Dreamt of running with hundreds of children. The older boys were leading, carrying, and/or chasing their younger sisters far into the desert where the girls were to be left to die. My heart was breaking for these children — the girls for their pain, fear, and sadness and the boys for the weight of the responsibility and guilt their parents thrust upon them — but I knew there was no way I could save them all.
Dreamt that Mus M. and I were trying to organize a filing cabinet. We wanted to arrange our materials on global warming in such a way that if someone didn’t know what they were looking for they’d find the broad overview first with the evidence and studies underneath. However, the file cabinet was a little tight and our boxes didn’t fit quite right, complicating the process.
Dreamt that the furnace in a concrete bunker was rigged to explode. Me and several other people were working our way down the wrought iron staircase that circled the interior as fast as we could. As time got shorter I started jumping down whole floors at a time.
Dreamt of arriving home after a year’s absence to find my apartment building — which was built on the site of the Red House and the house next to it on the corner — had gone through extensive remodeling. All the doors were on the exterior of the building and I had to work my way up three floors of narrow ramps, scaffolding, and ladders to my apartment. I hoped my key still worked.
Dreamt of riding with April H. behind the wheel of a large RV. We drove all night through a cold, winter landscape and talked of the passage of time, children, relationships, and love. At just about the crack of dawn, April turned off on the wrong exit. She stopped, turned the RV around, and went up the wrong way on the exit ramp even though I thought we should just follow the cloverleaf around. That interaction seemed to sum up our entire conversation.
Dreamt a friend took in an abandoned dog. Once it was cleaned and brushed, the dog looked like a 16-year-old girl. Watching the dog lick my friend’s face was very disturbing.
Dreamt that Yuko-hime and I met Ed S. and Virginia P. at a restaurant called Michael Jackson’s that boasted a parking lot large enough to hold 10,000 cars. The place was named after the musician who apparently wasn’t dead. The food was good, but the place was almost empty and the “puke-channels” between the tables were a little disconcerting. Mr. Jackson had brought in a business consultant who was very clear that the restaurant was trying to do too many things at once. “You can either have a gourmet restaurant, a family restaurant, or a nightclub. Not all three at once!”