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.