Unfinished Business Dream

My wife and I were young folks, in our twenties, in this dream, and very realistic to who we were in RL, including our clothes. She was busy with cleaning. I was tinkering with the kitchen faucet, which wasn’t going well. I’d change one thing and it would start spraying sideways. Something else would be adjusted, causing the water to shoot straight up. But I was determined: I will fix this. Yet, I was laughing, telling my wife as the water shot off in a new strange arc, “Check this out.” Unbelievable.

Surrendering to that temporarily because I thought I needed to think about what to do, I went off for more DIY. I’d noticed a younger person holding up a wall in the corner of another room. That might be something that I needed to address. I went in there and asked them about the situation. They were holding up the wall because it would fall over if they didn’t. “Let me see,” I said. “Step back.”

They did. The wall started toppling over.

The two of us jumped in and held it up. “But is it the wall coming down or just, like, wallpaper?” I asked. I thought that’s what I’d actually seen. We tentatively released the wall, confirming that it wasn’t the wall coming down, but just the cover.

Then I was arriving at work. Dressed in a suit with tie, I joined others in a small but well-lit office with lots of windows. “Hello, Michael, about time you got here,” I heard. Stepping into a small office where the voice seemed to emanate, I found the one accosting me was Jeffrey Donovan, of “Burn Notice” and other television shows and movies. “I’m your new boss,” he cheerfully informed me. “You’re working for me now.”

Then, I was arriving at work again, sighing because it seemed like I was just hear. “Hi Michael, good morning,” I heard from Donovan. WTH, why was he singling me out like that?

I arrived on a third morning and sighed. “Hello, Michael,” Donovan called out.

“It wasn’t me,” I shouted back, lying. Then I leaned in around his office door. “How did you know it’s me when you’re in here?”

“I have eyes everywhere,” he answered.

I was done with work. Instead, I was cutting grass and doing general landscaping chores. I was part of a crew of four others. One was a friend and the other two were strangers, but we all got on well. While we worked, we saw an area where another crew had worked; we scoffed at the job they’d done. We could do better.

The home’s owner, an elderly and tall, white woman with silver hair who looked and sounded like Bea Arthur, came out and complimented us on our work. We pointed out where the other crew had been and told her that we could improve it. After some back and forth, she agreed that we could the other area, too. Happy that we’d won more work, we set to work improving it.

A large pool was alongside our work area. Others were swimming. Four young men staged a race. We mocked them because we thought ourselves better swimmers. Then we wondered which of the four of us was the fastest swimmer.

The owner appeared. We asked if she minded if we had a race in her pool. “Go for it,” she answered.

We lined up in our trunks. After counting to three together, we dove in and raced to the far end. I came in second to my friend.

Dream end.

A Blue Dream

To begin, I was in bed with another man. We’d been sleeping. Both of us were in our undershorts and nothing else. We were young and muscular. He was a little bigger than me. I went to get out of bed but he grabbed me and pulled me back. We began wrestling, with him trying to pin me down. I pushed him up and away while saying, “I’m stronger than I look. It’s time you learn that.”

I leaped out of bed and dashed into the dining room. A large square table was full of people already enjoying breakfast and chatting. My wife was seated at one corner so I went there. Something was on the floor. I bent and picked it up: her Fitbit with its silver mesh band. Beside it was something black: the Fitbit charger. I was annoyed to have to be picking up after her. Getting her attention, I said, “Were you doing something?”

“Yes.” She took the two items. “I was charging my Fitbit. I forgot. Thank you.”

Realizing that I was only in my undershorts — blue bikini briefs — I sprinted back to the bedroom to dress. This wasn’t the same room where I’d been sleeping, but the master bedroom, where my baggage and clothing were. Three young men were in there making the bed. The duvet was a deep blue and the bedroom suite was a beautiful dark wood set. China blue carpeting was on the floor.

One young man came to me and said, “We have bad news for you. We’re going to move this furniture out of here. It’s too beautiful to be in here. It needs to be put somewhere where it can be protected.”

I laughed. “It’s fine where it is, it’s safe.”

The man said, “No, it needs to be moved. It’s barely used and it’s going to get damaged.”

I answered, “It’s used more than you think. If you want something to do, there’s a place where you can go.” I leaned down and pointed out a window. “Oh, you can’t see it, but there’s a little amusement park down there. Oh, wait.” I remembered then that it had closed.

My wife came in. I told her that the young men wanted to move the bedroom furniture to protect it. They didn’t think it was being used. “It’s been used at least ten times this year,” I finished.

“Oh, more than that,” my wife answered.

I said, “Do you remember when your mother brought this bright blue duvet? That was so out of character for her. I was just telling these guys about the little amusement park over there but I remembered that it’s closed now.”

She said, “It’s not closed.”

“Yes, it is. Remember, it changed hands.”

“It went to the Fishers but it’s open.”

“It went to them but they closed it.”

She stuck her hand out. “Bet.”

I ignored her hand. We went outside, toward the mail box. Others came up. My wife got into a conversation. While they were talking, I looked down at my left leg and noticed there was a large pale C on my calf. I thought there had been something wrong with it. Bending down, I rubbed it and the C went away. I discovered that it’d just been something traced in dust on my laugh. I chuckled about that, pleased with the discovery.

Dream end.

Weed Man

They encountered each other every day, and every day, the ginger-bearded young man said, “Hey, man, do you have any weed?”

Every day, Mitchell said, “No, sorry.”

After the first three days of this, Mitchell wondered, why is this man asking him for weed? Mitchell wondered, does he look like a man who might have weed? What makes a person look like he might have weed? He had his own conceptions of this. To his mind, he didn’t look like one who might be carrying weed.

The other thought Mitchell had was, perhaps the man greeted everyone like this. Mitchell laughed at the idea of this man saying to everyone met in town, “Hey, man, do you have any weed?”

After five days of this, Mitchell encountered the man while crossing the street, and said, by way of greeting, “Sorry, I don’t have any weed.”

The weed man looked at him like he was crazy.

Which made Mitchell laugh.

The Rocket Man Dream

Dreamed last night that I had rockets attached to my back and was flying across the country with my arms stretched out like wings. The rockets appeared to be silver tanks. Dark goggles covered my eyes but I was otherwise casually dressed in jeans and a shirt. Wondering about my clothes was part of my dream, because I was surprised I wasn’t better prepared for flying by wearing something more appropriate for it.

As I flew, I’d get distracted by the views and forget where I was going. My outfit came back to bother me, too, and I considered landing to find something more suited for flying. I was high over mountains (and spent some thought on trying to understand what mountains they were) and thought, I should be colder. I was surprised and impressed that the weather and altitude didn’t bother me, even as I watched storm cells moving my way. It reminded me of flying over France once, where we had to avoid black cells wealthy with snakes of lightning. Our aircraft was a C-130, and it wasn’t capable of climbing over the storms. I wondered if my rockets could take me higher, but then realized that I might have problems with air pressure and breathing. At the same time, I thought, but I haven’t had a problem yet.

That’s where the dream ended.



A friend said he saw me walking through the Railroad District. “You looked like you were thinking, I bet I can flip that car over.”

I had a good laugh about that. He related a tale about his appearance. A friend had seen him at a grocery store’s produce section. Later, telling my buddy about it, said, “You looked like you were angry about something.”

My friend thought it over. “I was trying to find the garlic.”

Appearances. Not always what they seem.

Cosmopolitan Dress

We stopped in mid-morning during the round of errands to drop a book off with a friend. She was embarking on travel. It started with several lengthy flights, and she lacked anything to read. Could anyone suggest anything?

What did she seek? She’s well-read, but for this, she thought she’d like a mystery. How ’bout “Dissolution,” by C.J. Sansom? After a brief description, she was enticed into accepting our offering.

Opening her door, we were impressed with how she was dressed. Usually, she looks like most folks in southern Oregon, ready to hike or pick fruit. Today, she was dressed in svelte black clothes. We gushed with admiration.

She blushed with confession. “These are my p.j. bottoms. I haven’t dressed yet.”

Ah. Well, she still looked quite cosmopolitan.

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