howeird: (Weird Dream)
This was from Friday night, I did not have time to enter it what with the trip to San Diego and not having a computer with me there.

I am in bed, and next to the pillow is what looks like a pirate treasure box, but a no-frills one. It is made from wood slats kept together with simple cast iron bands. The wood has a solid look to it, it appears to be stained but not varnished, not new but not weathered either. There are cast iron hinges at the top corners. I don't see a lock.

I have no clue what is inside, but I am being told over and over again that I will not be able to sleep until  Pam Dawber takes the box away. If I roll over to another side, the box follows, always up against the pillow on the side furthest from my head. After a while the name  Pam Dawber becomes an earworm.
howeird: (Weird Dream)
I'm sitting in a tavern, and see someone I know at a table, doing her homework. She should be in class (the tavern is also a school). I ask her why she isn't in class, and she angrily tells me that the rat bastard behind the bar tried to charge her some extra fee, and she refused. I ask her how much and she names a figure less than a dollar.

I go up to the bar, which is just a counter like you might have in a deli, and I tell the scruffy man behind it that I'm paying what Sushmi owes. Students usually pay their fees in nickels, but on the counter top (it is a wooden slat table top, actually) there are about 30 foreign coins, probably fake, of many denominations, spread out. I find four quarters in my pocket and slam them down on the counter, but instead of all coming down in a set they scatter among the foreign coins. I mumble to the rat bastard "there's four quarters" and he gives me change.

I turn to tell Sushmi, and I see she is not at her table, but some of her stuff is, and there's a name tag which says "Sushmi" on the first line and "In class" on the second.
howeird: (Weird Dream)
I am at work, it's almost my last day, and an attractive female engineer is asking me if there is anything I would want to improve about the software. I tell her they ought to allow decimals in the Mbps entry field. I tell her 3 Mbps is not enough, 4 Mbps is too much, the product's videos would look best at 3.5 Mbps.

She says she thinks I may be right, why don't we go to a production house she used to work at and ask them. So we walk outside, it is a balmy sunny day, we continue our conversation until we get to a large nondescript one-story building painted an ugly reddish mustard brown. There is no entry on the side we are on. The engineer is puzzled, but then she remembers they change where the door is from time to time for security reasons.

We go around the building and find the door, people at the reception desk are happy to see her, they call her Elena, which is not her real name, but obviously the name she worked as here.

She tells me to stay there while she goes inside to talk to the production people.

I am walking into a pool area, huge swimming pool with lots of men in it. Most are on inflatable rafts, some are clinging to the side of the pool, facing my direction. They are wearing swim suits which are non-remarkable. I am in a way too big for me beach robe, zipped up the front, with the hood on, naked underneath. There are four other men poolside dressed the same way. Off to the side there is what looks like a bar, but it has be made into a work area. Ron Jeremy is there, doing some make-work task. There is also a female porn star, who seems to be in charge.

She tells the five of us she will be right with us, and we can take off our robes and get into the water.The other four guys do so, but I'm not interested in being naked. It is obvious that in order to worm her way into the production studio "Elena" had to pretend I was there to audition for this porn film company.

Waiting and waiting and waiting, Ron is still doing make-work, the female porn star is also doing paperwork, both ignoring us. After a couple of hours of not being rescued by Elena, I tell the other four I'm out of here, I need to get back to work, and I head for the door. There is a small Rottweiler on a chain who lunges at me with very large teeth when I reach for the door handle.

I grab the dog by the back of his collar, which has a radio unit attached to it, and hold him up facing away from me, his hind legs just reaching the ground. He barks a lot but is no threat. Before I can reach for the door handle with my other hand, an angry man comes out and yells at me for molesting the dog, but he lets me inside.

I'm in a men's dressing room with the other guys, we are looking through several clear plastic bags for our clothes. I find mine in two bags, and get dressed.
howeird: (Weird Dream)
I am in a school, my co-teacher and I are in our classroom doing some decorating or crafts thing which is only vaguely hinted at. I can't see who my co-teacher is, just a white blouse and navy skirt. I'm wearing a white shirt. What is very clear and the focus of the dream is my hands are full, I have a pair of silver scissors, a roll of paper packing tape, a pink eraser, a pencil and assorted pieces of paper (probably construction paper, but I can't really tell).

Another teacher, a tall, slender blonde woman in a stylish, diagonally striped dress in shades of orange and brown (the stripe pattern varies in color and width) and I are in the hallway, I have been borrowed from my co-teacher. It happened quickly, I did not have time to put down everything I was holding. I still have the pencil, eraser and roll of tape. As we walk down the hall, she explains to me that we are going to go help another teacher, in room A-38. She has two pieces of pink paper, she shows one to me - it is a test paper. She is trying to explain what I need to fill out, but I'm not understanding, and not keeping up (she walks very quickly), and the next thing I know I am in another hallway, and see her halfway down the hall, opening the door to A-38. I get the impression it is a multi-building campus, and the A stands for Building A. But that's unimportant. I go into A-38, and she is sitting toward the left/back of the room, separate from the class, her desk/chair angled about 45° toward the center of the room.  She motions me to the desk/chair beside her. Once again she hands me a pink sheet and tries to guide me through filling out the top part. There are several little sections, and it is not clear to me what I am looking at, except it is a test.

I know how to fill out this page, but I humor her, knowing she likes helping. And thinking that maybe helping me could be the start of a relationship. She's very sexy in that dress.

After the top sections are filled out, she sits up straight, apparently watching the class. I assume the class is taking a test, but I can't see - they are yards away. It is a very long room, and we are way in the back, and the 30 or so students are way in the front. I am still holding the pencil and the roll of tape in one hand, the pink test paper in the other. I'm not sure if I am supposed to be watching or taking the test. I wake up not knowing.
howeird: (Weird Dream)

I am about 12 years old, walking over a hill in the city, one of those areas which is still undeveloped, and I am searching for a small bush which can be used as a spice, something like sage, but the dream doesn't say exactly which spice. The hill is mostly barren, some weeds and dried up plants, but nothing green.  I find several different possibles during a couple of hours of walking and searching, which I put into my day pack, but I can't be sure because there are no leaves or buds.
New dream
Me and my brush-filled day pack are in the livingroom of S, a theater friend (in the dream and IRL) of 25 years with whom I am still in touch. She also is a regular at Dickens Faire. Two or three other children are there too, and I am showing them the bushes. S looks at each one, names it, describes what it is good for (chamomile, good for making tea for curing your parakeet's diarrhea). She pulls one bush from the pack, shakes it at me and says "fennel".  Her tone tells me this is not the spice I am looking for, but it's a rare find nonetheless. She will use it at Dickens Faire.
I am back on the hill, with a better idea of what I am looking for, and that I won't find it here.

howeird: (Weird Dream)
I am at a party, sitting on a sofa, dressed only in a silk oriental robe which is open, the waist ties are undone and maybe never were done. Someone hands me something over my shoulder, which turns out to be a letter. It is fan-folded in a way which only shows the final page, which appears to be a carbon copy. The header has a CC list which includes my first and last names, along with four or five others which I do not read. It is from "Sung-tong Ping, wife, some-time lover, adventuress" but I don't see who it is addressed to.

It has some flowery language as a preface and then says "I regret to inform you" followed by a line announcing she has joined the Peace Corps, and pasted after that is her assignment to Japan, from her Peace Corps invitation letter.

I am surprised for several reasons. I don't know Sung-tong Ping (which name I keep flipping into "Tungsong" which is a town in southern Thailand), the Peace Corps does not send volunteers to Japan, and how did anyone know I would be at this party?

After reading the letter, which includes a lot of angst about how Sung-tong was this guy's girlfriend and tried to be like a wife to him, but her adventures took her away so often they barely ever made love, I unfolded the fan-fold at the top, and was amazed that in contrast to the carbon copy page, this was black poster-grade glossy paper and when unfolded was actually a Japanese print. The whole thing has the effect of a Japanese calendar, with the cheap paper calendar part tacked to the bottom of a classy glossy print. The print was more of a very simple cartoon, in the upper right a Japanese man in kimono squatting inside a square. The man is done in goldenrod color on the black background. There are a couple of Japanese characters, also in goldenrod, down the left side. I don't know any of them. As I look at this I laugh and think to myself that I really like this Sung-tong.

And as I think that, there is a commotion by the door behind me and to my left, and as I turn around to look, I hear lots of people saying "Sung-tong!" and then the crowd parts, and in the hallway is a petite Asian woman in a faded black and white kimono, with her arms up in the air and her feet apart, smiling. I tell her if I had known, I would have proposed to her.
howeird: (Weird Dream)
There is a character who is in my dreams from time to time who is a composite of several writer friends and fans. He is middle-aged, average height, rotund, graying, wears glasses, and wears a cheap gray houndstooth jacket, sometimes with brown leather elbow patches. In those dreams we usually argue about copyrights.
I am visiting his office. He is sitting in his wooden wheeled office chair, but he has brought it out from behind the desk. I am in a plain wooden chair facing him a couple of feet away. I have my hand on a gray upholstered office chair on wheels which has a kind of handle on the back made with large buttons like one would find on an overcoat. I am unconsciously running my fingers across the row of buttons.

"You can't do that!" my friend says "It's a copyright violation". He is talking about my moving the chair my hand is on. He is insisting that everything in his office is covered by copyright, and my moving his chair, or even touching the buttons on the back, is a copyright violation. He wants me to pay him for the privilege. He is apoplectic, his face is red, he is breathing heavily, and he is pounding his fist on his desk for emphasis. The latter is not very effective with his desk behind him.

I stand up and say "You are entitled to be paid for every word you write."
"At least we agree on that," he answers, stands up and shakes my hand. We both sit. He is now calm, but still a little huffy.
"But what I do to your office is a matter of contract law, not copyright, and we do not have a contract concerning your office furniture," I continue. He stands up, wheels his chair back behind his desk, sits down, puts his feet up on the desk, crosses his arms, harrumphes, and says "I suppose you are right."
howeird: (Weird Dream)
I get a call from the recruiter who IRL has gotten me my first real on-site interview in a long time. This is about that job, and he asks me "did they say who will pay for the trip to Alaska?". What? The job is in Silicon Valley, what's this about Alaska? He says they want me to go there for a final interview. The job has changed, they are offering $300k/year for me to manage a group, and the VP lives in Alaska. The job would still be local. I don't want to be a manager, I'm not good at managing other people. But even if I wash out after 3 months, that'll be some nest egg.
howeird: (Weird Dream)
I am in a huge hall, like a ballroom, in an embassy. The Swedish ambassador is chatting with me, he is in a dressing gown. We are the only people in this big room. There is no furniture, but the drapery is very ornate.

A woman appears in a business suit with a small pile of papers, it all looks very organized, and pulls them out one by one. She thanks me for my participation, and says it will be a very educational experience. Each paper has an assignment for me. One says I will be spending a day with the Swedish ambassador, another has me working with a corporate polluter, followed by a day helping Rep. Schweikert write a Green Bill. All of the assignments are in New York City, and in the back of my mind I am regretting having volunteered for this program because I hate NYC. I am supposed to spend a week there, each day on a different assignment.

I am in what looks like the building's health club, on a balcony overlooking the pool. Winston Churchill, fully dressed, is at my elbow, smoking an odorless cigar, and it is apparent we have become buddies during my assignment with him. He is making snide comments as Schweikert dumps a wheelbarrow load of ice into the pool. Churchill comes up with a large blue plastic tub with inset handles, and throws it into the pool. I starts scooping up ice by itself. I turn to Churchill and say "good idea!" and we both continue to watch the tub. But after the initial ice capture, it is caught in an eddy, and sinks to the bottom of the pool. "Not such a good idea," says Winston.
howeird: (Weird Dream)
I dreamed that my alarm had gone off, and the light in the bedroom went on (it's on a timer set to turn on at 7:30 am).  This actually woke me up - 23 minutes early. The alarm had not yet sounded, the light was not on.
howeird: (Costume Malfunction)
I am walking through the Palo Alto Medical Foundation clinic, on my way to some department when off to my right I see a waiting area filled with women in a variety of period dresses, some of them are mending hems, others are helping the person next to them fix something on their costume, some are just sitting waiting and a couple are sitting there crying.

The sign over the department says "Costume Medicine".
howeird: (Weird Dream)
I doze off while thinking about two insulin pens - one has just enough for one dose, the other contains all but one dose.
I need to put ointment on my toes. Mom has three tubes of the stuff, which to use? One is expired, I throw that out. One is almost empty but has a later expiration date than the almost-full one.

Suddenly I am applying ointment across the tops of three of my toes, starting with my big toe. Somehow, I see this from the point of view of the bottom of my feet, and my face is right up near the toes, and I am licking my lips as I squeeze the tube. I don't know which tube I chose, but after one pass I do this again with the other tube.
howeird: (Weird Dream)
As I was waking up:
The news is on the radio, they say that a retired policeman gave his "true police badge" to a known criminal, who then used it to rob several banks, and negotiate a bogus hostage situation. He ended the stand-off by promising the hostage taker (later discovered to be a friend of his) all the mac-and-cheese he could eat in an hour.
howeird: (Weird Dream)
It is a bright sunny day and I think I am in British Columbia. I am driving my IRL car across a landscape which looks like the wasteland around a volcano, but there are no mountains in sight. I am driving towards the ocean, which I can see in the distance.  Off to the right is a light blue tower with white wave symbols near the top, which I know is the ferry terminal. I'm going to be taking the ferry, but on foot. I am looking for a place to park the car, and there are these depressions in the volcanic rock that are big enough to park the car in. As I watch, another car parks in a cave-like spot, with a nice sheltering overhang. Wish I had seen it first. There are two good spots in range, one down at sea level, the other is up on the higher level where I am driving. I decide it's the better spot, even though it means walking all the way around to the left side of my level to get down to the lower level where the ferry dock is.

I have walked to the right - to a depression in the landscape which gives me a view of the ferry tower, and it is in hearing range of any arrival announcements. I am lying on my back, my gym bag is next to me, and I have stripped completely, getting ready to put on a different set of clothes, when a couple parks nearby. I lie very still, hoping they don't see me. They both get out of their car, the man is absorbed with the ocean view, he is out of sight and facing away from me. The woman is short, very fat, had short blond hair and is wearing gold-rimmed glasses. She is dressed in a light blue velour track suit with white piping.  It actually looks pretty good on her.

She walks right over to my little crater, sits on the rim facing me, and in a matter of fact tone tells her husband "there's a man in there" and she makes some suggestions about what the thee of us might do together, which I don't quite hear. I tell her I had better put some clothes on, and reach into my gym bag and start getting dressed.

She seems disappointed, and I wake up as I am still dressing and she and her husband are walking down to the dock.
howeird: (Weird Dream)
There is a structure which recurs in my dreams very often. It's hard to describe, because in the dream I am seeing myself looking out from behind this thing, at very close range - an inch or three. It looks a lot like a blender base, but without the buttons. It symbolizes a staging area - most of the time this structure appears it is at the start or end of a dream, and I am holding a person out in front of it, like a kid would hold out a little doll to show his parents or playmates. I am always seeing this through the eyes of me on the other side of the structure, as if through a very wide-angled lens. Not a fish-eye, but enough to make the doll-like person appear bigger when thrust in front of the structure.

The purpose seems to be for me behind the structure to suggest to me on the other side of the structure what characters ought o be in the coming dream, or what character should have been in the previous dream instead of whomever was in the dream. Sometimes I will actually re-dream with the new character substituted, but usually I will either wake up, or start an entirely unrelated new dream.
howeird: (Weird Dream)
It is opening night for a show I am in. I am looking at my lines for two of the scenes I am in, and get the feeling something is wrong. I put that aside as we are called into the green room by the stage manager, a woman IRL I have worked with a few times, but she is much younger here. The director blusters in, wearing a dark suit & vest with a bright red tie. His name is Aldo, and IRL he directed a couple of shows I was in in the 1980s, but he passed away a few years ago. He makes a short speech saying he is not really here, he just needs the college credits. As he is saying this, he is suddenly dressed in overalls and is wearing gold rimmed glasses.

He is done, and I go back to my two looseleaf pages of script, and realize that the scenes I am looking at (one per page) actually are two parts of the same scene, and I am cast as both a member of the courtroom audience and as the defendant. Or one of the defendants. Bottom line is I have lines at the same time in both roles. My audience character is supposed to respond to my defendant character. Well, not exactly respond. The person next to me in the audience wakes me up to hear the testimony of the defendant character.

It is opening night, and this is an awkward time to discover this. I am debating whether to tell the SM or the director. It is clear we have never done a complete run-through of the show, otherwise this would have been caught earlier. I am still looking at the yellow-highlighted lines, holding one page in my left hand and the other in my right, when I wake up.
howeird: (Weird Dream)
A man in a white coat and white hat is cleaning some large metal object (the under side of a car?) with a high powered water spray wand. He is facing me, inches away, I think I am videoing him for a documentary. Two other men are in the background at different angles to me doing the same thing, maybe on the same object or maybe on different ones. The object is getting much cleaner as I watch.

After a few minutes of this I wake myself up, thinking this is pretty boring, I should be dreaming about naked women instead.

I am somewhere in the Southeast. It is a huge city, I have no idea which one. Actually I don't think it exists IRL. Whatever I am there for at a hotel downtown is over, and I need to get back to the airport. I get on a local bus, the driver is up front but the fare box is a few feet behind her in the back. The seats are facing the center of the bus, and there is only one other passenger. I start dropping coins into the fare box, the driver looks back and smiles, and says she doesn't care how much I put in, but $1.50 would be nice.

After a few miles the bus enters a large apartment complex, and winds its way around for about half an hour, finally coming to a stop at a turn-around spot in the middle of the complex. The other passenger gets out, the driver indicates she isn't going anywhere for a long time, so I get out.

I get out, and try to figure out how to get back to the main road and then to the airport. I feel I am not dressed correctly, and wait for someone to come out of the nearest building so I can sneak in and find an apartment to change in. I end up changing in the entry to one of the buildings.

Somewhere in there my luggage is gone, mostly because I don't need it, and I make my way out to the main street. After looking both directions and seeing no one and feeling there is no way I will get to the airport any time soon, I wake up.
howeird: (Weird Dream)
My mother has bought the condo apartment on the third floor as a rental unit. Its bathroom had a very large tub, something like a Jacuzzi for two which for some reason had been filled in with cement. And for some other reason a standard tub-sized section of the cement had been chopped out. Mom asked me to fill the hole with cement.

Cut to me with a flat metal trowel, smoothing the surface of the wet cement. I flash on an image of someone sitting in the tub which is filled with cement, and the cement hardens around her/him (it is not clear who the person is).  As the cement hardens, so does the person. And I picture men in construction clothes jackhammering the fossilized body out of the tub, leaving the hole which I have just filled in.

I wonder if my mother will find a renter. 
howeird: (Weird Dream)
My best buddy George is coming from the east coast to join me at a convention somewhere far enough away that we will be sharing a hotel room. I don't recognize the city, but from the hotel I can see a Macy's. I have not been here IRL.

I find our hotel room door open, George is in his jammies, already comfortably in bed even though it is early afternoon. He gets up and sits on the edge of the bed. We chat, and it becomes clear that this is not our room, neither of us has checked into the hotel yet, he just saw the door open and made himself at home. He is completely unpacked. I don't seem to have any bags.

About the time I have decided to go down to the front desk and check into our real room, a pair of women in their 30's burst into the room and make a lot of noise about this being reserved for their party, and "what will we do? Where will the bride change clothes?". They are assuming this is our room, and the hotel messed up. They leave, flustered, not giving us a chance to explain that this is not our room. In walk the bride and her mother, who start politely but panicky to explain why they really need this room. I console them with "it was our mistake, we saw the door open and thought it was our room". George reluctantly gathers up his things, packs them in his suitcase, and we go down to the front desk, where they tell us we are in the wrong city. The dream ends as we are walking down the street toward Macy's.
howeird: (Weird Dream)
I am walking through a town, no idea where this is but in the dream it is the town I live in. I am going somewhere at a leisurely pace, looking into store windows as I pass by. I am heading somewhere specific, but wherever it is there is no specific time I have to be there. I am passing by one of those stores which is a shabby hole in the wall, some Asian mom and pop, or maybe just pop, which sold random pieces of junk items like rusty lawnmowers and used oil cans. A butcher paper sign in the window says they have gone out of business. It has the name of the store, Domatsu or something like that. Past the sign I see the store is almost completely empty, only one or two articles of junk along the wall. Inside a man who I gather is an electrician and a woman who is probably a real estate agent are looking at an electrical panel at the back of the store.

I reach my destination, where I pick up something which has been repaired there. I pay without noticing the cost. It is something small like a remote control.

I continue on, there is one more place to go to. About half an hour later I walk by another Domatsu, and it too is newly closed, with a crudely written paper sign on the front window. Two candy machines are in front of the store, empty, with paper signs on them too. The signs are actually inside the machines, fitted to the curvature of the glass. Like the other store, this one is almost completely empty, and a man and woman are way in the back looking at the electricity panel.

I am in another repair shop, the RAID aray I had dropped off is ready for me to format and test. A woman employee has me sit at a lab table while she goes to get it. She has given me the bill for troubleshooting work they have already done, and a four-page brochure about Siemens' excellent repair facilities. The first time I look at the bill, I see a reasonable $198, but then notice there is another 1 and the price is  $1,198, which is more than the RAID is worth. I take out the bill for the remote control and it is $186, which is far more than the remote is worth.  Reading the RAID's repair description, they found one bad drive - it is missing a sector or something like that, and I will have to replace the drive and rebuild the array content from the other three.

That's when I wake up.

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