maboroshi

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was in group meeting room with about twenty other people. The room was only partly lit, with a drab, greenish white, fluorescent light.

The room was divided into two parts. The back part was kind of empty, with maybe a long, folding table. The front part had a few couches and chairs. Most people were in or near the front part. The area was so full that people were standing up behind the back couch.

I had been standing way back in the back area, by myself. But now I walked forward to listen to what was going on. A young woman was leading the discussion. She sat on a couch on my right side.

To the woman's right, on the same couch, and on another couch, probably the back couch, sat two young men who looked a lot alike. They were both tall, thin, pale, and shaved-headed. They wore nice, casual khakis and dress shirts. I felt like I'd known both of the guys from high school.

I came to understand that this was a group discussing alien abductions. Aliens existed and were among us, in a very obvious way. And, somehow, the young woman was serving as something like a go-between, between the aliens and the people in this room.

Some of us in the room had been abducted. Others of us were, apparently, trying to be convinced to volunteer for abduction.

I was now sitting on a couch opposite the young woman. The man to the young woman's right was now speaking about his own abduction experience. I now realized that the young man's head had been shaved by the aliens, while they'd experimented on him.

The woman asked the man if the experience was really bad. The man said that most of the experience didn't really bother him at all.

The only part the man hated, he said, was when the aliens did a mental probe on him. He said that it felt really terrible to have all his memories drawn up. He could see them. But he wasn't controlling them. And he knew he was only watching them because someone else -- the aliens -- wanted to see them.

The man mentioned another part of the experiment he hated. As the man described it, it first sounded to me like the aliens had put the man through some kind of system where they'd caused his body to work as if it were under a lot of stress. But then the man said that the aliens had actually shut down the man's body entirely. He was dead, but still conscious.

This man's discussion was supposed to convince people that alien abductions weren't so bad. It didn't convince me. I got up and walked toward the back area. But I knew the second man was going to talk. I wanted to listen to him as well. I think I may still have been considering volunteering for an abduction.

Dream #2

I was in a group meeting room, like in the first dream. It was divided into two areas. The front area was full of people, and the back area only had a few people. I think most of the people were Indian. The room was warm with incandescent light.

On the right wall a movie was playing. All the couches in the front area were arranged to face the movie, like a makeshift movie theatre. I think everybody had plates of food.

There were plent of seats open on the couch. So I sat down on one. The couch felt really nice. It was a dull blue or pink, and it had a kind of soft, crushed velvet feel to it.

I looked up at the movie. Some really pretty Indian girl was either being taught or teaching someone how to make a kind of honeyed bread. It basically looked like a cornbread square, glazed in honey, with a walnut in the center, on top.

The girl was dressed in a traditional Indian outfit. There was a sense of sexuality, romance, and tradition all wrapped up in the food making.

I got the idea that this screening was a kind of preview for the film. The film wasn't finished yet, and we were all supposed to give our feedback on it, so that it could be tweaked for more audience enjoyment.

But I started to wonder if maybe this film wasn't a bit too stereotypical toward Indians, what with the food-making and tradition and so forth. I wondered if Indians would be offended by a film like this.

It didn't occur to me that the film was actually Hindi (it was -- it had English subtitles), and that pretty much everybody else in the room was Indian.

There was a father-like man standing near the couches. He had dark skin and a bit of a pot belly. He wore a button-up shirt of really nice, pale-blue material and nice, dark slacks. I thought I might go hang out with him, since I figured he'd have a better idea about all this stuff than I did.

Dream #3

It was daytime. I was walking through a forest, probably a pine forest. I was walking along a slope, not on any trail. The pine trees were all spaced well apart. The ground itself was black. It may have been black cinder soil, or (I think now) the forest could have been burnt down.

There must have been a road at the top of the slope, up to my right. Suddenly people came blasting down the slope! They were all laying, extended straight out, with their legs crossed and their arms crossed over their chests. And they were propelled so that they were rolling, tumbling, down the slope.

I followed these people down the slope. I reached a point where there was a cliff. I couldn't go any farther. The cliff must have been about fifty meters high. It ended with a flat valley of forest, of the same black-soiled, or charred look as the area up around me.

But one of the rolling, tumbling people, in his movement, had rolled right off the cliff.

I suddenly knew that this was all some game. People were thrown, almost at random, down the slope. There were all kinds of random land formations down the slope. Depending on fate, and the skill of the person, the person either would or wouldn't survive going down the slope. Survival, as well as something else, would determine who won this game.

But this person's path had been directly toward this cliff. There were a few places, going down the cliff, where the person managed to grab hold for a moment. But everything in the cliff was really soft. The cliff was like some shelf of really soft, brown coal.

Finally the person managed to grab onto a thick tree root that was growing out of the cliff wall. It might have been able to get him over to a thin ledge.

But it was obvious that the root was dead and rotten. The more the man pulled up on it, the more it was shifting its way out of the cliff. And, besides, even if the man got to the ledge, he'd be trapped there. There was no way down.

So the man just gave in to the fact that he'd lost. He either let go of the tree root or held onto the tree root until it finally snapped out of the cliff. The man fell maybe about twenty meters and died on impact.

There were already a bunch of people down on the ground by now -- some alive, some dead. The living had set themselves out in the valley, as if they were going to camp there for the night. Some of the living headed over to the man's body after they saw that he'd fallen to his death.

I walked back up the slope. I reached the top of the slope, where the road was. I saw cars passing along the road. I then understood that the people were tossed out, in their rolling positions, from the cars. This was what gave them such great speed (??? -- in a perpendicular direction?). I may even have seen another batch of people thrown out from the cars.

I think my mom, or at least somebody I knew, was up around here. I'm pretty sure, anyway, that somebody was calling my name or talking to me, probably from a slight distance, maybe even across the road from me.

I may have spoken a little bit with the person who had been speaking to me. But, even though I think the person was looking forward to me helping them with something, I told the person that I would be back in a moment.

I knew there was a really safe way to get down into the valley. I walked down the slope and kept going forward, in the direction of the road. The cliff merged into the slope farther along, and the slope became very mild.

I walked down along the mild slope to the valley. I figured that once I got down to where everybody was, I'd help bury the man I'd seen die, out of respect for him. But I also probably figured that I'd help bury all the dead. This game didn't make any sense.

Dream #4

I was sitting in some restaurant, probably a fast-food restaurant. It was daytime, and there was plenty of light coming in from the windows. There were a lot of people in the restaurant. The place felt packed, busy, and humid, like a coffee-warmed store on a winter's day.

I sat on the right side of a table for four. A police woman sat across the table from me. I don't think either of us had any food. The woman was white, kind of short, a bit overweight, with a round, pale face. She had frizzy, red-brown hair, drawn back in a braided pony tail. She had kind of thin eyes, pale blue-green. She looked like she may have been in her early twenties.

The woman was telling me something about how disappointed she was in me. I'd either done or said something that had really gone against her expectations of me.

Now she was pretty much through with me. I knew this was bad for me because, since she was a cop, now that she was through with me, she'd probably have the other cops start giving me a bad time.

The woman stood up to leave. I may have stood up to try to get her back. But I don't think I really knew what to say. So I probably gave up and sat back down just as soon as I'd stood.

Dream #5

In my head, I was talking with either my old friend R or his first or second wife. I'm pretty sure that the conversation eventually became between the first wife, N, and myself. As I had this conversation in my head, I was cleaning out a bathtub in a bathroom with kind of dim, warm, incandescent light.

I was telling N that I hated even talking to her and R. They seemed to love making me feel inferior to them. It was even like they operated as a team, taking turns saying nitpicky things or one-upping me, when the other person couldn't find the right thing to say.

I probably said that this was why I didn't want to go to some thing that N had invited me to. This probably ended the conversation.

As I was finishing the conversation, I noticed that my efforts to clean the bathtub were really failing. I'd sprayed cleaner all over the tub, and I was wiping the tub off with a sponge.

But I just seemed to be taking whatever grime there was in the tub and spreading it all over the entire tub. The spray bubbles themselves only seemed to be gathering up the grime and expanding it, so that now my tub's surfaces seemed to be coated in soapy grime.

I might possibly have realized that I'd need to wipe and re-wipe the surfaces before I got all this stuff off. The first spraying was to get everything wet. I'd have to spray again. Then the wet stuff would start coming off, leaving the surface clean.

Dream #6

A commercial from the late 1970s. A thin, prettyish, blonde woman was pushing a cart through a grocery store. A male narrator was talking about wise choices a mother should make while shopping.

The "wise choices," obviously, meant buying whatever product the narrator was advertising.

The view then switched to a view from the cart. The woman's face was framed in a circle in the center of the screen. The rest of the screen was black. This was supposed to be the view of the woman's baby, who was sitting in the cart.

The woman was making all kinds of kissy faces to the baby. The male narrator was now saying, in connection with making wise choices while shopping, that a baby will always imitate whatever a mother does. This implied that the baby was probably making kissy faces back to the mother.

Suddenly the mother let out a flat, kind of raspy burp. The mother was surprised, and a little apprehensive. She knew the baby would probably imitate her burp.

The view now shifted to a view more like the mother's view. The "baby" in the cart was actually a pretty, skinny girl, maybe seven years old. She was sitting in the basket of the cart, rather than the seat of it. But I felt like she was probably too old to sit in the cart, like a baby would.

Sure enough, the little girl, kind of looking up to her mother like a baby would, burped, in almost the same way as her mother did.

It was then nighttime. The mother was in her bedroom, which was pretty big. It was dark. But somehow the mother could be seen, maybe in a nightgown, masturbating.

The little girl, standing in the hallway in only underwear and a tank-top, was watching the mother through a crack in the door. With a baby-like mentality, the little girl thought she'd copy the mother, in front of the mother.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was with two friends, a man and a woman. We were walking into something like a high school gymnasium which had been done up for a flea-market-type sale.

Just inside the heavy metal doors was an aisle of tables, running from the left to the right, and extending across the width of the gymnasium. The tables were all divided into booths, and were filled with people selling things.

It seemed like my friends and I had gotten to the flea-market sale pretty early. There weren't many other customers around. Some of the vendors may still have been arranging their booths.

My male friend split off from my female friend and I. My female friend was a black woman, short, a bit overweight. She had short hair arranged in little spikes or braid-like twists.

We walked toward the back, right corner of the aisle. My friend stopped and looked at some shirts. They were long-sleeved shirts, warm for the winter, in kind of flat green and cream-white. I may have fondled a square, paper tag that may have said something about how the shirts were made of hemp-cloth.

My friend now stopped at a booth with hats on it. She picked up a blue denim hat with a short, round brim. She put it on and asked me how she looked. I thought she looked pretty cool.

I thought I'd fool around and try on a hat as well. But my friend chose a hat for me. She said I'd look good in a cowboy hat. The hat she gave me was huge, almost like a caricature of a cowboy hat. But both sides of the brim were also pinned to the crown of the hat -- so the hat kind of looked like a hat-taco.

I put it on anyway and looked at myself in a mirror on the back wall of the booth. I thought I looked like a complete goofball.

I think at this part I started to hear voices in my head. They sounded like the voice of Sherlock Holmes. I may have been reasoning something out, as if I were Sherlock Holmes.

Suddenly I was in a room. I was one of three children. But I wasn't in the body of whichever child I was.

The children were actually more like young adults. They were probably in their late teens and early twenties. There were two boys and one girl.

One of the boys was Sherlock Holmes. The girl was a really pretty, fair-skinned girl with kind of slim eyes and long, pale-brown hair. The kids all had the style and attitude of kids from the late 1970s.

The kids were all up in one of their bedrooms, which was a kind of small room up on a second or third floor of a mansion. They'd each alternately pace lazily around the room or lay down on the bed, roll around on it, etc.

The kids were all speaking with each other. Sherlock Holmes still seemed to be reasoning something out with himself. The girl was at least teasing Sherlock Holmes, if not the other boy. All three kids were lazy -- and they knew it. But the girl took a little bit more pleasure in teasing the boys for being lazy.

The girl had to leave. Then the two boys were together. But then one of the boys had to leave. The other boy was by himself.

During this time the boy had transformed from Sherlock Holmes into Lewis Carroll. As Sherlock Holmes, the boy had been just a regular boy, or young man, from the 1970s. As Lewis Carroll, something about him changed. He actually took on more of a late nineteenth century appearance.

But the boy was still lazy. He may have known that the girl had gone off and found a job. And the other boy may have at least gone looking for a job as well. But Sherlock/Lewis was still just sitting up in his room.

Sherlock/Lewis was thinking of what kind of excuse he'd give his parents (with whom he was still living) for not yet having found a job.

He thought he'd make up something about being a writer and needing his time to write. In my mind's eye I saw a huge, yellow pencil laying across the bed with the boy. I thought the writer excuse kind of made sense. After all, if this was Lewis Carroll, he was really a great writer.

But then Sherlock/Lewis, looking out the window, started thinking about what his dad would say about him. I could hear his dad's voice in his head. Eventually the dad's speech took over the narrative.

The dad, who was like Bill Loud in the show An American Family, was narrating a letter that he'd written to his wife. His wife was out in some foreign country, maybe France, taking care of some business.

The dad wrote his wife that he'd gone to visit the daughter at either the location of her new job or at her college campus. Either way, the daughter was in a new town. But this was a town where the dad and mom had met and fallen in love. So the dad was happy to go back there.

There was a view of some part of a campus, I think, in this town. There were a lot of trees. But it was winter, and the trees were all leafless. The branches struck me as being very black.

The father wrote/narrated a very sentimental statement that began with him sighing, "Ah!, the memories..."

Now there was a strange view of painty-looking or animated-looking flowers, huge, five-petalled, yellow flowers, blossoming on the barren branches. The father made some kind of statement about the first experience of love between him and his wife, and how it was as delicate as trembling petals.

Dream #2

I was watching a documentary. There was a black and white photograph of two girls from a wealthy Italian family. The girls were sitting on the left rim of the pool for a big fountain, which was out on a gravel driveway leading up to the family's huge mansion.

The photo was really blotchy. It was apparently taken in the 1940s, though the girls seemed to me to look more like they were from the 1970s, or even the present.

The girls both had really long hair, which was very straight and plain. And the girls wore very short denim shorts, or denim coveralls with very short leggings. Both girls had a skinny look about them, though neither really was skinny. They both looked a little dull and overly spoiled.

The view now closed in on the girl sitting higher up on the rim. This girl was the older sister. A narrator now explained that the older sister had a disease, which had made her life very tragic.

As the narrator continued, the view now became active and in color. The view had shifted away from the fountain and onto the gravel driveway. It was the present. But things at this estate were pretty much the same as they had been in the 1940s.

There were a few old men standing out by some junk in the driveway. It looked like it may have been a ticket booth and some other equipment related to an old-time carnival.

The narrator's speech had continued. The narrator had explained that the girl had never been particularly pretty. But as she reached her seventeenth year, she'd begun to blossom into a more beautiful girl.

But at this time, the girl was suddenly struck by a disease which was like a cancer, eating away at her face. The disease was combatted once, and the girl was okay. But then the disease came back again and again, until a few years later, the girl's face was completely ravaged.

One of the men in the gravel driveway now walked over to the right side of the road. There was a big structure there. It was made of concrete, and it was as tall as the man. It was shaped like the plastic head of a baby doll. And I supposed that the face of this giant, concrete baby doll was turned away from me, so that I only saw the back of the head.

The back of the head, though, had a huge chunk smashed right out of its center. The chunk revealed , through a thick, ragged window of concrete-white, pebbly casing, the hollowness of the doll's head.

I assmumed that there was probably a similar smashing in on the front side of this gigantic baby doll's head. And I assumed that this head was a metaphor for the 1940s girl's head. I realized that this was what the disease had done to the woman.

Dream #3

Some anime. The main bad guy was a beautiful-man kind of figure: skinny, elegant, with long, purple hair. He was a very sinister kind of character.

But it turned out that the reason the bad guy had been causing all the trouble was because somebody had taken his favorite teddy bear away from him. He assumed the good guys had done it. So he was causing all kinds of trouble for them.

I thought this was a really disappointing reason for a bad guy to be bad. It cheapened the whole story. I couldn't even figure out why good guys would fight this bad guy at all.

Good morning, everybody.

Ugh! I let my dumb weekend chores spiral out of control. So I'm not making this entry until now!

Just as a note, the second dream was the closest thing to a nightmare that I've had in a long time. It wasn't very different from many of my other dreams. But, for some reason, it upset me a lot. I could hear myself screaming in the dream. I may actually have woken up screaming.

Dream #1

I was heading into the lobby of either an apartment building or a hotel. I had just moved out of my old place and into this new place. The lobby was really wide, but with a low ceiling and a kind of old, worn-out look. There was a little front-desk-type area at the back, right corner of the lobby.

I headed toward a small room on the left wall, near the front of the lobby. It was the mail room. There were a lot of aluminum mailboxes along the wall on my right side. But a lot of the mailboxes were busted open. Someone had broken into the mailboxes.

I was arfraid for my own mail. My mailbox may have been open. I had some mail in my box. But it did seem like something was missing.

I looked at my mail as I walked out of the room. One piece of mail was for some other apartment. The other piece may have been a door tag from FedEx, like what they leave on a door when they come to deliver a package, but the person isn't hme.

I thought I would either give the piece of wrongly delivered mail directly to the person it belonged to, or else give it to the person at the front desk. But I was kind of afraid to let anybody know that the mailboxes had been broken into. I didn't want the people who'd broken into them to cme after me.

For some reason I was getting ready to leave the apartment. A FedEx man was coming in at the same time. But instead of asking him about my package, I told him that someone had broken into the mailboxes.

Dream #2

A documentary about the effects of some sort of nuclear accident, probably in Russia, though I'm pretty sure it wasn't Chernobyl. The documentary was following the lives of people in a small town near the accident.

The people had all been exposed to radiation. But they hadn't been moved away from the area where they'd been exposed. Most of the people seemed to be women.

There was one woman in a bedroom that kind of looked like a hostpital room. The woman was by herself, with her baby, in the room. But the room had multiple beds (or low cots), some of which could be separated from each other by dark blue curtains.

The woman was walking back and forth with her baby cradled to her chest by means of some kind of blanket. The woman wore a dark green t-shirt and may have been pushed up above the navel of the woman's taut belly.

A narrator may have said something about how the woman was really ill from the effects of the radiation. Now the woman was laying in one of the low cots, holidng her baby close to her. The baby may then have changed into a three- or four-year-old girl. The girl may have been tending to the mother.

The view now closed up on the woman's right arm, which was loosely hanging off the edge of the bed. A nurse administered some kind of injection into the woman's arm.

But either the woman was so sick that her body couldn't take any more medicine, or else the injection had been administered wrongly, and now the woman's body was rejecting it. The woman's vein swelled into a square about 3 cm per side. Then the woman's heart stopped beating.

I couldn't believe the woman had just died! I was now in the room. I don't know where the daughter was. I don't know where the nurse was. I thought I was myself, by myself.

I was panicking. I didn't know what to do about the dead woman. I still didn't want to believe she was dead. I thought if I found somebody, they might be able to save her.

So I used my cell phone and called somebody who I thought could help. I was now out in what I thought was the lobby for a small, narrow apartment complex.

I got a hold of the person, probably a man. Suddenly I had to admit to myself that the woman was dead, and that that was what I was going to have to explain to the person. As I started talking to the person, I looked at myself in the mirror.

I was a woman, maybe in her mid- to late-twenties. I was either white or Latina. My skin was pale. I had kind of sharp, almost squarish features. I wore some kind of pale, powdery foundation, and my eyebrows seemed to be pencilled in. I also had my hair in tight braids, which seemed almost like dredds, except with a bunch of tiny tangles coming off of them.

I then walked toward either a blank wall or a white wall with a plain, white door on it. As I did this, I told the man I was speaking to that I had been the one to administer the shot to the dead woman.

When I suddenly realized or admitted that I had been the one that had killed the woman, I broke down. I was crying. But my voice was more of a terrified moan, which eventually became a low-pitched, loud scream.

Dream #3

I was in "my bedroom," which almost had the shape of my bedroom, but which was almost empty. There were some boxes along the back wall, near the left corner. But I noticed they had been pushed from the wall.

I was afraid that somebody had been in my room. BUt I was more worried about putting the boxes back into alignment.

When I looked closer, I noticed that what had probably pushed them out of the way was some really heavy box that had managed to slump over toward the wall in such a way that it wedged in between the other boxes and the wall, pushing the other boxes aside as it slid along the wall, down toward the floor.

I picked up the heavy box. It was apparently a Christmas package I'd received. I figured I'd just need to open the package now and put the contents wherever they belonged in the house, so that the box would stop interfering with the order of my other boxes.

I opened the package. A wine bottle was inside. I pulled it out. The green bottle was encased in a white, plastic square, and it had a white, plastic, pull-off top.

I must have done something with the bottle. But now I was standing near the front wall of my room. The lights had been on before. But now they were off. The only light in the room was coming from my hallway or bathroom.

I was looking at my room, proud of how clean and spacious it looked, now that I'd organized things so well. But I now noticed that I had a cluttered pile laying a meter or so away from my back and right walll. The pile was mostly clothes, though there may also have been a blanket or beanbag chair.

I sighed, annoyed that I'd have to clean this stuff up before I could truly think I had a clean room. I lifted up a maroon, button-up shirt made out of some flannel-like material. I folded it. I folded another piece of clothing. I eventually worried that someone, somehow, might discover that I also had female clothing in this pile.

Dream #4

One of the very first episodes of the TV show Full House. Almost everybody in the cast was different.

The house itself also looked a lot different, like a mix between the house in Growing Pains and the house in Family Ties. There was a staircase on the left side of the room, near the front door. At the foot of the staircase was a big piano.

The dad and Uncle Jesse had kind of secretly worked to buy a doll for the middle daughter of the family. (Uncle Jesse may have been John Stamos, but the dad wasn't Bob Saget.) The two men wanted to make up for something really aggravating that had happened to the girl, and had probably been their fault.

So the two men left the doll sitting on top of the piano. The room was now empty, though I had an image in my mind's eye of the older daughter, who was the same person as in the regular show, except that she had really straight hair and wore eyeglasses.

The middle daughter now walked into the house. She was different from the daughter in the regular cast. She saw the baby doll laying on the piano top. Surprised, she rushed to the doll and picked it up. She walked up the stairs with it.

The doll wore no clothes, probably had a white, cloth body, and plastic limbs, and was either bald or had plastic "hair" molded onto her head.

Somehow this plain old cloth and plastic doll managed to pee. She just let out a huge gush of water, getting the daughter's front all wet.

The daughter's appearance had changed. She now looked like a "rebel girl" or "skater girl" kind of TV show character. She cried out, "Oh, god! You peed all over me!"

The daughter needed to clean herself off. But now the whole scene started over again. But everything that had already happened was still remembered by the characters.

The doll was placed, by an unseen erson, on the piano top. For a moment, the camera view closed in really tight on the doll, who seemed to be surrounded by a tiny square of little, wooden bars, almost like a mini, doll-sized railing that had been built onto the piano top.

The daughter ran in and picked it up, this time without any surprise or excitement. The daughter may also still have needed to clean the pee off herself.

But now the daughter, walking up the stairs, started saying things to the doll like, "Oh, yeah! I really like you! You're really sexy!"

I wondered why this girl would find a doll so sexy, and I wanted to see more, to see howthis relationship would develop between the girl and the baby doll that she found sexy.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was in a dark restaurant. The restaurant had a lot of small, black, two-person tables in the main area. I sat at a table there. Off to my left there were some bigger booth tables. Multicolored neon lights seemed to reflect off many of the dark surfaces in the bar.

The two-person seating area was pretty full. A business man sat next to me, at the table to my right. He may have been Asian American, maybe in his late thirties or early forties. He wore square glasses and a kind of plain suit. He had a gentle, easygoing, but mature-sounding voice.

The man asked me why I had left my previous job. I began to list off a whole bunch of complaints about my former boss. The complaints just got worse and worse, and I just got more and more agitated as I listed them. I think the main complaint was that my boss wanted me out of the office, and that he just neglected me and tortured me until I left.

I now noticed that my boss was sitting up in one of the booths off to my left. Red, white, and green light was playing off his face, like a rotating neon sign (or a barber shop pole) was shining on him.

My boss was sliding a grey iPad back into a case. It was almost like the iPad was the thickness of a VCR cassette and that the iPad case was like a VCR cassette sleeve.

I could tell that my boss had heard everything I'd said about him. I was a little ashamed of myself for having spoken bad about him. But I was also glad that he'd heard it. I hoped that it would sink in somehow, and that he'd feel bad.

But I also felt bad for complaining. The business man may have been thinking about hiring me. Now that I'd complained so much, maybe he just thought I wouldn't be a good employee.

My boss was now standing just beside me, on my left. He said, "Hey, I need to talk to you for a second."

I stood up with him and walked toward the center of the restaurant. There was a wide pillar there, around which was a chest-high counter that had a bunch of computer screens (maybe cash registers?) on it. My boss stopped there and spoke to me.

He said "You know, I've been getting the feeling lately that you think I didn't treat you right while you were working for me. And that's just not true. I have a feeling you've been telling people stuff like that. And I really don't want you to."

The way he was saying all this made it sound like he had just come to these conclusions all by himself -- like he hadn't heard me speaking at all just now, and the idea had just popped into his head. I knew he was just trying to impress me by making himself sound insightful enough to guess my moves. But I'd seen him listening to my conversation.

I told my boss, "I saw you sitting there, listening to everything I said! I knew you were there, and that's why I said it! I'm not sorry I said it! You treated me like garbage while I was there!"

(EDIT: I forgot to say that there was also some point where I was even making fun of my boss' voice, doing some kind of high-pitched, flat squealing, with a sheep-like, bleating rhythm. I may have been standing or crouching over my boss while he was laying on the ground. I may even have had his left (?) arm pinned to the ground.)

I was now standing out near the dugout of a baseball field in a park. I was with my boss momentarily, still yelling at him. But my boss eventually changed into my old friend R.

We were actually standing with a group of people, maybe twelve or fifteen of us, all straggled out along a fence that went along from third base to home plate. R and I were standing just beyond third base. At this point, the fence was separated from the diamond by about twenty meters of lawn, and it went up a small slope.

I knew that I had been yelling at R just like I had been yelling at my old boss. But suddenly I felt like R was in control of something in my life. I didn't like R very much, but I felt like I should apologize to him and be nice to him, so that he would stop controlling whatever it was he was controlling in my life, and make things okay for me again.

There had been a little bit of a game going on on the ball field, a game between two semi-competitive teams, maybe teams of little kids. But now the kids were all just milling around the field, clearing off the field.

There was some sort of ceremony that was now being held on home plate. A kind of tall, kind of fat, bald man in a grey suit, white shirt, and reddish tie was presenting somebody to give a speech. The person was another old friend of mine, E.

I only heard one particular phrase from E's speech. I can't remember what it was. But it struck me as attempting to be "folksy," something that would be understood by and sympathized with by all the "common people" around him.

I was kind of sickened by this. When I'd first met E, he was a kind of intellectual guy. He struck me as being a genuinely good person. But the older he got, the more he enjoyed cheating and taunting people. But he still tried to carry off the act of being a good guy. By now, it was all just a horrible charade to anybody who knew him. And his speech was an awful example of it.

Nevertheless, when E finished his speech, I went after him, to go talk to him. I figured that since he'd done something important like give a speech, and be introduced by a man in a suit, that he might be an important guy now. He might be able to help me out in my own difficulties.

E walked over toward the fence, toward a section closer to home plate. I hurried down toward him. I may have reached him and started talking to him, in a really shameful kiss-up kind of way.

Dream #2

I was in some place like a house or a mansion. I was in what looked like a big living room. But I may have been sitting on the left edge of a bed. The room was all made of dark wood. There were no lights on. But a lot of natural light was coming through a doorway, probably a wide doorway into a bathroom.

The bed didn't have any blankets on it, just a white sheet around the mattress and a white sheet over that. The bed may actually have been a hide-a-bed, the kind that pulls out from under the cushions of a couch.

Just off to my right, a guy stood talking. It was as if he were in a commercial, or in some kind of "special features" style mini-documentary for a movie. He, and everything around him, had a gauzy haze, like I was already watching the documentary, and the view from the camera lens, which was in some kind of soft focus.

The guy was some famous director. He looked like he was from the late 1970s or early 1980s. He was kind of skinny, with hair down just below his shoulders. He wore roundish, black-rimmed glasses and some kind of nerdy-looking suit.

The director had a kind of high, but full voice, so everything he said sounded a little pompous, and a little more like singing than talking.

The director was talking about his future plans. But he didn't really seem to have any. He may have mentioned that he'd done a lot of work already, and that he now planned to just spend time with his family, to re-charge a little.

The director said that the thing that ruined a lot of creative people nowadays was letting themselves get too overrun by taking on too many tasks. Their work was cheapened, and the artists would get burnt out. The director said that he was going to try not to let this happen to him.

I stood up and walked toward the bathroom, still hearing the director, as if he were speaking directly into my head. The director may have started talking about the French filmmaker Francois Truffaut's career as an example of burning out. I may have seen some black and white photos of Truffaut, intercut with solid views of lavender color.

I now stood in the bathroom, looking down into the bathtub. I was thinking of taking a shower. But there was a little reddish dirt or grime ringing the side of the tub and dusting up the floor of it.

I was kind of grossed out by this. I wondered how a bathtub could be so poorly taken care of in such a rich house as this. I may have thought I'd clean the tub. But I also may have thought that I just wouldn't take a shower.

Dream #3

I was in a house with my sister. I was in the living room, and my sister was in the kitchen. Both rooms were small, so even though we were in two rooms, it felt like we were hanging out together. The living room had no lights on, but light came into it through the kitchen.

I had been sitting on the couch, probably watching a movie on a TV that stood on an entertainment center just off to my left. But now I stood up and walked into the kitchen. My sister was sitting at the kitchen table, doing something -- maybe writing, or coloring in a coloring book, or doing something on her phone.

At some point my sister may have turned into a blonde girl I knew in high school, though she may have been college-aged.

I told my sister that I was going to take a shower. She said okay. But she then mumbled something about the university I'd attended. I didn't understand what my sister had said. So I asked her to say it again. Again my sister just quickly mumbled something about the university I'd attended.

It was like my sister was giving me news about the university. But it was more like she was sharing her reactions to the news with me. She already expected me to know what the news was. And if I didn't know the news, she would just figure I was pretty stupid.

This was even more the case -- at least in my mind -- because my sister had been told the news by a man that she was attracted to.

This man was maybe ten years older than I. He was big and strong and probably involved in business in some way or another. If this man could outdo me with his knowledge, through my sister, my sister -- I thought -- would feel like she didn't need to respect me, or even treat me nicely, anymore.

So after I'd determined that my sister had really mentioned something about news regarding the university I'd attended, I just said something really non-committal, like, "Yeah, it's pretty crazy, right? I can't believe it," and then walked to the shower.

I walked down the dim hallway and into the dark bathroom. I didn't turn any lights on. I closed the door. I must have stripped out of my clothes, too. I now figured I would look at my phone, try to get whatever news I could about my old university, and, while I was showering, think up some responses to give my sister.

When I turned on the news, though, I found a web page that said that the house of famous actress Barbara Steele had caught fire. Apparently Barbara Steele (an actress famous for her roles in Federico Fellini's 8 1/2 and David Cronenberg's Shivers) nowadays lived in my old university town.

The news article showed a picture of Steele's house. But the photo was from the roof of the house. The roof, actually, took up almost all the photo. And the main focus of the photo seemed to be a small array of solar panels that now seemed to be sinking down through the roof.

There may also have been snow on the roof, and there were a few men on the roof, apparently in the middle of putting out the fire. The house seemed like it was just a regular, suburban house in a regular, suburban neighborhood, not a big mansion one would expect a movie star to live in.

The news article said that Barbara Steele had been in the fire, and that she'd been rushed to the hospital. It seemed to imply that she'd died. But I couldn't really determine whether that was true.

I figured this must have been the article my sister had been talking about. My sister would know how much I loved Barbara Steele. So she probably would have wanted to discuss with me any news she'd heard about her. I started thinking of responses to give my sister about the article.

But now I could hear (and maybe even see, in my mind's eye) my sister and the older man talking with each other. My sister was telling the older man that I seeemed to be going through some sort of difficulty. My sister even seemed to imply that I'd lost or was lacking something, as if the older man might help me get a replacement.

I was a little upset that my sister had told the man all of this, especially since my sister and the older man already seemed to be planning with each other how they could make me feel less intelligent than they were.

But I was also relieved. I knew I was missing something. And maybe the man could help me find it. I figured that once I got out of the shower I'd approach the man very humbly and ask him to help me.

But now I saw a strange image. It was a cartoon, or a comic book. A little girl had knocked on a door (her own front door?). A man, maybe the girl's dad, had answered the door. The man let his wife know that the girl was at the door.

But something about what the man said made me realize that the man and girl were going to have sex. They had probably already had sex in the past. It was like the man and the little girl were in love with each other.

Good morning, everybody.

For anybody interested in time and dreams, I'm pretty sure that the first dream took place in less than one minute. I woke up to a police siren, fell asleep, had the dream, and woke up to another siren.

Dream #1

I was walking through a museum, along a second floor balcony overlooking a first floor kind of atrium area. It was probably night, and it seemed like more than half the lights in the museum were turned off. I may have been looking down to the first floor, to a few glass-cased displays along one of the walls.

I was now listening to some man, who was supposed to be the father, Bill Loud, from the 1971 reality show An American Family. But the man sounded a bit younger and a bit meaner than Bill Loud. He was complaining to someone about how one of his sons, probably Lance, was too into museums.

The man complained that now the son wanted the man to go to the museums with him. But the man said, "God, what makes him think I'm interested in going off to see a bunch of tropical colored, electrical fish?"

I now sat at a dining table at the back end of the balcony area. This part of the balcony extended, it seemed, into the main part of the second floor. There may have been a number of tables here. The table I sat at was long, able to seat eight or ten people. But the only other person at the table was Lance Loud, who sat directly across from me.

We sat mostly in darkness. The only light seemed to be coming from a kitchen area, behind me and maybe twenty or thirty meters away.

I had looked down to the first floor at some point. It was now like a movie theatre, including a ground level and a balcony. And it was packed. I knew now that the creators of An American Family had come out with a new documentary, possibly further documenting the life of the Loud family.

I thought of the creators of America as Frederick Wiseman, the great documentary filmmaker. But apparently Wiseman was actually twins. There were two Wisemans.

Lance was here for the premiere of the new Wiseman documentary. But it was kind of against his will. He kind of resented the Wisemans. He felt like the An American Family reality show had ruined his family. The Wiseman twins knew that Lance felt that way. And they resented Lance as well.

Lance was busy complaining to me about the Wiseman twins when they walked past us, heading toward a stairway down to the movie theatre.

The Wiseman twins looked nothing like Frederick Wiseman. They looked more like short versions of the psychic researcher Russ Targ. They had puffy, curly, grey hair, though most of their forehead was bald. They were square-faced, though their faces were a bit wrinkly. One of the twins wore a white sweater. The other one wore a black leather jacket.

As the twins passed us, one of them made a kind of rude remark to Lance in a deep, gravelly, but loose and relaxed kind of voice. The twins knew Lance didn't want to be here, and the twins didn't want Lance to be here.

But one of the twins saw that I was sitting with Lance. He had walked to the top of the staircase. But now he turned around and came back to Lance. In a relaxed, but courteous tone he told Lance, "We're having a ----- after the show. You're more than welcome to come."

The twin walked away. Lance said, really loud, so the twin could hear him, but in such a way as to sound like he was talking only to me, "Oh, like I'd actually want to go to something like that!"

The ----- was something like a viewing of behind the scenes clips from the documentary. This was supposed to be of great interest to a lot of the people who had been involved with the film.

Dream #2

There was a man in maybe his forties who was the father of a girl in her early twenties. The father had had the chance on a couple occasions to be around the girl's circle of friends.

The father felt like it was possible that one of the men in this group would want to marry the girl. The father didn't quite feel comfortable about this. The men seemed either like total screw-ups or like people who would kind of treat the girl in a mean way.

But the father decided that he needed to get to know the guys better before he jumped to such conclusions about them.

The father was now standing out on a driveway in the late afternoon. The father was white, with tan, tough skin and a square haircut of grey and white hair. He wore a white polo shirt. He was in shape, if not actually even muscular.

The father thought it was a stroke of luck -- one of the girl's friends, the one, it seemed, the girl was most interested, was standing in the driveway as well. The father could get to know the guy.

The guy was now standing before the garage. The garage door was open. An incandescednt light lit the garage. There was no car in the garage. But at the very front of the garage was a small shelf, on which sat a few doll-like girls' toys.

The guy was standing there, staring at the doll-toys and giggling to himself. I was kind of concerned for the boy. I felt like the father might think the guy was some kind of pervert for being so interested in girls' toys. But the father didn't feel that way. The father just thought the guy was artistic, interested in these toys for an artistic reason.

The father walked up to the guy to talk to him. The guy was a bit shorter than the father. He was pale white, about half bald, with short, disarranged hair on the rest of his head. He was a little chubby, and his flabby cheeks were dotted with stubble. He wore chunky, square eyeglasses and a too-big, blue-green t-shirt.

The guy, sensing the father behind him, turned around, while still giggling at the girls' toys. He found himself face to face with the father.

But the guy didn't feel he needed to acknowledge the father at all. He kept giggling about the toys, then turned off and to his right, walking toward and then into the front door of the house.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was watching some kind of documentary or TV show about a man who had some kind of really bad disease. But I was also, somehow, in the scene, helping the man. The man's disease may have been terminal.

The man was really overweight. He had dark olive colored skin. He wore a running cap and a white, long-sleeved shirt. The man and I may have hugged or something like that. The man seemed to be really grateful that I had been helping him.

There was another scene that I'm pretty sure I wasn't in. It was more like watching a TV show. The man was standing outside, embracing a girl with his right arm. The girl was probably the man's daughter. The man and daughter were surrounded by news reporters.

The man mentioned something about his appearance. It looked awkward somehow. This was, the man explained, because he was going through sex-change therapy. The chemicals he was taking were giving him a more "feminine" appearance.

I wondered why the hell this guy was taking chemical sex-change therapy at this time. He was apparently dying from a disease. Plus, he had to take all kinds of chemicals in hopes of getting rid of this disease. Now he was taking chemicals for a sex change? It seemed like too much for his body.

Dream #2

I was in a living room with my brother. We were probably watching TV. I was laying on the floor. My brother sat on the couch.

My brother told me, "Sit up and give me the device."

As if I had no will of my own, I sat up, as if to get my brother the device he'd mentioned. My brother seemed to gloat about this. He knew he had the power to control people's minds and actions.

I told myself my brother wasn't really controlling me, and that I would get him the device, just to show that I liked my brother and I wanted to help him.

The device was up on the top of the entertainment center in which the TV sat. It may have been just to the right of a VCR or a DVD player.

The device was some sort of rocket shaped like a stick. But its propulsion mechanism wasn't an explosive. It was like a clear lens that used some kind of electronic process.

My brother had attached a camcorder to the rocket. He was going to film what the rocket did. The rocket and the camera together looked like a bottle rocket.

The rocket was made only for destructive purposes. I knew that my brother's first use of this rocket was going to be to crash it into the face of some woman on a TV news program.

In my mind's eye I saw the rocket crash into the newswoman's face. The rocket may have lodged itself pretty deeply into the newswoman's head. It had to be pulled out. When the rocket was pulled out, I may have seen a view of the newswoman's mutilated face.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was in some place like a workshop. There were one or two groups of people in the workshop. I may have belonged to one of the groups. But one of the groups had finished whatever they'd had to do.

This group left the room. They walked through a long, ramped hallway, like in a hospital. They were now in a dark room at the end of the hallway. The room was like a bar, although it didn't seem to have anything in it. The people were all singing karaoke.

I sat down in the workshop-room at some big working table. I was at the back end of the table. I really wanted to do some karaoke. I was getting restless.

I had a pile of money in front of me. I realized that some people had left their money here. So I should give it back.

President Obama was sitting on the right side of the table, near the front end. I gave the pile of money to Obama. I realized that the money was money that Congress had left on the table. They'd probably need it back. And President Obama would probably be able to give it to them.

I walked away from President Obama. But, for some reason, I still had two $10 bills in my hand. So I turned back to Obama and dropped the $10 bills on the table. They lined up nicely, the bottom edge of one matching wih the top edge of the other. They also looked really nice and new.

I knew that the $20 was some kind of "extra tax" that came with the money for Congress. The main pile of money was the pile that Congress got as a matter of course. The "extra tax" was tax that Congress received on this money.

But President Obama told me to keep the extra $20. He said something like Congress hadn't really earned the stack of money in the first place, and they really wouldn't miss the tax money if it was missing.

President Obama then asked me, "Well, why are you sticking around here? You can go, if you'd like. Don't you wanna go do karaoke with everybody else?"

I said no. I knew the Fed was going to talk about something pretty soon. I felt like it would probably be a smart idea if I hung around here until the Fed got through talking about whatever they were going to talk about. I had partly said this to butter-up Obama and make him think I was smart. But I was also genuinely interested in what the Fed had to say.

Dream #2

I was in a restaurant/bar. The restaurant had a weird shape, kind of an upside-down "L" shape, with the tall part of the "L" being really long and kind of narrow. The lighting for the whole place was a kind of neon-blue. But there were windows to the space outside of the bar, which looked like the inside of a mall and was lit normally.

I had gotten a table to sit at. But I had been asked to stand up. I'd had to walk all the way to the end of the area I was in, i.e. to the "base" of the "L" shape.

Now I was back at my seat. There was some other guy with me, an Asian man in maybe his late twenties, dressed in a business suit. We seemed to be co-workers or friends. We were about to sit down when another man asked if he could sit with us. He was also Asian and young. He was dressed in an all-black business suit.

We didn't know the man, but we let him sit with us. The two men sat beside each other. They started talking with each other, as if they were familiar with each other. I understood that they had never met each other before, but that they "knew the game" well enough to talk with each other as if they were familiar with each other.

I sat on the opposite side of the table, kind of awkwardly positioned in my seat against an empty seat, and messing around with stuff at the table, possibly a glass of water and some condiments or little appetizers or something.

The men tried to include me in the conversation. They asked me something. I responded by giving some speech about the Fed, which I don't remember, other than the fact that it was about them not needing something and having some kind of disagreement with Congress. The Fed might have said that Congress didn't need something.

Dream #3

I was in a big, nice living room in some wonderful apartment on a high-up floor in a big building. An old, white man with white hair sat on a couch. I may have sat down and stood up alternately.

I had been interested in the old man's daughter. I wanted to marry the daughter. But the old man was sure that I only wanted to marry the daughter because I wanted to get at the old man's money. This wasn't true.

There were elements of the dream before this point that proved, I reflected, that I really liked the girl. But I can't remember those parts of the dream.

Good afternoon, everybody. I hope everybody is doing well.

Dream #1

I was laying on a bunch of blankets on the floor in a living room. I was laying on my stomach. There might have been a bunch of people also laying in the living room with me. I could sense a cat walking toward me. The cat lay down near the right side of my head. It began purring. It felt kind of nice to have the cat wanting to sleep near me, although it was a little annoying that the cat wanted to sleep on my head.

Dream #2

I was in some plaza-like area with a woman and her daughter. The mother was youngish, blonde, with pale skin. The girl was maybe 6 years old, blonde, with tannish skin. The mother and daughter sat on some crescent-shaped bench made of concrete.

For some reason I had to go to a museum. The museum was just down the street. I was now in the museum. But all the exhibits were kind of terrible, and there was some kind of pervasive, menacing feel to the place. So, disgusted, I left.

I was now back with the mother and daughter in the plaza. The woman asked me about the museum. I was telling her good things about the museum. She said she might take her daughter there. I figured the woman wanted me to go with her, like it was a date. But I was too shy to say anything.

I sat over on some chair away from the bench. The little girl came and lay across my lap. She lay stomach down and had her shirt pulled up halfway up her back. I massaged the girl's back. I understood from this that the girl wanted me to ask her mom on a date. She wanted me to be part of the family.

I figured I would ask the mom on a date. But now I had to go to some thing like a job interview or a medical examination.

I went to the examination and came back. The mother and daughter were just about ready to leave the plaza for the museum. I figured this would be good for me. I could say that I was just going back to the museum, too, and that we could all go together. That way it would be like a date, but I wouldn't have to ask for a date.

I saw a father, possibly an older, Asian man, with his son, who was a little boy, maybe 5 or 6 years old. The boy was sitting across the man's lap somehow, possibly as the man's legs were fully extended.

Dream #3

There was some kind of snake that had some kind of material in it. When the material was taken out, the snake would become invisible. The material could be put back into the snake, but the snake would not become visible again.