Blue_Opossum

Morning of December 8, 2014. Monday.

Dream #: 17,521-02. Reading time: 2 min 21 sec.



There is a first time for everything, including the bizarre method of travel I use in this dream. I need to buy food for my family. There are magazines that I plan on taking to the store in a bag I will tie around my bicycle handles. Someone is visiting my family, and I do not want them to read my books or lose them. I soon decide that it may not be a good idea because the cashier might think that I got the magazines there and put them in the bag without paying. (This makes little sense as I would not be taking my bicycle into the store.) Later, I decide to put them in a bookcase under the bottom shelf on the floor, as a visitor may not think to look there.

The time is ambiguous and seems to alternate between night and day. Instead of riding a bicycle to the store, I cheerfully indulge in an impossible way to travel while feeling as if I am showing off. I slide on my stomach in the street, closer to the curb, with my right hand stretched out ahead of me. My right hand is pressing palm down on what seems to be a circular section of sandpaper, rough side down, which I use to move quickly. I slide rapidly down the street on my stomach without feeling much resistance. There is not much friction in this method of travel, and it is not uncomfortable. I notice other people on the sidewalk and a few people in their yards including a couple working in their garden. I quickly slide past them, wondering what they are thinking. I pass a few cars.

At one point, an unfamiliar young boy, though older than my youngest son, is also traveling this way on my right. I become annoyed that he matches my speed. I eventually get to the grocery store, which is small and does not have many items. I think I will put the groceries on my back in a knapsack as I travel back home in the same way.

I consider buying a bottled drink, maybe fruit juice, perhaps carbonated. However, there are only about five bottles near the checkout and to my right, and they are bent or broken at the top. Another male of about sixty picks up a damaged bottle. It breaks near the neck. I tell the man that they are unsuitable for purchase. He makes a random comment about recently living in a third world country, but I do not recall its name. (This partly reflects a real-life event where I watched a man pick up a cheap glass in a store, and it shattered, possibly from the heat of his hand. He had to get it bandaged.)

Later, I go to an area to buy some bread rolls that have small meat-based meals inside them. However, one must use a store-supplied fork to take them out of the cluster in which they are arranged (similar to how one uses tongs in real life to take individual buns from their display case). A long section of the display contains something that resembles the remains of a big turkey dinner, with several pieces of silverware submerged in grease. It seems strange and unhygienic. I take a fork out of the fat and use it to try to remove two buns from the shelf, but they mostly fall apart. My dream loses cohesion at this point, and I do not keep anything to buy.

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