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Morning of April 11, 2016. Monday.

Dream #: 18,011-02. Reading time (optimized): 2 min.



My dream is a science-fiction scenario, but it seems as if I am in a movie. It may be taking place in the present but with fictitious technology. I am with an unfamiliar girl and an unknown man. There is a teleportation system. The girl has a black spider pillow (about the size of a couch cushion) that looks somewhat cartoon-like. There is a teleportation mishap.

I am lying on the ground in the woods with the two others. The girl is sleeping to my right. Most of the legs had come off (or had been cut off by the teleportation malfunction) of the spider pillow (a play on my dream self not having real legs). It briefly squeaks as if it is alive or is a robotic pet, but this idea fades, and it is only a pillow.

Instinctual awareness of being asleep (the pillow, sleeping in my dream, and quantum Zsuzsanna sleeping near me) does not trigger conscious recognition I am dreaming. (My waking-life identity is absent.) I wonder what is going on. (As a spider visually represents the human hand, this is a possible play on having my hand on or under the pillow while sleeping.)

Another teleportation malfunction occurs. It seems to be part of a spying technology but goes awry. We end up in a candy and confectionery manufacturing building in New Jersey.

We wander around while the girl seems to have breathing issues. An older woman who behaves like a housekeeper on an old American sitcom gives her something that I first thought might be candy but is medicine. It takes place in a big room where numerous long wooden tables are in an equidistant arrangement.

My attention wanders to where I try to find something in a big telephone book (seeking communication while in the dream state). I search through the yellow pages, but I am uncertain if this is what I should be doing. Soon, I seem to find what I had intended to see more of - movie listings. The print on the small movie posters is so little as to be unreadable. The features are on two panels shrunk down and rotated to be displayed lengthways. It seems to be because movie posters and theater scheduling information is not as important as residential and business listings.

I mentally magnify the page to read some of it, but soon realize I am doing it without a magnifying glass. As an illogical consequence, my sight returns to normal, and I cannot read the tiny print. I realize I need to find a magnifying glass, but I do not see one.

I am in the Loomis Street house living room, but I still see it as the candy factory. Long chunks of dust hang from various areas of the ceiling and walls. It seems no one does any cleaning. I consider I should vacuum the rooms even though I am not an employee. On another level, it seems natural that more and more dust should accumulate.

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