The Lab Notebook

Non-lucid, Semi-lucid, [Commentary made while awake]

Night of February 28 - March 1

Some restaurant is having some kind of promotion where you can enter a code into an ATM and get money out. I walk out of the restaurant and across a parking lot to get to the ATM. I'm dressed in my pajamas, robe, and slippers, and am glad I'm wearing my rubber-soled slippers, because the parking lot is wet because it has just rained. I get to the ATM, enter my code, and receive a $5 bill, then a $1 bill, then a bonus $5 bill. There's also some loose change in a change dispenser on the [extremely strange-looking] ATM, and I start taking some of it for myself, but it occurs to me that I shouldn't take all of it, because that would be greedy.

Night of March 1 - 2

I'm playing PackRat and find several sets of 10 tickets by flipping over cards.

My mom is driving on a main road through an unfamiliar town, and I'm in the back seat. She's trying to find her way to someplace, but she's obviously lost. We turn left onto a residential street. Finally, I ask her for the TomTom, and she hands it to me. It's getting dark out, and I can't see the device's screen very well, so I reach up to the ceiling of the car to turn on the overhead lights. They turn on for a second, then fade away. Pressing them again does nothing. [I laughed out loud when I recalled this upon waking up and realized what I'd done. Once again, dream sign fail!] I complain to my mom that I keep pressing the wrong buttons when trying to enter the address of the place we're going to, because it's getting dark, the TomTom doesn't emit enough of its own light, and now our dome lights don't work. After a few minutes, though, when it's gotten fully dark outside, the buttons light up in bright red and white, so that I can see each letter and number clearly. [The TomTom doesn't do that in real life; my cell phone does.]

I walk into the bedroom I stayed in when I was living in Kentucky. [It didn't look much like that bedroom actually looked, but the bed was the same, I think.] I remark to whoever else is in the room with me, “I haven't been here in a while. It's the same. This is a good thing.” When I say that, I'm remembering dreaming about this place before [although I don't remember doing so now]. I get into the bed, and the two cats who live in the house jump up onto it and start walking all over me. I just lie there, quietly appreciating my mind's ability to generate the totally realistic but imaginary sensations of cats walking on me and the tips of their tails tickling my face. [No, I don't own any cats in real life, but there really were two cats in the house in Kentucky.] Even though I know that this is just a dream, I never make the logical leap from that fact to “I can go off and do whatever I want!” and never become fully lucid. [I'm still counting this as a lucid dream, though.]