maboroshi

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was in a psychiatrist's office, which actually looked more like a small store mixed with an artist's studio or an unfinished room. The room was narrow, kind of long, with white walls made bright by the sunlight coming in through the front window wall.

I stood before something like a long work table made out of wood, which was either white or brown. The table was on the left side of the room. My psychiatrist stood to my right.

I was telling my psychiatrist a weird set of experiences I'd been having lately. Mostly it was people saying very weird things right out to me. But apparently, on this day, they'd gotten really bad.

I told my psychiatrist how I had gone into one place, possibly a doctor's office, and that a nurse (dressed like a 1950s style, stereotypical nurse), while she was stacking boxes one on top of the other, said she was -----ing the boxes (don't remember the word, but it implied she was actually laying the boxes side by side).

I told my psychiatrist, "Then I went to a cafe. A woman there was laying boxes side by side. But she told me --" I suddenly had the urge to stop speaking, as I felt my talking anymore about this would make my psychiatrist think I was crazy. But I couldn't stop now. So I said, "She told me she was stacking them."

I had an image in my head of something like a floor plan being drawn in red lines on a brownish-yellow piece of paper. I saw perhaps four squares being drawn in some kind of nook-like room. The four squares were boxes, laid side by side. I then saw a woman like a worker at Starbucks, laying boxes like soda syrup boxes side by side in a nook-like area.

There was now a third person in the room with me and my psychiatrist. The person was hard to see. But it was probably a woman, kind of like a wild woman. She was kind of tall, with really messy, black hair. She looked really strong, and she may have been naked. But she was helping my psychiatrist in some kind of professional function, like being her nurse.

The woman stood between us, and while I never saw the woman, it made my psychiatrist much harder to see. My psychiatrist may have changed as well. She may have been a kind of young, blonde woman.

My psychiatrist may have given me some kind of shot. She also prescribed some kind of medicine to me, maybe two different kinds of pills. I had a terrible, sinking feeling. I had told my psychiatrist my real life experiences. But she now thought, as I'd figured she would, that I was crazy. I myself wondered whether I was crazy.

My psychiatrist said I needed to be careful because of the state of mind I was in. She said, "If you keep going like this, you'll start thinking you can hear telegrams (or telegraphs?) inside buildings, or that the direction of your blood is always flowing toward the people who have aggressive feelings toward you."