Bad Dream 153 -- Tennis not Tennis

I actually had a dream after this one early this morning,  I made notes on this one, but not the next one.  And I think the next one "erased" part of this one in my memory.  Oh well...

In my dream, I am on a tennis court working to recover my stroke.  (In my waking life, I had actually done this twice against the practice board on Crossland's only tennis court.  It was an abysmal flop.)  In my dream I'm "actually" batting the ball back and forth across a net with someone else.  He reminds me of Mike Friedman from L&N/MAX Controls days.  Except this guy has actually good control over the ball and can place it where he wants it to go.  

I continue to flail away in my dream, much as I did on the Crosslands court.  I think my partner/opponent is doing what he can to support my re-learning effort.  But as it turns out, he's been toying with me -- hitting the ball in places that make my learning effort all the harder.  He's quite pleased with the result, but I'm furious.  As you might guess, that doesn't bother him.  

Something happens at this point in the dream, and I can't recall what it is.  I think I'm still angry at being "played" by this guy, but I find myself sitting in the passenger seat of an Austin Healy Mark 1 Sprite.  Red.  Pretty much the same car that my older brother Richard owned.  We're driving somewhere -- not sure where -- and I'm not at all sure who the driver is.  It may or may not be Richard.  

I think we have a meeting in the parking lot, to which the driver may or may not be invited.  There is an issue of a ticket -- similar to the old-fashioned ticket used at movie theaters and carnivals.  (My notes show the word "tickets" followed by a question mark.)  I don't recall what the ticket was all about, but it seemed to involve me and the person/people I was there to meet with.  I do have a vivid mental image of the ticket being torn. I don't know by whom.

Sorry that I don't have more details here.  As with so many of my dreams here at Crosslands, this one was chock-full of details...

Bad Dream 152 -- Out to Kill Me?

In my dream (as in many of my recent dreams), there is a lot more than what I can remember and write down.  But..

In my dream, I am standing in a large open building (abandoned warehouse?) with a few other people.  The person talking is a man, middle-aged, with white hair.  He's somewhere between "stocky" and fat.  He's wearing a suit that badly needs pressing.  

He's trying to talk some other guy into accompanying him to a place he knows.  He describes several very attractive features of the place and tells this other guy he's sure to enjoy the visit.  This third person seems totally taken with the idea of a visit -- just the two of them -- but I suspect that the heavy-set guy is planning to murder this third person.  I don't know exactly why in the dream, but I am sure that the death of the third person will be advantageous to the heavy set person.  

The scene changes, and now it's just the heavy-set fellow and me in the room.  Now he's trying to talk me into going somewhere with him.  It's a different place than the one he was describing to the third person.  I'm fully aware that this guy means me harm.  

Somehow, I manage to slip out a back door, having convinced the heavy-set fellow that I was going out the front door, but would be right back.  It's dark outside and there's a plowed field there that extends maybe several hundred yards farther out back.  I dig into the plowed soil and come up with a broken ice scraper.  It isn't much of a weapon, but it's all I have.  I start moving quickly across the plowed field.  There is maybe 10 or 20 rows of corn on the far side of the field and, I think, a house.  

I break into a run, but it's difficult on the freshly plowed earth.  I think I hear and/or see the heavy set guy finally emerge from the building, having discovered my ruse.  I think I should be in better shape than he is, but if he has a gun, that may not make a difference.  

Now I'm sure that he's out of the building and can see me running away.  

Bad Dream 151 -- Car Trip Interlude

 (This is a report of the remnants of this morning's dream -- 12/24/21.  It was considerably more complex than this.  It had quite a story line going, but this is all I can recall.)

In my dream, I am in the middle of a trip somewhere.  I am with folks I know, but am not closely attached.  We've just kind of agreed to take this trip together.

There are multiple cars involved in this trip -- and it's never clear in the dream as to where we're headed.  But we seem to know where our destination is, even if it's never clearly stated or understood in the dream.   

We're stopped at a waypoint somewhere, where we can spend some time.  I think we've been on the road for a considerable time and need a respite.  And the cars may need gas and or other servicing.  It's not clear how long that respite will be -- hours or days.  

Some people in our group are traveling together in the same vehicle, but I think I'm all by myself in a rather ratty old car.  There's rust and dents and maybe the doors don't close easily, but it runs well.  

At one point -- seemingly an interlude -- I'm driving my car with several other people aboard.  I think we're in a sizeable parking garage.  I'm a bit peeved at the folks in my car -- maybe they're making fun of the age and condition of the vehicle.  I decide to show off a bit by running the car directly at the wall at a corner of the garage, then putting the car in a 4-wheel drift to turn it in the proper direction for the turn.  It's a turn to the right.  As we approach the wall, sliding, I start to question whether I had properly gauged the speed and direction of the drifting car, so that we may make a large splat on the wall ahead.  The others in my car freak out somewhat, as do I. But we make the turn with a few inches to spare.  They seem impressed, but I recognize that it was simply a matter of having bad tires to make the car start sliding sideways.  

At another point in my dream -- not sure whether this was before or after the above story -- some woman is chastising me for somehow dismantling or disabling one of the seats in my car.  She explains to me why this is a problem for her.  (I forget the details...)  But after she leaves, I go to the area of the car she feels I've sabotaged and simply reconnect a couple of straps so that the seat is once again fully functional.  And I'm peeved that she took the occasion to make such a big fuss about this.  All she had to do was ask and I would have explained and reconnected the straps while she was still there.  

I decide to unpack some of my belongings from the car and move them to the room -- or at least the area in the building where we've stopped -- assigned to me.  I begin to realize that I've taken much too much stuff for this trip, but am now kind of stuck: I either continue to travel with all this stuff or abandon it here.  The only piece of stuff I recall is a boom box much like the one we now have in our "shed" at 140 Crosslands Drive.  

I've unloaded a number of things into this area -- asking myself "Why in the world did I decide to bring this particular thing on a trip like this?"  And after moving maybe 8 or 10 things from my car to my assigned area, I'm told that it's time to pack up and get back under way (or is it "weigh"?).  There seems to be some urgency to be ready to go ASAP, and most everyone -- who have much less stuff than I do -- can respond quickly.  But once again, I'm faced with the dilemma: Do I continue re-packing and possibly get disconnected from the "caravan" or do I abandon my stuff here and now so that I can stay up with the group? 

Bad Dream 150 -- Self Portrait

In my dream, I am looking at a painting that I made of myself.  It shows me from several inches below my shoulders to well over my head.  Personally, I think it's a very good likeness.

I have decided that, while the painting certainly looks like me -- in a very positive way -- that it would benefit if I "cropped" it.  That is, cut down the extraneous parts at the top and (possibly) bottom of the image.  (Interestingly, side-top-side looks okay and might have benefitted if I had painted a bit more on the sides.)  I think it's the case that, if I crop too much, I won't be able to restore the part(s) I removed.  

Since I can't decide how much needs to be cropped, so I ask the opinion of folks standing nearby.  I know most if not all of them, and trust their judgment on what would look best.  Much to my surprise and disappointment, no one wants to suggest anything.  And I don't hear any enthusiasm from anyone about the quality of the likeness.

Some of them point out that there's a lot of blue sky above my head in the painting -- probably too much -- and this could/should be reduced.  Cut off.  But no one is ready to say "So, cut it down to right here" and point to a specific spot on the image.  

 At least one friend looks at the painting and tells me that it doesn't look like me at all.  When I ask him "Why not?" and "What would you suggest I change?" he simply waves his hands at the painting and mutters something incoherently.  Then turns and walks away.

So I'm left in this quandry: I like the image very much, but know that something in the painting should be changed to make it even better.  And that the basic image of me is a good one and reflects well on me -- even if the folks around me don't agree.  So do I change/crop the image and possibly get it wrong and spoil the validity of the image that I see or do I look for someone who would be willing to make a firm suggestion that I could either accept and implement OR simply thank that person and continue looking for someone else? 

Bad Dream 149

I believe I've found a pattern in my recent dreaming that ties into my Blood Pressure Issues.  (FYI, my BP has bounced between the 150's and the 120's -- with the balance of the readings being in the middle to high end of that range.  I'm currently taking five different medications, none of which seem to be pulling the BP down...)

A couple of recent dreams have found me walking about in the downtown area of a city, looking at tall buildings that don't appear to have any signage.  There's nothing that feels sinister about this, but nothing that helps me find any recognizable places.  Dream #148 typifies this.

In this morning's dream, I am a passenger in a car with two delightful friends -- Li;sa and Gus -- and we're driving to some event which is probably musical.  It's mid-morning.  

I remember that I have an important appointment at a place in pretty much the opposite direction of how we're travelling.  The appointment is either at 10:00 this morning or 2:00 this afternoon -- I can't recall which.  I mention this to Gus and Li;sa and -- understandably -- Gus is a bit peeved.  Why didn't I tell him before we left?  Can't you remember or figure out whether it's 2:00 or 10:00?  We could be back in time for 2:00 PM but not 10:00 AM...

What these dreams have in common is "Lost."  Lost directions -- physical.  Lost directions -- personal.  Lost time.  

I feel that I've entered a new phase of life with plenty of opportunities and no sense of direction.  I've pretty much cut off connection to the Meeting and the School Board.  I'm still swimming in cardboard boxes and it doesn't seem to matter how much stuff I give away or throw away, there's still far too much stuff.  And Deb's condition -- her hearing, her mental capacities -- what's really going on there?  What does the future hold for her?  And what will I need to do to hold up my end of things?

Anxiety?  Oh yes.  Reflected in BP?  I think so.  Good answers?  Not forthcoming.

I'm starting a search for a talk therapist -- trying to straighten out what's really wrong and what I can do about it.  

Wish me luck.

Bad Dream 148 -- In Baltimore with Dad

In my dream, I'm in Baltimore with my Dad.  He has some kind of appointment downtown -- but I don't know what it's about.  Further, it seems that my presence at the appointment is not necessary and may, in fact, be prohibited by the subject of the meeting.  All I know is that he will be going over "there" and I will be free to wander around the city.  Unlike the last several meetings where I went someplace with Dad, I'm not concerned about his welfare or ability to navigate the city.

So I'm free to roam around Baltimore wherever I wish.  I wander around the downtown part of the city -- lots of tall buildings, most of which look a lot alike.  (In my dream as was the case when I lived in Maryland, I didn't know the city all that well.  I knew a few landmarks, but that was about it.)

I sense that I've lost track of time and that Dad's appointment -- whatever and wherever it was -- might well be over.  And it then strikes me that we didn't set up a rendezvous location or a time by which we could get back together.  It's not given to me in the dream that Dad has the car keys, but I do know that I won't be able to get home until and unless I link up with him in downtown Baltimore.  And I don't know when or where that could take place.  

I continue to wander from block to block, hoping that I would recognize something that would help me get my bearings -- and from that possibly figure out where Dad might be.  And I have no luck with any of that. 

I'm starting to feel hungry and decide that getting something to eat might somehow stabilize the situation.  At least getting food might help me think more clearly.  I wander into the ground floor of a large office building that has a coffee shop sort of place.  But the only things they have to eat are sweet pastries -- a nice array of them, but not a solid source of protein.  

I look through the glass display case and pick out the pastry that looks least lethal and ask for one and pay for it.  The lady behind the counter walks to the back of the shop to retrieve my order and comes back to the front with a plate carrying two or three pastries that look nothing like what I ordered.  I'm cheesed off at her and the store in general, but I'm more concerned about finding Dad than I am about getting my pastry order squared away.  If I can't link up with him, I have no idea how I will get home.  I decide to keep the pastries she handed me along with the nice-looking plate on which they were served.  (I'm sure she expected to get the plate back so she could wash it and reuse it.  But I will keep the plate to "punish" her.  Get even.)

I turn to leave the shop, but as I walk towards the door, Dad walks in.  And he looks terrific.  He's got this "movie star" glow about him, and he looks like he probably looked when he was 40 years old or thereabouts.

Needless to say, I'm delighted and relieved to see him, but he's taking it all in stride and walking past me as if he's got a task to do before he greets me.  

I wake up.

Bad Dream 147: A Couple of Oddities

 By this time, my Dream Analysis Procedure is pretty much routine: scribble a few notes when I awake from the dream, go back to sleep, get up and power up my Blogspot and write out what I wrote and what I remember and whatever elaborations seem appropriate.  But recently, there were two unrelated(?) dream segments that didn't fit this standard pattern.

SNAP!

(I had made arrangements to meet my sister in Havre de Grace at 8:00 one morning.  And given the time it takes to get fully awake, dressed, fed, car packed, and drive to HdG, I set an alarm the night before to 4:00.  It seemed a bit early, but I wanted to be in HdG early to do a bit of birding. This is the dream I had that next morning.)

In my dream, I am standing in front of a four-burner gas stove that has the two burners on the left lit.  No pots, pans, or skillets there, mind you, just the nice blue flame.  

I go to light a third burner -- the one in the back on the right -- by turning on the gas and listening for the "tik/tik/tik" of the igniter.  As sometimes happens, the burner didn't "catch" immediately, but this time, it seemed unusually long before igniting.  I could hear the gas hissing, but no flame.  

Just as I started to get concerned about too much un-ignited gas in the room, I heard a loud SNAP!! and saw a bright yellow flame roughly 10 inches above the burner tapering slightly at the top and bottom.  Flame maybe 15 or 17 inches tall.  Those two sensations woke me up immediately -- not just groggy awake but wide awake just like that.  

I looked at my bedside clock, which read 3:57AM -- three minutes before the alarm was set to go off.  This allowed me to cancel the 4:00AM alarm, so that Deb didn't have to be awakened by the loud alarm.  

How thoughtful!

Swallowing Screws  

I'm writing up this little part of a larger dream because it's all I can remember AND that because I'm pretty sure that it's been an element of a number of other dreams I've had recently.  

In the course of other things happening in the dream (which, as mentioned above, I don't recall -- but the dream was rather busy and vivid as many of my recent dreams have been), I find that I have several wood screws in the palm of my hand.  Maybe 3 or 4.  They're all identical, all shiny as if they just came from the hardware store.  I estimate they were #10 screws at roughly 1-1/4 inches long.  

Without thinking much about it, I pop one or two into my mouth and swallow them.  This activity doesn't interrupt the flow of the rest of the dream.  No one else in the dream notices what I'm doing.  There is no pain or any discomfort resulting from this activity.  Shortly after this, I begin to wonder what those screws will do to my interior.  I think about my esophagus, my stomach, and my intestines.  Then, knowing that my body won't digest the screws, I think a little farther along in the digestive process...  It occurs to me that the screws might well do serious damage to some soft tissue along the digestive way.  But it's more an academic concern than a concern for my health.  I think that I may have done this before, and that I might be building up a supply of wood screws in my stomach.

As mentioned above, I feel that this interlude in the middle of a dream is something that has happened to me before in several other dreams.  

Bad Dream 146 -- Failing a Test and Explaning to Myself

 At the start of my dream, I am taking an exam.  It's an important one, but one for which I am poorly prepared.  There are two sections to the questions one of which looks for short, simple, factual answers and the other of which looks for essay type answers.  I'm struggling with the first part (but I don't remember which of the two the "first part" is...) and feel that if I can only get through that part, I can be more successful with the other part.  Whichever way the "first" and "second" are arranged.  And if I did that, I might score high enough to at least get a passing grade on the overall exam.  But something keeps me slogging away at this "first part."  Am I just being stubborn?

The other students taking the test are finishing up their submittals,submitting their papers to the instructor, gathering their belongings, and leaving.  I know I have some time left before the instructor comes and takes my test away, and I know it won't be enough time to get a passing grade.  In fact, if he/she gave me a week or two to finish, it still wouldn't be enough.  

I don't know what the consequences of this failure are going to be, but I know it's serious.  

My dream shifts to my presence in a group of people arranged in a circle.  We're sitting in those industrial type chairs that are almost comfortable, but not quite.  Many of the people in the circle are relatives of mine, although I don't recognize any individual.  At least not at this point in my dream -- with one exception: my Grandfather (hereinafter "GF") is sitting in one of these chairs and he knows about my failure in the aforementioned exam.  And while he's not pleased about my performance, he at least seems willing to listen to my version of what happened.  

For reasons that are certainly not clear here, some of the people sitting in the circle are Afro American.  And most everybody except GF are fairly young -- 20's and 30's.  And the topic of conversation is my exam performance.  

I feel that what I have to say is in the way a confession.  I'm opening up and letting it all out about why I think things went so badly on the exam.  I think about letting everyone know about my decision to stick with the hard part of the exam rather than switching to the easier part, but feel that would only lengthen the conversation and add more topics to explore that I don't feel would help anybody understand what happened -- and certainly not help me.  

After some chatter amongst many of the people sitting in the circle, GF takes over.  In a remarkably (to me!) even tone, he asks for my understanding of what took place.  After all, I'm such a bright guy, why can't I ace a test like this?

And something occurs to me that seems salient: I tell the circle of folks -- but mainly GF -- that being bright was actually an important part of the problem.  Being bright, I managed to get through public school and into college without learning how to study or how to do homework that was challenging.  Little did I face that required me to do either.  

So when I was faced with a course and an exam that required me to do at least one of those two things, I failed miserably.  And the exam that was given was perfectly fair in showing up this failure on my part.  As I explain this to everyone, I feel a renewed energy.  

I expect my GF to come down on me like a ton of bricks.  I'm fairly sure that my real life GF would have done that -- and do that because it would help shake me out of my complacency.  Much to my surprise, my GF nodded slowly as if to say "Yes, I can see how that would happen.  It's unfortunate but I understand it."  

My nephew Jay perks up and starts talking about how this phenomenon relates to Modern Society -- and as he talks he gets farther afield from the issues at hand.  But I'm impressed with his understanding of the World Around Us, and when he's done, I compliment him on his perspicacity and insights.   

I then take this opportunity to launch into a story that helps confirm this analysis of mine.  (As in: "I remember back when I was...")  After I start, I realize that the story will be a long and boring one for the people in my circle.  They won't really care and will consider my relating the story to be an intrusion of self-indulgence.  But I don't think I can stop now.

But as I start plodding through the story, our circle is beset by a bunch of kids who have just been let out of school.  (What school? and from where? are issues that don't show up in the dream.)  The volume of noise they bring easily drowns out my own story.   I try to raise my voice louder, but it clearly isn't going to work.

I wake up.  

Bad Dream 145 -- Morning of 6/1/21

 In my dream, I'm a Technical Trainer (aka. Teacher) again -- I think at Leeds & Northrup once more.  I'm preparing to teach a one-week course on a control system for level control on a large pond or similar body of water.  The system is totally mechanical -- no electronic components -- which is unusual for me, and I'm looking forward to the class.  The mechanical pieces are wonderfully clever and look to be foolproof, simple, easy to maintain, and durable.  

Somehow, I let time get away from me, and it is now the morning of the class to start.  Now, there are three components for presenting a class like this: a solid lecture with whiteboard sketches, physical "show-and-tell" pieces, and good documentation.  You can get by with two out of the three or, if you're lucky and talented, you can get by with only one.  I don't have any of the three ready to go.  Among other things, I can't recall the details of how the system actally works.  I do recall it's relatively simple, but that's hardly enough for a training course.

I visit an area where I might find actual pieces of the system or -- if incredibly lucky -- the complete package that we could disassemble and reassemble.  But there's no luck at all. Nothing available.  

For reasons unknown, I find myself outside, standing at the top of a considerable steep hill (bordering on a cliff) roughly 30 feet high or so and made entirely of loose soil.   And I need to get to the bottom to continue my search for anything that might be useful for the class.  I scramble down the cliff face getting considerably dusty and dirty.  (I'm wearing a nice shirt and necktie.)  At the bottom, I look around for whatever I thought would be helpful, but find nothing.  (At some point in my searching, I find myself just outside a shed with all sorts of mechanical stuff -- none of which look in the slightest as being helpful.  But I don't recall whether the shed is at the top of bottom of the cliff.)  

So I scramble back up the cliff, causing dirt to become dislodged under my feet and threatening to make me slide back down the hill.  

Somewhere along this process, I realize that my students are now likely gathering in the classroom waiting for me to start the program.  I can't recall whether the class is supposed to start at 8:00 AM or 9:00.  Nor do I know exactly what the time it is now.

The scene shifts and I'm in the hallway of some building or other with other people walking around.  I hear someone -- who might be Bob Hubby! -- talking fondly about Chuck Schumer's castigating of the Republican Party voting "No" on the January 6th commission.   I agree with him totally, but can't stop trying to find something -- anything! -- that will help me start the class.  

I wake up.

Bad Dream 144 -- Morning of 4/24/21

In my dream, I have just shown up at a camp of some sort.  In the woods -- a pleasant place to be -- with the aroma of the evergreen trees permeating most everything.  It is evening.  

I walk into a fairly large room -- maybe 30 feet on a side -- which has been set up as a "bunk house" for maybe eight or ten people.  And there are at least five or six people in the room at the moment.  All men.  Different sizes and ages and faces.  They seem to know each other by the chitchat they're sharing, and I guess I am known to them and they to me, because no introductions seem to be necessary.  And no one comes over to me to welcome me.  I know that I'm the last one to show up for whatever it is that we've come here for. 

It seems that everyone in the room is setting aside the day's activities and is at the starting point to getting ready for bed.  But everyone is still dressed in their street clothes.  Everyone has chosen their bed, and there are a variety of beds scattered across the room.  Some look quite sumptuous and others almost austere.  Understandably, being the last one to arrive, my bed is the least desirable: a very simple Army-variety of cot.  Single mattress maybe 4 inches thick on a metal network suspended on the edges with coiled springs.  

The chatter around me continues and little if any attention is paid to me.  It's all quite chummy.  They assume I understand what's going on and can take care of myself.  And maybe there's nothing really they could do to help me anyway.  

I can resign myself to the bed -- I've slept on these things before -- but I'm concerned about who's going to snore, which would certainly keep me awake.  And I don't like the position of my bed, which is towards the middle of the room.  I see space in the far corner, which would have the advantages of keeping me out of traffic, maybe a little less noise, and putting me closer to the windows.  The windows are on both walls near my corner, and there's a wonderfully cool and fragrant breeze travelling between them.  With all these grown-up men's bodies in this one room, a cool and fragrant breeze will be a blessing.  Yup, I'm fortunate to have this space for me!  So I pick up my cot (fortunately, being so simple, it's also lightweight) and carry it over to my corner.

The pleasant chatter continues and no one seems to be making arrangements to get to sleep.  I begin to wonder if anyone will get to sleep at all... 

I begin to consider how I will settle down for sleep myself, even if no one else in the room is going to do that.  I notice that there is a simple wall lamp attached to one of the walls that should shine a light directly over the place where I intend to lay my head.  Yay!  A reading lamp that shouldn't bother anyone else in the room!  

I reach up to turn the light on -- really just to test that the light works -- and it falls off the wall.  It had been held in place with two screws into the drywall without anchors.  So the screws simply pulled cones of drywall out with them when the lamp fell.  Meaning that the remaining holes are much larger in diameter than the screws, making the screws useless.  And there are no tools around to be had.  

I start to search for some other method of supporting the lamp.  I had felt so fortunate in having the lamp, I'm reluctant to give it up.  

Bad Dream 143 -- Morning of 4/23/21

I think context is important to understand what this dream was all about.  The dream happened on a Friday morning.  The previous Tuesday, I had a "Fusion MRI Prostate Biopsy" checking on the possibility of prostate cancer.  It was full, but relatively light anesthesia, and I felt pretty good immediately afterwards.  Deb drove me home, as it was required that I would not drive a car for 24 hours after the procedure.  But I felt that, if I had to drive, I could do so in safety.

On the way home, I became increasingly uncomfortable -- feeling a bit woozy and experiencing pain in my buttocks.  It got worse.  I asked Deb to stop at the Wawa we were approaching, and she said "Fine.  It give me a chance to pick up some milk."  I just wanted to get out in the fresh air and straighten my back.  She got out of the car to start walking in, and I got out of the car just because I felt so uncomfortable being in it.  I leaned up against the car, as I felt uncomfortable just being on my feet without support.  I felt a series of "intgernal subroutines" failing, just giving up, and thought to myself "I wonder if this is how it feels to die?"  The next thing I knew, I was on the ground and maneuvering my hands on the pavement to get back on my feet. So I didn't die, but I certainly did black out for a few moments.  

After getting fully erect, I felt better, got back into the car, and we drove home without further incident.  (BTW, Deb didn't get the milk.  Thought looking after me was more important.)   But that question about "Is this how people die?" has stayed with me.  This series of internal shut-downs over which I had no control...

Anyway, to the dream.  This is only a fragment of a dream, but I think it of value to document:

In what I remember of my dream, I am outside of a house.  It is a very pleasant evening with a moderate temperature and light breeze.  I can see a few streetlights as well as houselights in this quiet suburban neighborhood.  I think there was some kind of family/friends gathering inside the house that was just breaking up, and that I had been in that gathering.  And I'm fairly sure that Martha was also part of that gathering. 

I am walking towards the street where there is at least one car parked -- and I would need a ride to get home.  It's my brother David's first car -- the one that Dad gave him -- a Chevy Nova (I think) which was too small for most stuff and barely running.  It was only David's energy and insight as to what the car needed to keep going that kept it running.  And David was proud of his accomplishment, and justifiably so.  

I got into the car, which was a bit tricky, as the car was so small.  But once I got in, it was fine.  And David was nearby and I expected him to get in and drive me home.  All would be well.

I was then called to by other people, including Martha, that their car was also available to take me home.  But I decided to stay with David in his car.  

And what concerns me about this dream is that David died a number of years ago from prostate cancer. And the energy and insight that he applied to his car he also applied to himself as treatment after treatment almost worked...  So what, if anything, does it mean that I decided to stay in David's car?? 

Bad Dream 142 -- Morning of 3/30/21

In my dream, I'm standing in a supermarket, getting ready to check out.  (My dream does not include any reference as to what I'm buying -- and maybe that means something...)  As I approach the check-out line, I realize I know the cashier -- somewhat informally, but enough that we can call each other by our first names.

I hand her money in payment.  It's some number of dollars (don't recall how many) and seven cents.  As I would normally do in a situatiion like this, I hand her strictly paper cash, expecting change.  She looks at me apologetically and tells me it has to be the exact change.  Puzzled but undaundted, I take back some of the paper money and hand her the only coin I have in my pocket, which is a dime.  In doing this, I tell her she can keep the extra three cents, but it seems that's unacceptable as well.  "Exact" means exact.  

(There's a scene change in the dream.  It's not part of the dream to elaborate on how this dilemma was resolved.)

I am now outside the supermarket and discover, much to my amazement that I have a pocketful of loose change, and could come up with the seven cents amount many different ways and do it again and again with the change I have. I go back inside the supermarket to "settle up" (a phrase from my notes) the above-mentioned issue about payment.   

Inside, I see that folks are building some "gateways" that look like toll booths for pedestrians.  The're light brown (as in imiatation wood) and have one or more (not sure) lights overhead that might be red and green for getting through the gate, as in "Go" and "Stop."  There are other bits of construction work going on in the midst of it being a supermarket with aisles of food and so forth.  I'm not informed as to what this other construction stuff -- or the "gateways" either -- are all about, but it doesn't feel like a good thing is unfolding.  Somebody seems to be looking to take heavy handed control of the people in the store.  

I hear a voice which I believe must be one of the people guiding this building process.  The voice says: "(something) (something) to take care of Randy if he comes back."  Clearly, it's time for me to get out and the concern about seven cents dwindles in importance.

I'm now outside the building looking in through the large front windows at the activity inside, trying to figure out what was going on.  Doing so, I see the face of someone I knew back in either elementary school or junior high or maybe both.  It's a girl's/woman's face which is unmistakeable from what I remember.  I don't recall her name and now, being awake and writing this report, I'm surpised and puzzled that I recall her face as clearly as I did.  

She was somebody who shared a number of classes with me and someone I would have liked to know better.  It was a kind face and much a more interesting face than simply being pretty.   Among other things, her compexion suggested that some of her ancestry was not typical "white," but slightly darker, but not African-American. The me that I am now would certainly want to chat her up and see how she was doing and what she remembered of our shared school experiences etc., etc.  But the me from back then was essentially terrified of female persons of any age, so chatting her up back then was way beyond possibility.  She's looking out the window and might well be looking at me.  I can't tell...  

It was quite a shock to see her.  I think I recall that "Wow, it's nice to have her here in my dream, but she really doesn't seem to fit.  Or maybe she does and I just don't understand how or why just yet."  So not only was her face a surprise but the momentary elevation out of the dream was also a surprise.  I think I recall making the decision to drop back into the dream story.  Pick it up where it left off.  

Seeing her the age I am now and recalling her fondly, I had a strong temptation to re-enter the supermarket and tell her about my fear that something bad was going to happen in there some time soon.  But I also felt that might put me back in danger, remembering that it seemed someone was making plans to do someting to or about me "if I came back."  

So, do I go back and warn her -- risking myself in the process -- or do I just keep going and hope that things are okay for her?  As the dream ends, I am allowing my momentum to carry me away from the supermarket, but feel I might change my mind at any moment.  But I also understand that, if I decided to do that, the sooner the better, as whatever bad thing might be in the works might begin at any moment.

I wake up.

Bad Dream 141 -- Morning of 10/5/19 (Out of Chronology)

I found this dream on a thumb drive.  I'm not sure why I didn't enter it directly into Blogspot, but I'm glad to have re-discovered it.  I remembered I had a dream about a bee... and this is it:

In my dream, I am in a large room with a great many other people in it.  They’re all grownups. And we’re all here for some kind of presentation or meeting of some kind.  I wasn’t “informed” as to what the subject at hand was…

Everyone is friendly, and there is a goodly amount of chit-chat going on and the presentation should start sometime soon.  It occurs to me that most everyone – or everyone – is wearing either a sweatshirt or (possibly/occasionally) a T-shirt.  And there is always a name on the shirt.  The only one I can recall is a shirt labeled “OHIO,” but I think there’s a considerable variety in what word is there – but they’re all either names of places or (possibly) the name of a school.

There is a large bee – a bumblebee sort of critter – flying around the room.  It flies from the left side of the room, then over to the right side.  If it lands at all, it’s only momentarily and then it takes off again.  It flies very quickly – almost as if it’s angry.  I wouldn’t want it to land on me or crash into me. 

I marvel that an animal that small can have so much energy.

It would seem that the meeting/performance/presentation isn’t getting underway until the bee issue is resolved.  Nothing is being said to that effect, it’s just a feeling that I have.  That if someone could stop the incessant flying back and forth, someone else would announce: “Well, now we can get started!”  Just a feeling on my part. 

The bee occasionally lands (momentarily) fairly close to me, and on one occasion, I almost have the opportunity to trap it under a juice glass.  (And from there, slide a piece of paper underneath and thereby be able to escort the bee outside – which is what I’m sure it would like to have happen.)  But I’m not quick enough and in any case, the glass had been used for some beverage that left a heavy residue on the inside.  So if I had captured the bee, it might have gotten clogged up with the residue.  Not a good thing.

I understand I have the capacity and requisite equipment to kill the bee.  And no one else, it seems, is equipped to do that. 

I’m torn between these two options: allow the bee to continue buzzing about and preventing the session from getting underway OR to swat the critter (with considerable regret) and assist in getting the program going. 

 

 

Bad Dream 140 -- Morning of 3/2/21

In my dream, I am driving along a road (westbound) that looks very similar to West Chester Pike in the "undeveloped" stretch.  I pull off to the side of the road -- on the right, of course -- adjacent to an "undeveloped" field with tall brown grass (maybe knee or thigh high) that has a small open area, making it easy to get my car completely off the highway.  

I'm familiar with this spot, having driven past it many times and often thinking "One of these days, I will pull my car off the road and take a look around here."  And today is the day I'm actually doing this.  

There is a pair of orange road cones somewhat blocking the pull-off area, but I decide that, whatever the reason for the cones being here, it shouldn't affect my intention of a brief investigation.  The pull-off area looks as if people have done this "get out of your car" visit occasionally, so I feel okay in doing what I'm doing.  

I plan on walking through the grass, and it looks like others have done the same, as the grass has been stepped on and laid flat up ahead.  Shortly before I start to walk into the grassy area, I see a pole stuck in the ground.  It's maybe 5 or 6 inches in diameter and it's hollow.  I think there's some decoration on at least part of the pole -- a spiral red line like a barber's pole.  

I put my hands around the pole and lift it.  I find that it lifts easily and I can pull it completely free of the ground.  When I do so, I see that the hole into which the pole had been placed is lined by a metal tube, which holds back the soil and allows the pole to be moved into and out of the ground.  I lay the pole on its side for a moment, then decide to replace it into the hole.  I don't know what it's for, but if someone else wants it there and upright, I should comply with that desire.   

I find that there is something of a path through the tall grass, leading in the general direction of a patch of woods, maybe 150 yards or so past the tall grass section.  The ground and therefore the path dip down a bit as I walk along, so that looking back towards my car, I can only see the top portion of my car and the occasional other cars driving past my location.   

As I approach the wooded area, I see that there is a fantastic elevated enclosed walkway surrounding a bare patch in the woods.  I couldn't see it earlier because there is maybe 75 or 100 feet of treed area between the grassy stretch and the open area.  The walkway is pure white and seems immaculate from where I'm standing.  The walls and roof form something of a octagonal shape in cross section rather than simply rectangular.  Very space-age looking!  There are windows in the walls, but they look dark, suggesting they're shaded or the interior of the walkway is unlit.  

My thought is that being in the walkway would be a perfect place to stand or sit and watch the wildlife in the bare patch.  It winds around the open bare patch for maybe a quarter of the circumference, with windows looking out onto the bare patch.  But the bare patch might be half an acre or a bit more in size, so that the likelihood of seeing interesting wildlife would seem unlikely -- and certainly not deserving the elaborate walkway.  

I think this would be an interesting place to understand -- and that I would need to do some serious investigation to get that understanding.    

As I turn to check out my car, I notice that another car is pulling into the pulloff area behind my car.  I don't think it's a police car, but feel I'd better get back to my car just in case. 

I wake up.   

Bad Dream 139 -- Morning of 2/17/21

This dream had two distinct scenarios, but they felt connected by the personnel in them:

In the first part of my dream, I find myself in New York City with a well informed Resident of the city plus an Unidentifiable.  We are in an elevator in the Empire State Building headed for the top.  The Resident is saying something about the city and life therein, but I'm not paying much attention to what he's saying.  (It's definitely a "he.")

The elevator stops at the top end of its range and we get out.  We're on the roof, which is flat with a hip- or chest-high wall around it so that people don't accidentally fall off or are blown off or pushed off.  I walk to the wall and look over and down.  And get that feeling in my innards -- including my groin -- that this is not a good place to be nor a good thing to look at.  But I do it anyway.  When I've had enough, I walk back away from the wall.

I know that the weather is nice.  It's warm but not hot, partially sunny with a light breeze.  If we were to stay on the roof for some significant time -- the three of us -- that would be fine, but the Resident (I think) is gently urging us to get back in the elevator.  

As we descend, I see that the elevator has a glass wall that allows us to watch the city as we slowly descend.  

In the second part of my dream, the three of us are outside, standing on a grassy plot.  I look down and see a small turtle.  It's quite round with an unusually flat shell.  It is crawling out from the grass.  I pick it up and decide it is likely a child's pet that got separated from its owner.  I take a quick look around to try and locate anyone who might be the turtle's owner, but there's no one that looks likely.  

I hold the turtle in one hand and cup the other hand over top.  The turtle is not thrilled with this maneuver, but isn't objecting too strenuously.

It occurs to me that the turtle might be perfectly happy to spend its days in Central Park, and ask the Resident what would be the best way to get there.  But the Resident explains that it would be difficult and the best way might be to walk but it's a very long walk and it's getting dark and you would not want to be out on the streets at this time of the evening.  We are standing on a sidewalk(?) near a busy piece of road, and it is rather dark.  Store signs lit up and people walking by rather quickly and not paying attention.  Cars passing as well.  Clearly to put this tiny turtle down on the pavement of street or sidewalk would be the end of the turtle in quick order.  

Looking down at what is rapidly becoming my turtle, I see there's slight chip in the shell.  Nothing that would interfere with the turtle having a long and happy life -- assuming we could find a way to get him/her to a proper marsh/swamp area where she/he would be comfortable.  

I start considering what arrangements I am going to have to make to take care of this turtle until I can get it to such a place.  Occasionally the turtle extends its head and legs, letting me know that it's ready to start marching somewhere.  

I wake up.

We interrupt this Program -- 02/14/21

Something happened yesterday that I felt I needed to document.  To "tell" it to "someone."  To write a Journal entry even if I don't keep a journal.  So here goes:

Pat Grauer hosts a bi-weekly Zoom session of the folks from the School of the Spirit's 11th class.  I attend from time to time, but its start time of 6:00 on Saturday evening is inconvenient -- and, especially because I'm not a regular attender, I'm not going to ask anyone to change the timing.  

In setting up yesterday's Zoom, Pat suggested that we have pen and paper nearby and think of an introductory phrase -- not a sentence! -- from which everyone can write up what occurs to them that starts with that phrase.  And, since it was the day before Valentine's Day, it should have something to do with love.  She allotted 5 minutes for each entry.  

She started the ball rolling with her phrase, which was "My first kiss was..." And we were all supposed to use that in our response.  I thinking about what I would write, Ifelt that revisiting this time and place and event(s) were touching on something very tender.  That's "tender" in its unpleasant sense.  Your-skin-after-it-gets-burned kind of tender.  And it wasn't at all clear why that happened.

There were six people in the Zoom session, and -- after the 5-minute writing allocation -- four of them read theirs out loud.  And they tended to be sweet and silly as you might suppose.  As they read their stories, my discomfort only went deeper.  It felt like something was lurking in my "time and space and event(s)" that I couldn't share, among other reasons (i.e., it promised to be embarrassing), I really didn't understand what it was that troubled me so.  I couldn't put it in words and I didn't know why not.  

Okay, I can tell you about "My first kiss," and see if that opens anything:

I hadn't dated or even had any kind of friendship with a girl until I was a Senior in High School.  Then I met Gail, who was -- I think -- a Junior at the time.  I think we met because we both came out for the school's tennis team.  Which means it was not only Senior year, but springtime as well.  In other words, late in the school calendar.

My first kiss took place at a birthday party that summer -- I think for one of Gail's friends -- that took place someone's basement.  Maybe14 or so teenage kids, most of whom were, as I recall, paired up.  Gail and I found ourselves a corner at some distance from the rest of the partygoers and she had her back to the wall when I got close and kissed her.  I think the energy that caused this to happen was basically hers, not mine.  I felt the world open up.  Walking home the several miles to my parents' home, I felt like Gene Kelly in that movie.      

I guess I fell really hard for her.  Among other things, my older brother, who seldom said anything guy-to-guy to me, told me to lighten up.  Don't take it too seriously.  There are a lot of girls in the world.  But, as will happen in situations like this, I "knew" that Richard simply didn't understand.  I knew deep in my heart that this was The Real Thing.  

Through the summer, Gail and I were pretty much inseparable.  And, when the opportunity allowed, did some intimate touching without having sex.  She taught me how to do French kissing.  

When I went off to Drexel in Philadelphia, Gail and I made all sorts of promises to each other about writing and occasionally phoning (this was decades before the cellphone!), and my visits back to Baltimore were, as I recall, basically dropping off some laundry for Mom to wash and borrowing the family car to take Gail out bowling or somesuch.  

As I started getting the "feel" of college life and meeting so many other people, I began to realize how many really smart and aware people there were in the world.  And that marrying Gail would likely mean a humdrum middle-class existence in suburban Baltimore.  And that I was capable of living a much larger existence.  Academic things that meant a lot to me seemed to be totally lost on Gail.  And I knew that she couldn't change.  And that I couldn't change.  

And I met another girl who was mysterious and wonderful and smart and was someone who would tolerate me.  Her name was Mary.  

So there was a considerable laundry list of reasons why I had to terminate the relationship with Gail.  She was young (of course!) and pretty and had a fun spirit.  She shouldn't have much of a problem finding someone else.  And the sooner we parted, the sooner she could move on.  

And I "had" Mary.  (Spoiler alert: I think she always liked me, and, if I could have managed it, we could have stayed friends to this very day.  But that's not what I wanted.  Not what I felt I needed.  I think about her from time to time and hope that things worked out well for her.  Back in the late 1960's, she wanted to get into Real Estate.  I'd love to spend an hour or so with her -- to let her know I'm fine and I still think you're wonderful.)

So Gail and I split.  Things were complicated by this time, because my sister was dating Gail's brother.  But I'll just leave that fact on the table and walk away from it, except to say that neither Martha nor me married into that family...

So my other relationships at Drexel were, as the poet says, "a dog's breakfast."  Careening from one passion to another, never really understanding what had happened, what was happening, and was bound to happen sometime soon.  

Several years later, Gail got in touch with me.  She was still living in Baltimore and I was living in a co-op in West Philadelphia.  She said she just wanted to get together and talk.  I really didn't want to have that happen, but it seemed to be really important to her, so I said "Okay, you can come up to visit."  She took the train up and I met her at 30th Street Station.  

We had a pretty good time, as I showed her around what my Philadelphia was like.  I think we ate pizza at a small but really good Italian restaurant that I knew.  And we went back to my co-op and slept together and had sex.  And, if it hadn't occurred to me before this, it certainly occurred to me at the time: she's trying to "win me back."  I'm sure she had "chalked up" the fact that she and I would be married and was in the process of trying to re-start that idea.  

Looking back on it, it might have been a much better idea if I declined the sex.  But I was in my early 20's and "free love" was all the rage.  

After, I think, two days, I took Gail back to the train station and got her on the train back to Baltimore.  She sat in a window seat so she and I could wave good-bye to each other.  And I think it hit home for her that her "plan" of starting up our relationship was simply not going to work.  She started to cry just as the train started to move. 

My sister told me -- sometime back then -- that Gail was still having difficulties adjusting to this most unwelcome reality.  She had always been full of positive energy and fun.  And the idea that I may have crushed this -- even for a week or two -- is something for which I can't forgive myself.  Still.

I may come back to this entry and...

Thanks for listening.

Wait a minute.  This is starting to feel like "story." As in a narrative that you hold as an explanation of who you are and why you do what you do.  

Bad Dream 138 -- Morning of 2/12/21

 This is a "patchwork" recollection of images from what seems to have been parts of an extensive and multifaceted dream.  About musical instruments:

The first-part recollection is quite short.  I am trying to justify obtaining and playing a trumpet.  And I am telling myself, "Well, I can practice in the basement."  And the basement under consideration is the basement at 1209 Tupelo Place in Baltimore.  I think my concern here was playing badly while practicing my lessons and annoying other members of the household.  But at some level, I understand that being in the basement would not provide adequate sound insulation from the rest of the house.

The rest of the dream centers around building a case for the instrument of my choice -- which changes mid-dream back and forth between a clarinet and a flute.  I'm not sure whether this is a case for my instrument that I will keep to carry my instrument of choice or whether it's to hold if for someone else -- possibly for sale.  I am making the case out of plywood, of course, and it involves two halves that are hinged together.  At this point in the fabrication, it's still bare wood.  

In this process, which is being casually overseen by several Unidentifiables, the instrument changes from a clarinet to a flute.  I am holding the main body of the flute, which is in a clear plastic sleeve.  I understand this to be a new flute just coming out of that sleeve.  My image is of the flute body roughly half-way out of the sleeve, which is crumpled up around the still-encased portion of the plastic sleeve.  

At other times in the dream, I am placing sections of the clarinet (Your standard clarinet comes apart into four pieces: a bell, a mouthpiece, and two main body parts.) into the two halves of the case looking to determine the best way to allocate space and make the requisite padding.  This is turning into a serious issue, as there is no apparently easy way to do this fitting business.  At times, I see a considerable number of pieces -- all of which look like clarinet pieces, but I'm baffled as to why there are so many of them.  

At one point, I realize that the clarinet I've been working on has come equipped with a short stool, which is also nearby and also in pieces.  The pieces resemble a heavyweight music stand, but on wheels rather than a tripod or flat circular base.  I'm not sure whether I should or need to make arrangements in the case I'm building for the several pieces of the stool, but decide that would not be possible in the dimensions of the case that I've already constructed.

I wake up.

Bad Dream 137 -- Morning of 2/3/21

In my dream, I am driving around somewhat aimlessly.  Deb is off someplace doing something and I'm just trying to find a way to do something interesting and maybe constructive. 

After driving through a small town of not-very-interesting buildings, I find myself driving past a large building that turns out to be a rather modern high school.  For reasons that are not clear to me, I turn into the parking lot with the intention of finding out more about the building.  The parking lots (there are at least two of them) are remarkably small and have grass growing right up to the asphalt.  No curbing.  This is somewhat surprising, as the appearance of the building suggests that the lots should be bigger and more completely made (i.e., curbing and lines for individual parking spaces).  There are a few cars in the lot, and considerable open spaces as well.  

I get out of the car to prowl around the building, feeling there's no way I will be able to enter.  And I'm surprised when I see a guy wearing a suit open one of the side doors and walk out.  I don't remember hearing any "click" sounds as he left, suggesting that the door is unlocked.  So I walk over to the door and, surprisingly, pull the door open and walk inside.  

Walking around a little bit confirms that this is a high school -- and that the building, while not being terribly new and "modern" has been well kept.  The hallways are, unsurprisingly, well polished terrazzo.  I continue to walk, and find myself walking past an enormous and well kept and well lighted gym.  As I peek inside, I can hear some voices, suggesting that there are a few people in there.  But I can't see anyone and can't really tell what the people whom I'm hearing are doing.  That is, I can't hear any balls bouncing or people calling loudly to teammates.  I continue walking past the gym.  

The next thing I "see" is a glass enclosed room, with a hardwood floor.  A young woman is in there, striking a ball towards the "front wall."  Her racquet is shaped like a squash racquet and the ball looks to also be a squash ball.  She's very intent on her shot, but I can't see any opponent on the court.  Also, the shape of the court is all wrong for squash.  It's square and maybe 18 feet on a side.  I think that the size and shape of the court simply allows too many shots that an opponent couldn't retrieve.  Part of me wants to stay and watch, but (I think) I don't want to be a distraction to the young lady's game.  In any case, I keep walking.  

I next pass a smaller gym space, and just inside the door, there's a teenage boy on a rowing machine -- one with oar handles that pivot rather than a single "T" bar to pull.  The young man is as intense as the squash player.  And, as before, I decide not to interrupt.  

 As I continue walking, I pass a man in a suit who's holding a small white disk.  He's talking to himself (or on a cell phone) as he examines the disk.  He says something like: "Yeah it's really quite nice but expensive.  They cost a thousand dollars for ______."  (I'm not sure I heard the amount of disks you could get for a thousand dollars.  If I did, I don't remember anyway.)

I next find myself outside the building.  Exploring had been interesting, but it was time for me to move on.  I walk to the parking lot where I was fairly sure I parked my car, which I'm sure is the one I drive now -- the gray Tiguan.  I don't see it anywhere.  

I walk over to the other parking lot, but don't see the car anywhere there either.  I start to get concerned that my car simply isn't there.   

I wake up.

WHAT THIS ALL MEANS

What occurred to me shortly after I meditated and got out of bed was that the activities that I witnessed were those that I had actually done myself.  I certainly spent considerable time on a squash court years ago.  And I had a sliding-seat rowing shell for years as well.  The gym space that might represent the Turks Head Jugglers practice space.  And the disk that the man was holding might represent a golf ball in "dream language."  And all these activities are pretty much in my past, with the possible exception of golf.  My past -- like my being in high school.

I feel there's more to analyze here (the small town, why the thought about Deb, the small parking lots, etc.) but the above is all I can get at the moment.  

Bad Dream 136 -- Morning of 1/27/21

In my dream, an Unidentifiable (no face, no name, no gender, no speech) and I are waiting to board some form of public transportation.  It might be a bus or a boat, but not an airplane.  

The seats are arranged "Lounge Style," that is, placed against the walls with an open space in the middle -- and are somewhat padded.  Color is what we used to call "putty" when it was used for the case around the old computer CRT's -- with all those little buttons to hold the padding in place.

We enter the vehicle to make sure that we have assigned seats, knowing we would have to step back outside and board again when our "group" of people is called.  (This will be like boarding an airplane, where families with babies go on, then First Class, then back rows, etc.)  I'm pleased to see that my name is, in fact written in pencil on one of the seats.  I turn my head a bit to make sure that the Unidentifiable "sees" that things are okay.  We leave the vehicle and begin to wait again, assured that everything will be fine. 

In a bit, a voice announces one group to enter the vehicle.  Not us.  Then a second group.  Still not us.  I start to get a bit concerned that a lot of people have boarded the vehicle and will we still have our assigned seats, but am confident since I saw my name written on a seat.  

Finally, we're called to enter -- and there's a large group of us that get on.  I work my way over to the place where I saw my name and see that the area is already taken by a lot of folks.  (Seating is bench-like, without individual seating designed into the furniture.)  There is a space more or less where I remember seeing my name, and the person just to the right of that space is a very pretty young woman dressed very nicely.  I'm pleased with the thought that the young lady and I might strike up a conversation.  (From this point on in the dream, the Unidentifiable is no longer in evidence.)  I sit down next to her on what I remember to be my assigned seat.  

My sitting down clearly makes the young lady nervous.  I think possibly about introducing myself as a means to assuage any concerns she might have about my presence, but decide it's more likely to make matters worse.

After a short piece of time, during which the woman seems to get more and more distressed, she gets up and walks over to a man sitting on one of the Lounge Benches directly across from us.  She says a few words to him that I can't hear, but can guess what she's saying.  He looks over at me, gets up and walks slowly over in my direction.  

He smiles and starts talking about the world in general.  But we both know why he's standing there.  Then he gets more specific in his language and brings his face closer to mine.  He never says directly "What the hell do you think you're doing?" but that seems to be his general attitude.  He obviously wants me to move away, but there's no where else to go to without leaving the vehicle completely.  (I wish I would have thought about just switching seats with the guy, but that's not the way the dream went.)  

He's a large fellow, who looks to be in pretty good shape.  I wouldn't be surprised if he had experience in handling ne'er-do-wells like me in a very physical way.  

I consider asking him things like "What do you want me to do?  Get off the bus?" but decide against that.  It would simply allow him to say something like "There's a good idea!" or worse, as in "It might be better for your health if you did."  

The guy's chatter comes closer and closer to accusing me of something (that I didn't do!) or making clearer that I need to go away.  I'm not interested in hearing any more of these veiled threats, but can't think of anything to say that won't make it worse.  

I wake up.  

Bad Dream 135 -- Morning of 1/20/21

(This dream took place several days ago.  I've lost the notes I made that morning, but remember most of what took place...)

In my dream, I am watching a "drama" unfold:

I see a man in front of me -- somewhat to my left.  There is nothing unusual about him.  He's maybe in his mid-30's or thereabouts.  I'll call him "The Man" or simply "TM."  

In front of me -- somewhat to my right is The Invisible Man, whom I will call "IM."  I literally can't see anything about him except his hat -- which I think would be described as a Fedora.  The IM is also identifiable by his voice, which seems to come from somewhere under his hat.  It's a very pleasant voice, masculine and strong, but with a tone of warmth and caring.

The IM is "chatting up" TM with questions about where he's from, what he does for a living, what he does for entertainment -- you know, stuff like that.  TM seems quite comfortable in answering these questions and maybe even pleased that IM is showing such an interest.  It sounds as if these two have never met before.  TM responds to all IM's questions with appropriate answers, even though -- it occurs to me -- that it's unusual for anyone asking such personal questions on first meeting.  IM asks follow-up questions like "Hmm!  Where do you to that?" which indicate that he (IM) is paying close attention to TM's responses.  

Listening on this exchange, I'm interested in both the questions and the answers.  I'm impressed that IM can ask these questions with such an easy style that TM doesn't mind answering.  But after a while, I am puzzled as to why IM is asking so many questions.  Does he have some ulterior motive -- not just simple curiosity?  I feel as if I might have commented on this situation and my concern, but TM seems comfortable in responding, so I simply continue watching the exchange.  

After this goes on for sometime, I realize that IM isn't quite invisible anymore.  I can see, faintly, the outline of his face.  He has a very neatly maintained beard, which shows up early in this process.  (So that the main things you see about IM are his hat and his beard, but his facial features are gradually coming into sight.)

IM continues to ask these friendly questions and TM continues to respond.  But soon after I notice that IM's face is starting to appear, I notice that TM is looking a bit fatigued.  And then he starts to slump forward.  I don't recall whether he simply starts leaning on a table in front of him or whether he collapses into a seat, but clearly he is not as full of energy as he was.

As the Q&A continues, I realize that IM is absorbing the energy, the essence of TM.  IM continues to become more visible as TM becomes less and less substantial.  I think I start to see through TM's body as he slumps more and more...

I wake up.

Bad Dream 134 -- Morning of 1/3/21

In my dream, I am in a large room -- which might be an informal theater as it seems to have a stage feeling to it and/or theatrical curtains (although neither of them play much of a part in the story line).  The area in which I find myself is empty with a large good solid, flat, and horizontal floor.  

I am practicing with a diabolo.  I'm trying just to recapture some of the tricks I've been doing for years.  The string has been used rather heavily and casually, as it's got black streaks of grime on it.  I promise myself I will change the string as soon as I finish practicing. I know the logical thing would be to change the string first, which would make practice easier and better, but I disregard that sensible advice and continue with the used, dirty string.  

I crank up the diabolo to as fast a speed as I can to allow me maximum time to try a few tricks in a row.  Faster and faster.  Just as I am about to stop cranking it and start doing tricks, the string catches in the axle so that it just winds up and whacks one of the sticks.  Rats.  Gotta unwind it and start again.  

This pattern repeats itself several times.  I begin to chastise myself by saying "That's going fast enough.  Don't bother cranking it any farther or you'll get the wind-up thing again."  But consistently, I go for one last big crank and the diabolo winds up whacking the stick again.  

Intermittently with these frustrating events, I find myself looking at and holding a Sudoku puzzle that is almost solved.  Out of the 81 cells on the puzzle, there are only 10 or so that still need to be filled in.  Normally, filling in those last few cells is quite easy.  I pick one cell and determine that it should be such-and-such a number.  I then go to cross-check it via a different line of logic.  That line of logic give me a different answer.  

Like the Sudoku on my phone, I can -- and do -- check to see if my current answers are valid, expecting to be told that there's an error in the answers so far, because both answers can't be right.  But I'm informed somehow that the puzzle is, in fact, correct so far.  And thereby is an unsolvable problem: the answer for a given cell must be a particular value, but I'm coming up with a choice between two values, which is not possible with Sudoku puzzles, but the progress so far has been judged to be correct.  

So I return to the diabolo practice with the same results described above.  

So I have two leisure-time activities in which I have invested a large amount of my real waking time and am coming up with frustration and lack of success with both of them.  

At the edge of my awareness are two guys whom I know a bit and who are responsible for the building in which we find ourselves.  They express regret but need to inform me that the building needs to close sometime soon.