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So I had a short dream but it was a nightmare.

I dreamed Mom and Dad were leaving the house to take a vacation from me. Similar to the vacation they had back in 2012. So i was going to be staying in the house by myself. The parents and I were in the front hall together-mom was talking to me I think giving me instructions-but for all I know it could have been "peas and carrots" or "strawberries and rhubarb". So Mom and I stepped out on the porch- I was going to see my parents off to whether it was they're going- some place in Ontario at least since they're going to take the car. In the dream, I was dressed in my junk clothes, and I had no keys on me since I was going straight back into the house. And I guess at some point between Dad going out onto the porch and Mom and I going out on the porch - Dad went back inside the house because Dad came back outside the house and closed the door and started to lock the door. I started yelling at Dad "DON'T LOCK THE DOOR! DON'T LOCK THE DOOR!" I might have done it three times before I woke up since the bathroom was calling me. It took me an hour I think to go back to sleep from 7:35am to 8:35am.

Occurred Sept 22

Endless halls hold me captive at this gathering of dreamers. When finally I find my place it is too late. Ten's lecture is complete. A gloom hangs in the air, as thick and sticky as humid breath. Dreamers depart, stooped, depressed. Ten holds place, smile on his face. I ask him to tell his talk. He will not. Instead he blurts a list of words. "What?" He blurts again. "Oh..." The words are groups of animals. An eyebrow arches, asks if I catch his drift. I nod. Ten stands taller, grin slides wider, "What do you call a group of lucid dreamers?" "I don't know, what DO you call a group of lucid dreamers?" I ask, probing for the punchline. Ten lets loose laughter, "I thought YOU knew. Oh well. You'll figure it out." A preen, a pivot, he darts down the hall.

Hope for a familiar face. Find none. Settle in a circle of languid dreamers. They whisper in secretive spurts. I ask the message of Ten's talk. Eyes roll. Voices recoil. This glacial space is shortly spoiled by stomps and shouts on high. Up the stairs I fly. There stands Eleven, eyes of lightning, voice of thunder, before a table piled with toys. "YOU BROKE THE DEAL!" He screams and slaps toys to the floor. Young and old flinch. Within me flares an insane reflex, "What the HELL is going on here?" Eleven's tempest turns my way. "All I asked for payment was a Kylo Ren with sound effect lightsaber. THAT'S IT. THEY BROKE THE FUCKING DEAL... THOSE FUCKING SACKS OF..." I stand tall. Become a wall. "THEN LEAVE!" I match his thunder, "GO!" A preen, a pivot, he pounds down the hall.

Ten pops in, "Star Wars fans... I tell ya..." and pops out again.

Follow after Ten but find Eleven retreating into... a TARIDS? "What the..." Force a finger through my palm. Soft surge of relief. "I'm dreaming." Grin grows as bold as my lucid soul. "I'M DREAMING!" I yell to the TARDIS. Blue doors burst open. Out steps a mutant of a man, part Daemon, part Aragorn, all fury. His grin is a crack in time. His eyes burn Mordorian black. Weapons raised, one gun, one sword, he calls my name. Can not indulge in lucidity. Flee to warn the luminary of the shadow in our heart.

Bit of recall which may be associated to the above:
I recall being in the midst of orcs.

Such a long write up for such a fleeting glimmer of lucidity.
PS Happy Hobbit Day. Didn't make it to Bilbo's party last night. Tonight is another story.