rshort1202

I’m in a large house on the ocean shore. It is Dad’s birthday, but Makayla and I jokingly run away from him when he shows up. He takes it personally and the look on his face says so. I’m going to try to find him a book here to make up for it. This room looks like a large foyer, books lining the top of every wall on a high shelf. They all look like Franklin Library or similar. Some are more ornate than I’ve ever seen. There are a couple of thick Dostoevskys, the binding looking like his portrait in stained glass. I think about getting these for myself. I know that Dad wants [a certain title] that has to do with maritime, so I search for it. I do find the title, but it’s combined in one volume with The Red and the Black by Stendhal. I open it to find it’s in a weird font that is pre highlighted, I think each character in a different color. I don’t like it. I find one more pre highlighted and spiral bound. Again, I don’t like it. Al shows up now and offers to help. Looking to the shelves, I tell her I’ve looked through every single title. She hands me a book on the old west as a recommendation. I flip through it and see some familiar figures in the illustrations/photographs, such as Judy Garland as Dorothy. Appreciative, I tell her I will take this one. Now, through a window or open door I see Dad walking along the beach with a beer bottle in hand and talking to himself. It is dark out. He’s sad about us abandoning him and, staggering and slurring, says he is going to see [someone]. I feel really bad about this. Now, Julia is here and it feels late at night. She says something and I say “these shrooms are starting to feel good” (I must’ve taken them a bit ago). I go into a room here, hers?, that has a nicely made bed with a fuzzy gray color theme. The rest of the room has the same aesthetic.

*Melissa asked last night what I’m getting Dad for Father’s Day and I told her I didn’t know. She then brought up Carlos’ birthday. I commented on the Franklin Library copy of Ulysses I’m reading and grabbed a Franklin Library copy of Crime and Punishment at work. The things in brackets are specific details present in the dream that I’ve since forgotten.

I’m at work when an older white man comes in looking for some books. He is overweight and I’m not sure if he’s in a chair or a walker or just extremely hunched over. The books he’s looking for are obscure and I’m pretty certain we won’t have them. We go to look for them (I think it’s 3-4), and the main room of this building actually looks more like a cave or cavern. Now we’re in what looks mostly like the local section, looking in a bin called ‘various’. This is where I think we’ll most likely find his books. He is looking for a Zola, and we find one. The cover mentions something about Hell, and it seems very mature and somewhat occult, which is not what I thought Zola was. In this bin, there is also what looks like paperwork and/or mail. Looking through all of it, I see something addressed to me. It’s something about a gun permit. I think it’s very old, as in back when I hunted, or a CCW, which I don’t remember ever getting.



I’m getting my hair cut by Tess. I think she’s talking to someone, and she’s doing a very haphazard job. She finishes quickly and then says something about it being good if I’m an entertainer. Running my hands over it, it is textured but extremely smooth.

I’m at work when a taller blonde man comes up to the counter. I think he is trying to check out, but is being deceptive about something in an attempt to steal it? I see through what he is doing and say I’ll need to see the items, or something similar. He then gets defensive and starts walking out. I start following him. Now, there is something about a girl with a ton of books outside, and me taking one of them. There are so many that I think there’s no way she’ll have them inventoried or know which I’ve taken, but apparently she does, and becomes aggressive. I have to run from her (it seems like we’re in a large, old school or castle). Her books are out here in an open area or courtyard in bankers boxes. It takes up probably 40 x 40 feet, with stacks 2-3 boxes high. Looking at the random seeming assortment of books in one of the boxes, I can’t believe that she really knows what’s here. There are also chain stanchions around the area. It seems dark out.

I am at work, and someone is looking for The Fountainhead. Over in the classics section, I can’t find a single copy, or any Ayn Rand for that matter. I think I even check Fiction just to be sure. Luke is here, so I ask if he’s seen one. He says no, but does help look around. I think I finish up with the customer when he brings over a tall, thick (textbook size) paperback. Apparently it is a version of the Fountainhead without any editing? I go to find the customer to suggest it, but by the time I do this book looks like it’s about something else entirely.

I’m in a grocery store, in the refrigerated section. I’m looking through a shelf of books that happen to be in one of these fridges. They seem arranged alphabetically and I seem unphased by their being in a fridge. It seems like I have some time off and am searching the rows for books on my list. I find two, each a thick (~800 pages) book of approximately the same size. There’s a smaller, thicker copy of one, but I put it back because it’s a 20% off brand new and not used like the other. It has a white cover and I think it’s a fiction book about Yosemite. I flip through it and decide I like the writing. I now grab a package of chicken and find it to be sticky, so I put it back and wipe my hands on my pants. I go up to a counter and ask the guy for a few of the chicken wings. He asks if I’m going to pay for them, which annoys me.

I am flying. It seems that I’ve looked around me and noticed that I am maybe fifty feet or so up into the air. I notice the blue sky surrounding me and have to concentrate hard to keep moving upwards. There are two birds that I surpass. I notice a white fence way down below and continue using all of my willpower to stay afloat. There is music playing, seemingly just emanating from the surroundings, that I can hear crystal clear (but don’t remember) and that helps me stay afloat. I think I eventually come down.




I am on a walk and almost back to the house when I notice a house with an open garage. There is an older man sitting in a chair at the threshold with what looks like a border collie at his feet. It looks like he is having a small garage sale with most of the stuff in the garage (I think the driveway is short). I walk up and start petting the dog’s soft fur. I briefly consider the possibility of this spreading the virus, but the man doesn’t seem to care. The man seems friendly and pleased to have company. He says hi, I ask how he is, and we make small talk. Despite his amiability, I sense something slightly off. I notice a box of books and a box of what looks like VHS tapes. There’s really not much more, and nothing that catches my attention. The man asks if I have a MasterCard. I tell him “I have a Visa card,” not sure why he’s asking, unless he has a card reader. I was about to leave, but he starts telling me that he wants me to leave a card since I’ve already looked at stuff. A little baffled, I tell him it’s not that I don’t trust him but I just don’t feel comfortable doing that. Mom now shows up, like she was on a walk too. I tell the man I live right across the street, gesturing to the house directly across the street, asking if that changes anything. He contemplates and then says no. Mom and I just walk away from him; he accepts defeat without a word and sits back down. I notice his kind of creepy, flyaway white hair.




I am in some house; Mom is here too. I open the fridge and see that I have about ¾ of a glass of dark beer left. I wonder if it’s still good. I open some cabinets where the trash should be, but only find a ton of empty craft beer bombers.

I am in a fairly large used bookstore. The shelves are dark wood, tall, and full. The aisles are large and grid-like, but the place seems dim. It has a cluttered but homey atmosphere. I’m looking through the large ‘H’ section for Aldous Huxley. There is a couple looking at this section too; I politely step around them, but I think they are right in front of where I need to be. I think they move and I find a couple of Huxley books. I am now looking at a narrow shelf at the end of one of the aisle shelves. There are two cassettes? and their covers are two different pictures of Makayla and some guy on the beach. They are both in swimsuits and standing next to each other, arms around one another. It looks like Hawaii. I find it slightly odd that these are here and wonder why they are. There is also a haphazard stack of small, square, used notebooks. I flip through one, intrigued by going through someone else’s writing. I notice a date - 2000 or 2001. At the end, there is a picture of a hand holding a pen or pencil.




(I think this may be a part of the last dream, but it also may not be). I have arrived in Hawaii. I think it is the big island and I think I may be meeting up with Jim and Rhianna. I’m walking through some foliage, toward the beach. The plants thin and give way to an expanse of sand that slowly slopes to the ocean. The sun is shining languorously on the interspersed people enjoying this space, and the whole scene is peaceful and beautiful. Now, I am on a plane back. It is very dark out, but I notice buildings that are dangerously close… until I realize that this plane is graceful landing on a wide freeway, on which I think there are still cars. It looks like the bay area.

I am walking along the sidewalk through what seems like midtown closer to downtown, I think on my way to work. There is a brick building that appears to be a neat looking bookstore through the window. I decide to go in. Inside, it seems like mostly a large, square area with tall, wooden bookshelves. Many books seem to be facing out, their covers on display. I’m surprised and delighted by the selection of books about dreams, spirituality, etc. I am also holding a book that I think I’m returning. I make my way to the counter to wait. The apparent manager is an older middle aged lady that is currently talking with another woman or two. She gives the impression of being very kind and homey. She also has not noticed me or has disregarded me, but I find it hard to fault her as she seems to be in an engaged conversation with the other two. I check my phone for the time (:55?) and know I have to get going. I think I’ll have to come back sometime later.