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.  

Bad Dream 133 -- Morning of 12/27/20

In my dream, I am taking a test/exam on a Shakespeare play.  My dream didn't inform me as to which play.  I am in a small classroom at a classical student desk writing out my essay answer(s) to the test.  Or exam.  There are maybe 5 or 8 other students taking the exam.  Or test.

I am cruising through this.  I know the play well.  I enjoy it and feel I understand what the author wanted us to get out of it.  And my insights into the play are being sharpened through the process of writing out my ideas.  I am pleased and excited.  I think I'm writing on lined yellow copy paper (not the dreaded Little Blue Test Book) using green ink.

There's still time left before our essays are collected, and I still have some additional writing to do.  But I feel the need to visit the bathroom for the usual reason.  

When I return, the room is essentially empty.  The other test takers are gone, the instructor or test monitor (that's not clear which it is in the dream) is also gone.  All the desks are empty except for mine, which is where my mostly-finished paper still resides.  

It occurs to me that I can be accused of cheating.  That I might have smuggled a copy of the play into the test room and taken it with me to the bathroom to check on a few things before finishing and submitting my test paper.  Or possibly that I had stashed a copy of the play in the bathroom somewhere for the same purpose.  

I am feeling anxious and angry at myself for not having seen this possibility beforehand.  And I was doing so well!  

I take my test papers down to an office setting where I think the teacher/monitor might be so I can explain the situation and hope my test will be accepted just on my say-so and the good will of the test supervisor.  In the process, I realize that I might have gotten an "okay" to visit the bathroom from the test supervisor -- and maybe had an escort to assure I wasn't cheating.

There are two young women sitting at desks in the office.  They're rather pretty, but look quite different -- one from the other.  They look as if they are both office workers rather than faculty members.  I explain my situation and ask if I can leave my test with them so they can hand it over to the professor with my explanation.  They both seem perfectly happy to do this.  They nod almost in unison.

I wake up.

Bad Dream 132 -- Morning of 12/13/20 or thereabouts

I've been dreaming a lot lately -- but haven't been able to capture most of them.  But I'm sure the dreams are rich with meaning, and I'm sorry I can't recall them.  I think they would have been helpful...  But here's an exception: It happened maybe a week ago, but I still remember most of it, and think that writing it out will help me to remember even more.

In my dream, I am standing near the edge of a lake.  The lake is large enough for folks to launch and ride around in smallish boats, but it's considerably smaller than, say, Marsh Creek.  There's lots of greenery around the lake.  Trees on the far shore, grass at my feet.  

The weather is lovely.  Warm enough but not hot.  A gentle breeze but not windy.  You get the idea.  I see a small sailboat just heading out into the wider lake.  It has a cheerful blue hull with a lot of freeboard.  It's maybe 12 or 15 feet long, and there are a awful lot of people aboard.  I see their faces side-by-side stacked as if they were a pile of photos.  There may be 8 or so people which, of course, for a boat that small, is impossible.  

The boat moves slowly from my left to my right, gradually getting farther from shore.  The boat and all those people are still only maybe 20 or 30 feet from shore when the boat comes to a halt.  It's clear to me that the boat has run aground.  Hit a submerged rock or possibly a sandbar. It stopped slowly and without any sudden lurch.  

The skipper soon realizes what's wrong, but isn't sure what to do about it.  He's not anxious to go overboard to push the boat off the obstruction, so he starts bouncing up and down, holding the sides of the boat -- hoping he can "jiggle" the boat free.  

The scene changes slightly.  The boat is now roughly halfway across the lake, having somehow gotten dislodged off the rock.  The sail shows that the boat has wind enough to move it, but I sense that there's something else wrong with what's happening, and that it would make sense for me to try and get to the boat to help.  

I recall that I have a sailboard that I could use as a paddleboard to get to the boat and offer assistance, and I'm very pleased that I can get involved in a meaningful way to help.  I then recall that I've given away all my boats, so that I can't help the folks in the small blue boat.  

I wake up quickly and sadly.  

Bad Dream 131 -- Morning of 12/13/20

In my dream, I'm walking through a residential neighborhood.  The dream does not inform me as to what is on the other side of the street, but the sidewalk on which I'm walking borders a series of row homes -- brick fronts, maybe four homes connected as a "pod" and a considerable number of such pods.  Pods are maybe 30 feet apart, one from the next with grass and a few plants in between.  

It's getting towards evening and I am nowhere near my home -- or any place where I might stay.  I'm getting really hungry, and this is more important to me than finding a place to stay the night.  There's no sign of a hotel or other commercial enterprise, just this seemingly endless line of brick row homes. 

I look at all the front doors staring back at me and know that there are some people who live in these homes who would be comfortable taking me in and feeding me.  But which ones?  I'm mildly concerned about how hostile some folks might be if I pick the wrong door to knock on...

Finally, my hunger overrides any concern I may have for a negative response to my request.  I pick a door on the left-hand edge of one of these pods.  No particular reason for my initial decision.  Just pick one.

As I walk up the sidewalk towards this door, I see that the yard and steps could use some assistance.  Not that things look seriously broken down, just that things are being treated casually to their detriment.  Maybe I chose the wrong door.  Or maybe the person/people inside will understand someone being down on his luck better than folks who are doing quite well.

I think I knock once or twice on the door, but realize quickly that wasn't necessary.  I see through the window someone walking down a set of stairs in such a manner that I know he's coming to the door.  I chastise myself for choosing this door, but it's too late now.  

The door is opened by a youngish man -- slender, maybe mid-to-late 20's -- dressed casually but neatly -- flowered shirt with 1960's era tight fitting pants, possibly with bell bottoms -- with the most remarkable head of hair.  He's Anglo, but is wearing his coal black tightly curly hair in what needs to be called and "Afro."  It's only maybe an inch or an inch-and-a-half above his scalp, but it's shaped remarkably like a football helmet.  It even comes down the sides of his head -- still tightly curled -- just as a football player's helmet might fit.   

He seems almost glad to see me and understands quite quickly that I really need a good meal.  And is more than ready to provide one.  He talks quite openly and friendly like, to the point where I think he's speaking from his own need to chatter.  I'm a bit concerned about this, and if I weren't so hungry, I would probably just turn around and keep walking.  

Somehow, I know he's going to invite me to stay the evening -- and it is starting to get dark and the warmth of the day is fading with the light and I have no other resources for shelter -- but I sense that staying here would not be a good idea.  I try to figure out if there's some polite way to accept his invitation to dine but decline the invitation to stay.  (An invitation that he hasn't made yet.)  Would he proposition me?  Would he force me to do something I really didn't want to do?  I remind myself that no one knows where I am...

Why is he being so open and friendly with a complete stranger like me?  

Do I pass on the meal offering in order to avoid dealing with an unwelcome invitation?  

I wake up.  

Bad Dream 130 -- Morning of 12/6/20

Finally connected having a coherent dream with having the wherewithal to write it down before it evaporated.  

In my dream, I find myself near a major airport.  I think it's supposed to be Boston, but I'm not sure.  I've come from the airport and have a Specific Job to do -- but the dream doesn't share what that Job is.  I know I have to keep track of where I am because I need to get back to the airport sometime in the not-too-distant future.  (It's interesting to note that the dream does not include anything about airplanes: getting on, getting off, getting your luggage, nothing.

I then find myself inside a large, seemingly single-story building.  Fairly typical business and commercial structure and furnishings.  There are offices left and right off the central corridor -- names on the doors' glass windows, etc.  Some doors open, some shut.  Most if not all of the office spaces are limited in size, so they are probably Field Offices of larger corporations somewhere else.  

I realize that, to accomplish the task I'm here for, I need a pad of paper.  Just a simple A-size pad of lined paper.  And I don't have one.  

I walk up and down the halls of this large building, passing lots of small business offices and the occasional retail store.  But none of the stores are likely to have the pad I need.  There are jewelry shops and (ladies?) clothing stores, but nothing like a business supply store or a simple drugstore that might carry pads of paper.  

I think it odd that, in a building this large with so many businesses obviously busy with office-type work that there wouldn't be a stationery store of somesuch.  But there you are.  It occurs to me that I could probably stop into one of these small business offices and just try to secure a pad of paper from them, but something prohibits me from doing so.  That happens in a dream world, you know...

Occasionally, I find myself outside on a street (a city street, but only single-level buildings), which is houses and small offices and such lining the street.  And every now and then, I see a shop maybe a block away, but once again, it's not a business likely to have a pad of paper.  The good news is that I'm not being channeled through the environment the way I was inside the building.  The bad news is that I may be losing track of where the airport is in regards to my current position.  That would be bad.

As I continue looking for a pad of paper, I suddenly realize I have put Something Important down somewhere -- and didn't pick it up again.  And I have been searching for a pad of paper in so many places, that it's extremely unlikely I'll find it again.  In fact, I'm not totally sure I know what it was, so I couldn't even ask anybody "Have you seen an X around here recently?"  

At that point in the dream, I seem to think I told myself: "Geez, you can't find a pad of paper, you've lost that Something, you don't know what it was, it's possible you won't be able to get back to the airport in time...  You might as well wake up."

Which is what I did.