Two long and vivid dreams have stayed with me last night. The first intrigued me because of its approach; the second was almost another variation on the many dreams that hook up to my military career.

In the first, we were in a dystopian existence. I’d been hiking along some low mountains by the seashore when I found this huge steel-lined bunker in a mountain side. Calling it huge is an understatement; I walked in and looked up and gaped: it was as large as a football stadium but fully enclosed. After whistling, I said, “We can survive here.” I began making plans for a settlement.

What had happened and who would survive wasn’t fully clear. I seemed to be leading a small group of survivors, and had connected with other groups. Here’s where the approach changed. Instead of experiencing it as myself in the dream, my dream-me began treating it like I was binging on a novel-writing brainstorming session. I was saying, “Now, this happens, and then that.” Then I created or encountered an individual, male, with different ideas, who was going to betray the growing settlement and plotted to kill all dissenters. While it seems like echoes from some things said by Trump during this political season, nothing of those politics were heard or felt by me during the dream. Instead, the guy looked like a character, Murtry, from the fourth season of the TV show, The Expanse.

As part of the whole thing, I found five electric vehicles which flew through the air at my disposal to bring people and supplies in, but no one except me knew how to fly them, which meant I became a defacto flight instructor. That led to some harrowing flights among the mountains where several crashes were imminent. I declared at one point, “If a crash doesn’t kill me, I’m going to die of a heart attack.”

With the second dream, I was employed in some tech start up. One person from my first post-military civilian employment, Cathy, was there. Cathy had been director of ops. She seemed to have the same job but at a company meeting held in a break room, she announced that the company had been stymied in its previous efforts, so the company was going in a new direction. She went on to say that almost everyone would be retained. Looking around as she said that, I supplied the unsaid amendment, “Except marketing.” I was in marketing as a product manager. If there was no product at that point, no marketing or product manager was needed, I’d heard during my corporate life; the engineers would be their own product manager.

Sure enough, Cathy found me and said, “Except marketing,” and apologized to me, saying that they needed to let me go. However, they were giving me a six month severance package and letters of recommendation. I shrugged, accepting, because that’s how it goes.

Now the weird thing. I went back to my space to pack up. I’m not certain if it was a cubicle or an office. Co-workers came by to talk to me, say good-bye, etc. But these co-workers were all from one of my military assignments and were all in flight suits. I was good-natured and unworried about it all, figuring I’d land on my feet because I always did.

I was putting things into my brown leather briefcase. A gift from my wife, I’d used it for years before it fell apart. After putting things in it, my friend left and then I realized I couldn’t find my briefcase. I recalled seeing my friend pick it up but thought he was moving it. Now, looking across the room, I saw him carrying it out the door.

Calling out, I hurried after him. He didn’t stop. I saw him turn the corner and ran down to catch him. But other friends stopped me to say good-bye. I told them I couldn’t stop and explained why as they asked questions, agitated that I was wasting time. Racing after my buddy, I rounded the corner but didn’t see him. I began asking others if they’d just seen him, where he went, etc., and had to answer their queries about why I was looking for him, telling them that he’d taken my briefcase.

And that’s how it ended.