or something in it.

Some people, mostly mothers, sat on the floor, playing with their kids or talking as their kids played about. There was one young girl I was attracted to for some reason. She was tall, olive-skinned like me, kind of heavy, with straight black hair. She wore a purple t-shirt and black sweats. I felt like she was maybe twelve years old, though she may have been as tall as or taller than I.

I tried to avoid looking at the girl. I didn't want to creep her out, and I didn't want the mothers to know I was attracted to her. I headed straight toward the elevator.

The mothers were talking about what the kids liked to do while they were at this building. The mother said, "She" (meaning the girl in the purple shirt) "loves to go with her aunt and shuttle all the way up to the 72nd floor! They do that as many times a day as they can."

I got really dizzy. I hadn't known this building was at least 72 stories tall! I had thought it was just a theater building. I also knew I was heading up the elevator. But I didn't know where to. I was suddenly really hesitant about even getting onto the elevator. Would I have to go up to the 72nd floor? Or even higher?

I started to justify everything. Just because the building was at least 72 stories tall, that didn't mean the place I was going to had to be that high up. I obviously didn't need to worry about it. So I felt better.

But then I got worried again. I thought, If I'm in a building that's 72 stories tall, if it falls, it will definitely crush me and kill me!

I was really dizzy now. I didn't want to get onto the elevator at all. I sat down in front of the doors.

The mothers were still talking about the girl's trips to the 72nd floor. They said, "She loves to go up there because there's a toy store up there."

I thought, Wow! If there's a toy store on the 72nd floor, I might like to go up there!

I looked over to the girl now. She was laying on her back, with her knees up in the air. I could see her crotch. I was turned on. So I quickly looked away.

The daughter suddenly became interested in me. She started wriggling her way toward me, staying in a kind of seated position on the floor. The mothers could also see that I was attracted to the girl. I tried to look away from the girl, tying to keep my attraction to her inconspicuous. But since the girl was obviously coming over to me, I wasn't going to ignore her. I would talk with her or play with her. Whatever she wanted to do.

The girl was, in fact, talking to me, maybe even about the toy store. But even though she was talking, kind of innocently, as she got very close to me, she spread her legs entirely. She lifted up her crotch and pointed it straight at me. I was now really attracted to the girl.

This building was a hotel. I wanted to take the girl into the elevator and up to my room right away. But as I kept looking at the girl, with her legs spread and crotch lifted up at me, I thought I might like to just lay down on top of her right now. I may have tried to figure out if there was a way I could do that without making the mothers think I was attracted to the girl.

Dream 4

I was out walking along a large street. It was a residential street, but it felt really big, like some of the streets on the crest of steep hills in San Francisco. But I probably thought I was "home," i.e. in Denver. The sky was a deep, electric blue. The houses themselves, possibly all row houses or apartments, had beige walls. But the beige was also a deep tan color, like the sunlight was soaking deep into everything and turning it into a much deeper, more electric color.

I was walking in one direction (either east or west). I knew I was heading away from downtown, likely away from downtown Denver. But in the distance I saw an enormous building with a cupola, like the Capitol building.

I knew the building couldn't be the Capitol. I was heading in the opposite direction. But I couldn't figure out what other building it could be. I was a bit worried and confused at first. How could I be seeing something I was supposed to be headed away from? But my mind was a little more at ease when I told myself the building simply couldn't be the Capitol.

The building was off in the distance, behind blocks and blocks of row houses or apartment buildings. But it was gigantic enough, still, to loom over all of them. The building was made of stone, like massy, muted stone. But it was blue, not grey. That was very interesting to me. Also, the dome, instead of being gold, was some strange kind of iridescent purple. It was so strange. I really wanted to see it up close!

I may have started telling myself that that building was in a different town, maybe even Austin, Texas. I may have told myself that I was actually walking into another town.

Some kids may have crossed the enormous street. They were a big school group, probably of early elementary school kids. They may all or mostly have been Hispanic. I had continued walking forward, so by the time they and their teachers had crossed the big street, they were walking behind me.

As we approached another intersection, I heard the kids speaking, either in Spanish, Japanese, or both Spanish and Japanese. I may have responded to something they'd said in Japanese as I'd passed them as they were still crossing the big street. They may have been impressed that I'd understood them. So they started talking about me, only indirectly, kind of curious whether I could still understand them.

As we crossed the intersection (the road we crossed was small, like a neighborhood road, not like the huge road on our right), I thought I'd say something to the kids to prove I could speak Japanese. I searched my mind for something to say. It was hard to figure out the words.

Then I turned around as I approached the opposite curb. I continued walking, though backwards, so I could keep facing the kids. As I started speaking, I noticed that my mouth was full of food. This would make it hard for me to speak and hard for the kids to understand me.

I said, "Genki desu ka?" The kids may have acknowledged me a little.

As I turned around and started walking forward again, one of the kids said, in English, "That means, 'I am very well.'"

I was pretty sure that that wasn't what I had said. But at least I had somewhat proven to the kids that I could speak their language.

In the distance, and down a slope that we had now approached, I saw a big, obelisk-like monument. It was in a small patch of drying, dead lawn that was bordered by a heavy, grey, stone fence. I felt like the big monument might have something to do with the gigantic, purple-domed building in the distance. So I really, really wanted to see it. It would help me figure out where I really was.

Suddenly I was flying over the road and down toward the monument. Some of the kids remarked in English that I should keep on flying and get to the monument quicker because it was a really interesting spot.

I flew over the plot of land that the monument was in. An old woman was out walking two animals, possibly a dog and a sheep. I was trying to land. But it seemed like anyway I would land would basically lead to me landing on and killing the sheep.

There were some other people near the monument -- maybe residents and some tourists. At least one woman remarked on my difficult situation. She could tell that I didn't want to kill the sheep. Yet she could see that if I landed, I'd likely kill the sheep and make it look like I had meant to do so.

I floated up and over toward the monument. I was in some weird state right now -- not quite landing, but no longer really able to fly. But I also had a hard time directing my motion at all. I could tell there was some sort of plaque, either on the monument or on a staircase leading up to the monument. I was trying to get to the plaque so I could read it and figure out where I was.

I may eventually have bobbed and floated my way over to the plaque, wherever it was. But I was still so bad at guiding myself that I was just facing away from the plaque! I couldn't turn myself around so I could actually read it!

I may possibly at this point have been carried away, as if by a gust of wind, toward the gigantic, purple-domed building. I may have resigned myself to my condition by now. I figured I'd learn where I really was soon enough. I may still have thought I was in Austin. But I may also have thought I was in some Mexican or Latin American city.

At some point I may have seen the huge building again, as if I were floating in the sky above it, though it was still in the distance. But I may have seen above it an image of a gigantic puff of popcorn and a gigantic image of one of the Jeff Koons balloon animal sculptures.

liquefied soldiers; little girl and mannequin

Dream 1

I was possibly part of some group like a military group that was fighting some kind of alien or monster. Or I may have been just a normal person who had been drawn into fighting these beings by necessity. I may have had a machine gun or something like a gun: a weapon that would possibly destroy whatever creatures we were fighting.

I believe that the aliens worked by taking over a human body. They would basically liquefy the body. The liquefied humans may afterward have appeared in their human form again, though they would now be the aliens. But they may also have disappeared altogether.

I stood outside, in some place like a hilly area, like in a town, during the daytime. But the place felt trashed. There were probably cardboard boxes everywhere. But there were also probably blankets and other kinds of bedding everywhere. There may also have been cradles and other items from a nursery.

I stood under some kind of structure -- like just a big piece of wood hanging over the place where I was standing -- a blanket-strewn street or something like that. The area I was in was completely deserted. I'd come here with a group of folks. But apparently they were all now dead. I hadn't known it until now. I realized they'd all been liquefied and had disappeared.

Now two, or maybe three, soldiers entered my field of view. They probably hadn't been a part of the group I'd been with. But now it was like I'd been a part of their group the entire time. But it was also like they were a new group and they'd seen the awful way I'd worked with my previous group.

I felt like this new group of soldiers thought I'd purposely let my old group all get liquefied. I may also have felt like they thought I'd just been so incompetent or new to things that I'd clumsily let my whole group get liquefied. I tried to prove myself to the new group of soldiers by telling them about work positions I'd had in the past.

As I spoke with the soldiers, our position changed. At first we were standing under a structure that looked like a bunk bed -- as if we were somehow all standing on the bottom bunk, which was big enough to hold all of us, and which was tall enough for all of us to stand up without hitting our heads on the underside of the top bunk. But then it was like we were all sitting or laying on the top bunk, though we had to slouch really low, as the ceiling of the room we were in was so close, sloped somehow like the ceiling of a commercial airliner. And then it was like we were in some sort of military aircraft.

As I spoke with the soldiers, it was also less like I was just telling them things of my own accord and more like I was being asked things. There was a female soldier who seemed to sympathize with me. The other two (?) soldiers, at least one of them male, didn't seem to care much about me one way or the other. But the female soldier wanted to ask me questions to figure out what I'd really done in my life, to prove to herself, me, and the other soldiers that I could do my job and protect them against getting liquefied.

As I continued talking, the soldiers now may all have been on the other side of the bed, standing down on the floor. We may have been inside some large military aircraft. Or we may have been inside some large building, like a military aircraft hangar. I may still have been sitting on the top bunk of the bunk bed, which may have been elevated quite a ways above the soldiers.

 Dream 2

A pretty little girl was on a bed. I was probably taking sexy photos of her. She was cute, blonde. She probably wore some skimpy, white clothing, almost like underwear or lingerie. The bed was clothed in a bunch of white sheets and maybe white blankets, which were all rumpled up on the bed. The room was all white, with some bright, gentle daylight coming in through a window.

The little girl and I spoke as I took photos of her. But I'm not sure what we spoke about. I may have been telling her how to pose in order to look sexier. But I may also have been talking to her about some random stuff, to kind of give her confidence in my past experience, so that she'd feel assured that I could take pictures of her that would look sexy and not stupid or boring.

There was now a white mannequin in bed with the little girl. The mannequin was of a full-grown woman, in the typical model-thin style. The mannequin may have had "hair" made out of some orange material, possibly orange tulle, possibly some sort of organic or faux-organic material, like orange faux branches and blossoms, or branches with orange-colored blossoms on them.

The mannequin was most likely inanimate. But it also changed its position. It was in at least two positions: a seated or kneeling position, and a sexy crawling position. The little girl would weave and writhe in a sexy way around the mannequin's body. As she did so, I directed her, again, possibly by just talking to her about my past experience, or talking to her about stuff that happened in my or maybe her day-to-day life.

At one point the little girl emerged from behind the mannequin, but also out from under a comfy, white blanket. At this point I felt like the little girl would start making some really sexy poses. So I tried to give her some really good direction that would make her feel secure that I knew what I was talking about.

The mannequin was now stretched out in her slinky, sexy crawl. I was trying to imagine the best way to tell the little girl to get underneath the mannequin, so it looked like the two of them were laying with each other. But I might not have been able to find the right words to say.

At this point it may all have seemed imaginary to me, like I wasn't really seeing any of this, and that I was just trying really hard to retain my memory of it and to keep that memory moving forward so I could make the little girl and the mannequin do the sexy poses I'd been aiming to see.

bad cosmic aim; wrong salute

Dream 1

I somehow blasted up away from the earth and into outer space. I was probably blasting through space at a high speed. I probably ended up flying into some really colorful area, like a nebula of rainbows.

But then something happened. I may have decided to turn around. Or I may have lost my momentum -- as if somehow gravity was still working and I'd kind of hit the top of my arc and was now coming back down.

I was now rocketing back toward the earth. The earth was surrounded by rainbow clouds like the nebulae I'd just rocketed into. As I got closer to the earth, the clouds dissipated a bit, but never totally. The earth itself looked like a globe full of cities. The closer I got, the more the earth just looked like a network of lit up cities at night.

I was speeding toward the earth. I felt like I was being pretty strongly pulled. But I also knew that I had to steer myself correctly if I wanted to get home. I steered sharply as I approached the earth. I could probably see Colorado, as if it were on a map.

I finally landed. I lay face down on the floor of a gigantic room. The floor was the map of a section of the United States. I pushed myself up. I saw that I had landed in Colorado, though I had landed a bit southwest of my hometown of Denver.

I pushed myself up on my arms and looked off to my right. I told the person standing way out there -- maybe my mom? -- that I had gotten close but hadn't hit the target.

Dream 2

I was in some sort of room. It felt sort of crowded, like I was standing in between two rows of folding tables with tons of stuff on them -- maybe like at a comic book convention, except that all of the stuff felt like it was packed up. Off behind me was a doorway, maybe to something like a fake pyramid, like in a museum exhibit.

A young guy was facing me. We had probably just finished up a conversation. I was hoping to get the guy's approval. I was a little afraid that I would look stupid or ill-informed in front of him. He was white, clean, well-groomed, like a young professional just out of college.

To say goodbye to the guy I backed away from him a few steps, crossed my arms over my chest, said, "Wakanda forever," and lay down on the ground.

The guy walked past me. He somehow tapped or hit my arms, maybe with his feet, but probably with his hands. He pushed my arms, still crossed in an x, off my chest and over to my right side. He said that I'd mistakenly made a gesture toward him that was in support of black people. Crossing my arms off to the right, however, was a gesture in support of white people. And that was what the man had wanted to see.

The man walked into the doorway. I now understood that the man was a white supremacist. I was afraid that he'd want to kill me, now that I'd made a gesture in support of black people. I thought I could make the gesture in support of white people the next time I saw him. Maybe that would make him less angry toward me. But I knew I couldn't do that, either. I was at a loss. I felt like I couldn't do anything at all.

enough propeller oil; angry twitter man; city council faux pas

Dream 1

I may have been in a suburban neighborhood in the daytime. I may have been dropped off here by someone, possibly my brother or another family member. The street I was walking down may have been level, but it may also have been at the crest of a steep slope of blocks and blocks of residential houses.

I may have been imagining some sort of conversation I would have with someone about an airplane flight I'd taken. I may just have been dropped off from this airplane flight. Some people had thought that the flight or the plane wasn't very good. But I thought it was, and I was imagining a conversation about why I'd thought it was good. My brother had possibly been the pilot.

I had walked clockwise down one block and then another. I'd ended up in something like a wooded park. I turned right and started walking down a path.

I was still imagining the conversation. But now I had to run. Apparently the plane was waiting for me. I had to catch it before it left. My mother was probably running beside me. We ran down a wide, gully-like path.

The airplane -- a big, silvery plane like from World War II -- was somewhere. Then we were on the plane. I was in the hollowed-out back area, which had no windows. My mom was probably up front, in the pilot's cabin, probably with my brother, who was flying the plane. I was still imagining the conversation I would have with people who didn't think this flight or plane was good.

We lifted up into the air. But it was also still somehow like I wasn't on the plane yet -- maybe even like I hadn't decided whether I wanted to be on the plane.

I could see somehow that the plane's propellers -- this was a prop plane -- were having some kind of trouble.

Some part of my vision was now up in the pilot's cabin. Somehow my brother made it known that some sort of tubes that went to the propellers were either out of or very low on oil. This sounded kind of scary to me at first. But then my brother made it known that there was enough oil remaining to get us to wherever we were headed, but that after we got there, we'd definitely need to put more oil in.

I was still in the windowless back part of the plane. But I could see, either through the windows of the pilot's cabin or from some point of view outside the plane, that we'd lifted up over a tall hill in the park.

I still wasn't sure I wanted to be on this flight. But I knew we were already on our way. So I couldn't get off the plane. But I reassured myself, and the people I was having a conversation with in my head, that everything would be okay. I felt like the oil situation had been monitored well.

Dream 2

I had probably posted something on Twitter about some event, maybe some kind of pop culture convention. I'd probably posted a few tweets about how I was excited for the event or how I had really enjoyed the event. I'd probably then posted a tweet that was just a quote, or my paraphrase of a quote, from one of the people who ran the event, possibly the top person in charge of the event.

The person I'd tweeted about, however, was really angry about my tweet. I imagined the person as a white man, bald on the top of his head, but possibly with long, white hair on the sides of his head and a grey mustache that flowed down into a long, white beard.

I read the man's reactions to my tweet and could feel the anger coming from the man. The man felt I'd misquoted him or totally misrepresented him somehow. He told me I should delete all the tweets related to him and his event. He then implied he was even going to try and get my account deleted.

I was now out on a soccer field during the daytime. A game was going on, probably between teenage boys. But it was way off in the distance, and the boys were all so close to the far goal, so they seemed even farther away. Yet at other times it felt like they were pretty close to me.

I may have been trying to get closer to the game -- not to play, but just to see how it was progressing. But I may also have felt unwelcome in the game. And I also may have felt like the angry man was in charge of the game or playing in the game. So I really didn't want to get too close.

The man's Twitter tirade continued during all of this. Somehow the man had started direct messaging me on Twitter. I may have thought this was weird. I was pretty sure he and I were not following each other.

But the man had also managed to connect our conversation with some young woman who was some head person over at Twitter. This three-way conversation probably took place via direct messaging, though it also seemed to take place over the public Twitter feed.

The man was basically trying to get Twitter to delete my account. The woman was sort of defending me. She couldn't see exactly what I'd done wrong. I hadn't misrepresented the man. I'd quoted him directly. She could sort of see that.

But then the woman responded to the man that a lot of times people on Twitter get super-excited about things and post a lot of tweets about whatever they're excited about. The woman was basically implying that I had posted too many tweets about the event, and that the volume of tweets was getting the man all confused, so that it was sort of understandable that the man would eventually feel misrepresented by my statements.

I felt like the woman was actually still trying to defend me. At the very least, she was trying to get the angry man to back off, simply because she found it annoying that he was trying to make sure shut down someone's account. Nevertheless, it was also clear that the woman wasn't on my side, even if she was defending me, and that she -- and possibly even all of Twitter -- found it annoying that I was posting so much about so many things.

I felt like the woman was already starting to be on the fence about whether she should shut down my Twitter account. I had a feeling that the only reason she hadn't already decided to shut down my Twitter account was because she didn't actually know me -- she couldn't actually see me. If she could actually see me, she'd most likely dislike me and firmly decide to shut my account down.

I was now close to a soccer goal. I didn't see any players. But I could probably feel their presence somewhere around me.

I felt like I needed to make a case for myself, to prove that I had not misrepresented the man, that I hadn't even posted very many tweets about the man's event, and that the tweets I'd posted had all been fact-based -- nothing editorial or based on my own opinions or emotions.

I wasn't looking at my phone at all. But somehow, out walking on the soccer field, I was searching for my tweets about the man's event. I couldn't find them. There was some reason for this -- possibly that I'd posted too many other tweets, so that it was now impossible for me to find these specific tweets; or possibly that the man's event had, after all, been so obscure and ill-attended-to, that it was nearly impossible to find any news about it, including my own tweets.

I was in some black room -- possibly a bedroom (or a baby's nursery, but with adult beds in it, too?), possibly my own bedroom, or possibly a bedroom that had been my bedroom but was now partly vacated, as I'd moved out of this bedroom but was still getting stuff out of it. I was lying on a bed. I may have been looking at my phone at first. But now I'd slung the hand my phone was in up over my head and off the edge of the bed.

I may have found enough tweets to prove to the woman that I'd only tweeted a few fact-based tweets about the man's event. But I may still have been uncertain about tweeting these tweets to the woman.

I was probably now on the floor in the room, laying on my stomach or sitting up in some lazy style. I may have been looking at my phone now. But whatever I was looking at was really hard to see and read. I started feeling like maybe the tweets I'd pulled up were really bad examples of whatever I was trying to prove to the woman. I hesitated about sending the tweets. I knew if they weren't good, the woman would get fed up with me once and for all and decide to delete my account like the angry man had told her to.

Dream 3

I was in some sort of official public space. I was in a kind of big room that was full of people. Earlier on I may have been near a food truck. The food truck may have been outside. But it may also have been in this room. While I was at the food truck I may have seen the president of my city council. I may have gotten what I'd needed from the food truck then turned away.

I was now at a doorway out of the room and into another big, full room. My view may have been partly obscured by the doorway.

My city council president walked up to me. He was angry. He pointed his finger at my chest and told me either that I'd said something to offend him or that I'd offended him by not doing something he'd needed me to do.

I told the president that I hadn't done whatever he'd thought I'd done. It was pretty obvious to me that I hadn't. I just needed to point out the obvious to him. But he wouldn't believe me.

He may now have been gone. I still felt like it would be pretty easy to convince him that I hadn't done what he'd thought I'd done. But as I tried, I found it harder and harder to remember the exact evidence that I actually only done good things for him. This may have gotten more and more frustrating to me, as I may possibly have felt that I couldn't actually move from one room to the next without feeling confident that I could present this evidence to the city council president.

brother runs faster than i

Dream 1

It was a golden afternoon. I was out with my little brother, walking along a path bordered by thin strips of lawn, possibly near some kind of suburban shopping center. Some thick, brown leafs occasionally dotted the lawn. The lawn and path probably had a kind of busy road next to it.

My brother were walking at a relaxed pace. Then we realized we needed to get somewhere. So I started running. My brother started running, too. He pulled ahead of me. I kind of got the feeling that he felt like I had been trying to run faster than him, so he needed to run faster than me.

We stopped running. Then we ended up across a street. We needed to cross the street -- which basically put us back near the shopping center area, just on another side of it.

Again, I felt that we needed to move quickly, to get across the street before more cars came, but also to get wherever we needed to go. So I started to run across the street. My brother ran up from behind me and passed me. He didn't look like my brother. He was tall, pale, with a short haircut. He wore a blue sweatshirt and something like grey long johns.

We were across the street. There was no path now. The space between the shopping center's back wall (or maybe just a big brick wall for a gated community or something?) was now all lawn, dotted by thick, brown leafs.

My brother was still running, a few meters ahead of me. I figured I would keep running and try to keep up with him. I wasn't sure how well I'd do. I was already winded. But I figured I'd keep running as long as I could.

But now my brother stopped running. I jogged the rest of the way to catch up with him.

Quick message

Hello everybody,

I am back after a five-year hiatus. I would like to start entering my dreams in my dream journal again. We'll see whether I manage to do this.

Thank you, and enjoy.

Preemie