maboroshi

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I walked into "my psychiatrist's office," which was actually a house in a suburban neighborhood. I may have walked in through a side door.

I was in something like a side room or a spare room, not a bedroom, but more like a room with random stuff in it. The room was brown, with cheap plywood-panelling on the walls and a scruffy brown and tan carpet.

At first I thought I was all alone in the house. I suddenly became aware that I didn't actually have an appointment with my psychiatrist today. I thought that maybe I'd come into her house while she and everybody else in her family was gone.

But now I heard my psychiatrist talking with a woman. I imagined a woman in maybe her late fifties or early sixties. My psychiatrist was saying goodbye to her.

I now realized that I hadn't had an appointment with my psychiatrist: I'd cancelled it a while back. Now I was just showing up. My psychiatrist would think I was some kind of crazy stalker.

But I was here, and I'd only look worse if my psychiatrist saw me while I was attempting to leave. So I went into the office-room of the house.

The room was in quite a bit of disarray. I might not even have seen my psychiatrist at first. There was a couch running diagonally through the middle of the room, as if it had been pushed away from the wall. There were shelves in various states of dissaray, and piles of stuff on the floor and in an open closet.

Now I saw my psychiatrist. She was pulling some stuff off a set of shelves. I knew that my psychiatrist had decided that since I'd cancelled my appointment for this day, she'd work on cleaning out her office during this period. She was kind of annoyed to see me here, now that she'd set herself to another task. I was afraid she'd even charge me for a session.

But my psychiatrist asked my opinion. She had to think of a Christmas present for some young male in her family. The man was maybe a nephew of hers who was in his mid-twenties.

My psychiatrist had been cleaning out her record collection. To my left there was a wall-width stereo center with shelves filled with records. But my psychiatrist walked to the closet, off to my right. There were even more records in there.

My psychiatrist pointed to a few records. They were in huge plastic security-cases, like compact discs might be in in a store, before you buy them. The record sleeves had yellow backs, like the Deutsche Grammophone CDs of classical music (? - I think). My psychiatrist asked me if I thought her nephew might like those records.

I walked over to the records. My psychiatrist told me that if I liked them I could have them. She said they were by some Asian group (possibly a Vietnamese group). She may have told me how she'd gotten them, and that she wasn't sure whether the music was any good. I may have told her that the group was really good.

I was now watching a music video by the Malaysian pop group A.P.I. I thought I was familiar with the video and the song.

The video was of three members of the band before a white background. But something like a red curtain would often fall down through the middle of the scene. Sometimes it would fill up the whole scene. The curtain had a fabricky look, and it acted like fabric. But it was transparent, like a piece of thin plastic.

At one point, one of the band members, fully engulfed in the orange-red light of the curtain, slid into a close-up shot, either as if he were on some moving platform, or as if the camera, on a dolly, slid toward him. Then he gave a smile to the screen and turned away. The view slid back into a far shot of him.

Dream #2

I was sitting out on the steps of some building, possibly a school. I was with a few other people, "friends" who I don't recognize now. The steps were shallow, maybe only four or five steps up to the top. They were made of an aging, cheap concrete.

I sat on one of the lower steps. An older girl or younger woman sat on a short, curb-like edge to my right. Some more people sat up near the top of the steps. Those people may mostly have been young women or older girls.

Now a little boy ran out the doors at the top of the steps. He saw me and ran to sit by me.

The boy was maybe nine or ten years old. He was really skinny. He had very fair skin, freckles, and pale green or blue eyes. He had hair in a bowl-like, 1970s-style cut, about down to his shoulders. He wore a big, green sweater and dark, slightly loose blue jeans.

The boy seemed to like me a lot. He even seemed to be attracted to me. I may have been attracted to him as well. The boy may have tried to cuddle with me. But I may have been reluctant about letting him cuddle with me. I didn't want to get too aroused by the feeling of his body.