The Pie and the Professor

I dreamed I made a pie. I think it was something creamy but it looked like it might have been key lime. The flavor was never addressed.

I was talking to a friend on the phone. A retired Yale professor of literature, Herb, he’s a social activist and someone I admire. Never dreamed about him before, though.

I told him about my pie during my telephone conversation with him. He said it sounded good, so I told invited him over to have some whenever he was in the area.

Next, I’m walking down the street. It’s a sunny, pleasant day. A dark blue Volkswagen is coming toward me, a diesel, from its sound. I think that can’t be my friend, because he doesn’t drive a VW, but then he pulls alongside, and it’s him.

He puts down his window. “Michael! I came by to taste your pie.”

Well, cool. We go into the house. I’m about to serve him a slice when my phone rings. A woman on the line says her name is Lily and she’s my friend’s wife. Except I know his wife and her name isn’t Lily.

She tells me that she needs him to come home right away. I relay this information. He replies, he’s going to have a piece of pie first. I relay that to Lily and hang up. Then I serve Herb some pie. Grinning — as he’s so often doing — he sits down to eat.

Dream end.

The Fingerprints Dream

I was working for a company whose mission seemed to be tracking fingerprints on the Internet. A young and brilliant bearded guy was our leader. Many young people worked there.

I’m not certain of my responsibilities with this company. I also had a second job with the NSA. When I came into work at the company, they told me, “We can’t find any traces of you on the Internet. Your fingerprints are completely missing.” They took some time to explain that was very unusual.

I resumed working but kept thinking about what they were saying. I knew that the NSA was always covering my tracks and hiding my fingerprints. I suspected something they were doing was spreading to other activities.

I took my suspicions to the CEO and engineering time. They didn’t know I was working for the NSA but thought that what I was suggesting was possible.

It was time to party. The company was celebrating a milestone. As part of that, they were re-creating early scenes from the company. Everyone but me was involved. I hadn’t been there, so I stayed back to watch. It mostly involved people singing, dancing, and laughing.

The CEO visited with me. “Do you want some tea?”

“Sure,” I said.

We were both lying down, which is how we worked there. He turned. Behind his back was a small white tray with two tiny white cups and a small and delicate teapot and creamer.

He handed me a thimble-sized cup. I reached for the pot to fill it but discovered it already full.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Wheatberry.”

I drank it down. It scalded my throat but tasted fantastic.

“Wow,” I said. “That’s amazing. I feel like it’s a shot of energy.”

Nodding, the CEO answered, I”It is,” and walked away.

The dream ended.

Cosmic Construction

I don’t know what woke me. The wind was imitating a full-throttled gas leaf blower outside the window, hammering the house walls with whatever it could find to fling (yeah, that’s how it sounded). One cat was on the bed, and the wife was restless.

I think, though, it was pain. I’d somehow rolled around while I slept, ending up with my mending arm and hand bent underneath my weight. The hand was crying, and was too stiff to straighten at all.

I massaged it and listened to the wind beating the world, wondering what it was doing to our garden, trash can, roof, and everything else. After a bit of that, I adjusted my hand in a safe space elevated on a pillow and settled back into sleeping mode.

The dream slyly crept in. Someone said, “Yes, we have the body before us. We can see the injuries and damages and know how to repair them. We are sending thousands of cosmic construction teams to the area.”

My wife tapped me awake. “It’s really scary outside. The wind is blowing hard and steady.”

“I know. I hear it.”

My Fitbit said, 5:25. I was miffed to be awakened and eager to return to sleep. The dream still had my thoughts entangled. I pictured the cosmic construction teams and their work. I imagined them with nano-sized machines up beside my bones, muscles, and joints. Hard hats on, they’re looking around and chatting, tapping their feet, arms crossed, assessing damages, deciding on a plan. Then the word is given and they go to work.

It was an amusing, yet wonderful and reassuring thought, that somewhere in me, cosmic construction teams are going to work.

Quite A Dream

A snake in a bag was included, and a cat, along with crystal stemware and stairs. Oh, and Matthew McConaughey. It ended with music.

I’d arrived, alone, at a large conference center, one of those mega places, part mall, part hotel and restaurants, and offices. A clean and busy place, I was there to do some work on my own.

Walking along the main corridor, I spotted a young woman in a large island shop. All glass, she had it fenced off on all sides, and the top. As I came closer, I realized it was because she had a black and white cat with her, and her arrangements were to keep the cat in.

I struck a benign conversation up with her and petted her cat, then continued on. Veering to one side, I entered a place loaded with tables. Finding an empty one, I unpacked my gear and set to work.

An attractive woman on one side began flirting with me. She was young, with blonde hair. An equally attractive young brunette woman on my other side then engaged me.

That put me on a high cloud, to be flirted with in that way. I reciprocated, then checked the time and decided I’d worked enough. Standing and packing my gear, I saw myself in a mirror. My appearance pleased me.

Saying bye to the women, I wondered around the bright, clean complex. Busy, nothing of interest drew my attention so I drifted back the other day.

A large canvas bag was thrown out in front of me. As I went around it, I realized it was holed, and then saw a large and angry snake was inside it. After watching for some seconds, I clarified that it was a large and angry rattlesnake, and it was trying to get out.

I worried about the young woman and her cat. Going to her, I told her about the snake. She decided she’d close and leave, to protect her cat.

I’d decided to leave. Shouldering my backpack with a glance back toward the bag with the snake (it may have escaped, I thought), I went down the stairs.

A stack of crystal stemware blocked the middle of the narrow staircase. Right and left of it were trays of dirty dishes.

It looked like dining tables had been bused, but they’d not taken the dirties away, which pissed me off. I turned around to report this to the receptionist, but she was on the phone.

Well, I wanted to leave. I carefully picked my way through the mess and made it without disturbing anything.

Free. I headed toward the exit.

Matthew McConaughey plowed into me. “Did you know that with one thin dime, you can be a free and wealthy man?”

I kept walking. Matthew was a friend, but I didn’t want to hear this now. “Get away from me, Matthew. I’m not interested.” He held up a dime.

“Not interested.” He walked with me. “I’m talking about a great opportunity. Do you have one thin dime, Michael?”

At that moment, I heard music on the loudspeaker and stopped. “Listen.”

“To what am I listening?” Matthew asked.

“The music. Recognize it?”

“I do not.”

“It sounds like the beginning of Deep Purple doing “Highway Star'” on their live album.”

“I don’t know it.”

Matthew’s response amazed me. “You don’t know it?”

The music began, and I was right about the song.

The dream ended.

Tuesday’s Theme Music

A rough night culminated in late slumber that ended with a dream and music.

I’ve posted “Highway Star'” by Deep Purple here before, but it was in my dream, so I thought I’d stay with it. It was the live version from their Made in Japan album, 1972. I had that album and used to listen to it at ear-bleeding levels. It’s a damn intense, unrelenting song, an eruption of unapologetic rock, almost to such levels that it’s parody.

Here it is, the looonnng live version, fresh from ’72.

A New House & A Town Dream

I was driving. Wife with me, I was following instructions to my new home.

There was a twist. I was keeping my old home, but, per the instructions, I’d been rewarded with more space.

Pleased and excited, I drove along winding roads through green countryside, toward…my old home. But slowing within visual of my old home, I told my wife, “It says to turn left here,” so I did.

There…was my new ‘additional’ home, on the right.

Huge, set back on a sprawling green lawn, it startled me. This was mine…too. Yes, according to the instructions. I parked. My wife and I entered the house, walking around and gawking. Furnished, it was ready for us to move in. I discovered it had a pool in the back, which really excited me. Checking out the area, I discovered the road my new house was on looped around back to my old house, making it easy to go back and forth between the two.

My friend, Kevin arrived. He and his family were moving to the area. He said that they needed a place to stay. Happily, I informed him, “You can stay here. I have a guest house.” After I showed him and he agreed, I said, “And I have a pool, so I’m going to take a swim before I dress for work.

The dream shifted. I’d joined a group. We were about to explore our new little town. It was covered in snowy white, and a large map in the sky showed me the route to take. Twenty of us piled into five cars. I drove the lead car. Though the town was supposed to be new to me, I was familiar with it, so I took on the role of tour guide.

Our first stop was at a coffee shop. The young male barista shared a photo with me of a large red coffee cup. This was, he explained, painted on the landing of a local ski jump. It was where he’d proposed marriage to his girlfriend.

I shared this info with my group. Getting back into the cars, I drove us downtown. We jumped out of the cars and ran through the snow on the sidewalk. In a few moments, I realized, we’re at the sky jump. “Look! There’s the big red cup of coffee.” I pointed it out everyone.

We then chatted about that, which was where the dream ended.

Another Self-Flagellating Dream

No whips of any kind were in this dream, except the brutal emotional ones most of us employ on ourselves. This was a classic mélange of frustration and anxiety.

It began as a military dream. Whether this is true, I remembering being partially awake and telling myself, “Not another military dream.”

Then I wasn’t in a military dream. I was instead outside, with others. We were all all students and were scheduled to give an all-important final presentation. We’d already done one. Using feedback, we were supposed to go back and improve it.

But here I was, not at all fucking ready. It was time to go and I wasn’t dressed. I hadn’t changed my presentation, either.

I told myself, I can do this! Others began leaving for class. One reminded me that I needed to be there on time. The doors would close and lock at eight. If I wasn’t there, I would be failed.

Sure, I wasn’t worried.

Knowing that I needed to change clothes and my presentation, I went in the opposite direction of everyone else. What was I going to wear? How was I going to change the presentation.

I didn’t have answers. Time was running out. I decided, I’d wear what I had on – a red sweater with black pants – even though I’d worn those yesterday. And, by not changing clothes, I could make changes to the presentation.

Time was running out, and I’d wasted so much of it. I rushed toward class.

A bell was ringing.

I wasn’t going to make it.

I partially awoke. Thinking of the dream, I decided, I can change the outcome. Go back, dream again, and change the outcome.

I’m usually not bad at doing this. Today was a failure.

I went back. Time was running out. I would take a short-cut to get to the room. Rushing down a long flight of stairs, I came to another hallway.

It ended.

It was the wrong hallway. I couldn’t reach my class room from there.

A student and a security guard were sitting there, talking about another, but the details reflected my own situation. The student asked, “What if they’re late?”

The guard replied, “It doesn’t matter. I close the doors and lock them.”

“But what if they’re really trying?”

“Doesn’t matter. The doors are locked, and they fail.”

I started back up the hall to head for my class room. I found myself there.

The door wasn’t locked. I opened it and entered.

Everyone looked at me. The teachers (two) looked at me. A classmate said, “You’re in the same clothes. You didn’t change.”

The dream ended.

Sunday’s Theme Music

Dreams, news, weather, cats, etc.

Disparate elements of thoughts combine.

New elements form.

Fresh streams of thoughts begin.

With it arrives memories and hopes.

Pieces of song.

And what it all boils down to
Is that no one’s really got it figured out just yet
Well, I’ve got one hand in my pocket
And the other one is playin’ a piano
And what it all comes down to my friends, yeah
Is that everything is just fine, fine, fine
‘Cause I’ve got one hand in my pocket
And the other one is hailin’ a taxi cab

h/t to Genius.com

The song is “Hand in my Pocket”, the year is 1995, and the performer is Alanis Morissette.

Here is today’s theme music.

An Inspection Dream

My dreams remain plentiful and involved. Sometimes, it feels like my brain is switching channels between realities as I sleep.

In this segment, I’d arrived to conduct an inspection. Three gentlemen in sites, all white, but of different ages, met me.

They knew why I was there. The oldest, with receding, thick white hair said, “We’ve been expecting you.”

“Do you have what I want?” I asked.

“Yes, but we must find it.” He nodded to the youngest man. “Go tell the others he’s arrived.” After going up white steps, the young man entered a tall, narrow building.

We followed him. The oldest man said, “It’s in one of the safes. We don’t know which one.”

We were walking down a narrow hall. I asked, “How many are there?”

“Twenty-three.”

I’d not expected so many safes. The oldest man nodded at the other. “Open number six.”

The other turned and opened a door, revealing a silver vault door within with a silver combination dial in the center. Stepping forward, the man put his hand on the dial.

The dream ended.

Mixed Dreams

Weighing dreams on the scales. There was another flying dream, brief but intense. I wore goggles in this one. The wind tore at my face. An insect flew into my mouth.

My sputtering and spitting marked the end to the flying portion. In a dream picosecond, I’m in the military somewhere, temporary duty somewhere, finishing up. A woman, a major is present. She came in for the same conference. I talk to her about sharing a ride to the airport. Plans and agreements are made.

Time skips ahead. It’s later than I thought. I need to rush. I haven’t packed! I need to check out, too. The airport is ninety miles away. No, it’s ninety minutes away.

I need to hurry.

I’m racing, explaining to the front desk, I order a ride and tell them where to meet me. Hurrying to the room, I shower and change clothes. Shoes! Where are they? Oh, I’ve packed them. Where’s my thing, where‘s my toilet kit?

Anxiety ratchets up.

I see a car, a silvery blue sedan, like a Buick. A woman is driving. My ride, I think. I wave at her. She parks and leaves her car. I shout over, “I need more time, I’m almost ready.”

She walks over and starts following me. I’m talking to her, babbling. We’re at once outside and in the room. I finally find my toilet kit — I’ve already packed it. Damn it, where’s my head?

And the woman says, “I’m not your ride. I’m your replacement. How was your visit?”

In morning’s warm light, it all makes sense. The military was a comfortable space. Not very challenging, and straightforward. Structured, with few surprises, and a lot of positive feedback.

Now I’m out on my own, flying on my writing words but so damned dismayed. Is it smart enough, original enough, good enough?

Where is my toilet kit?

I know. Standard writer qualms. Standard human qualms.

Standard life qualms.

See ya.

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