A Hotel Dream

Wife and I were staying in a huge hotel. We were up high, although I don’t know the floor. Red and gold were the only colors used, except for white marble floors in the hallways, which were tall — about two stories — and twenty feet wide. Walls were gold. Lots of tall, gold-framed mirrors and windows. Carpet, drapes, and furniture were red. Quite opulent. Because the place was so tall and sprawling, cafes and stores were on multiple levels.

Going into one upper-floor cafe, I encountered two young men in uniforms. I assumed they were military. Said as much. They issued me a dark, mocking look. One said, “We’re not military. We’re MOAB.” Like I was stupid.

I didn’t know what MOAB was. Assumed it was a quasi military-national guard or reserve situation. I left the two young men for a table. My wife joined me. I told her about my convo with the men. She was like, yeah, they’re MOAB, like everyone knows that. Then explained to me other people that she knew were MOAB, including two sons of our elderly friend. I was stunned that I was so ignorant.

She went off to the room with plans for me to come back to the room to go to a farmer’s market. I stayed, surfing the net and typing on my laptop. Two young men entered. About thirty years old, white. Both looked like Matthew Mcconaughey although their blonde hair was cut in different styles. I considered approaching them to tell them that I knew their mother and confirm they were MOAB but decided against it and left the cafe.

I then spent time roaming the hotel. Its center was an open atrium. You could look down the well and see all the floors, along with the lobby at the bottom. The fourth floor was where the hotel intersected with surface streets. Several of the hotel interior corners were intersections with traffic lights. That floor was also where the hotel mall was located.

I couldn’t figure out how to get from floor to floor, so I began hanging over rails and dropping down, or jumping from floor to floor. I was going to my hotel room to meet my wife but became sidetracked exploring. At one point, I was standing in an empty, carpeted area. I was surprised; it seemed to be the back of a restaurant in the hotel but the decor was different — white walls, low lights, umber carpeting. A shipment arrived for the restaurant. Men began picking up items and putting them away. One pile was off to one side. The manager, a tall, dark individual who appeared Asian glanced at me and said, “What are you doing? Let’s go. Get everything put away.”

I picked up the supplies and went around, trying to learn where everything goes. Another arrived and asked me what I was doing because that was his job. I explained that I was putting things away but first I needed to learn where they go. He took the supplies from me with a disdainful look and head shake.

I left there, sliding down a rail and then jumping off the end to another level. People witnessing this were impressed, loudly saying, did you see what he did? Stopping, I realized that I was late to meet my wife. I then saw her with two friends. They were on the fourth level and walking toward the friends’ car. I realized that she must have become tired of waiting and was leaving for the market.

I rushed to get down to the fourth floor but I was up on the sixteenth floor. I decided that jumping wasn’t going to work and raced about, trying to find elevators and escalators. Looking down, I saw their car pull into traffic and leave the hotel.

I thought that I needed to call my wife and tell her that I’d meet her at the market. Then I couldn’t find my phone.

Dream end.

The Cat Dream

Seems inevitable that I’d have a dream about cats. Four cats deign to let me live in the house with them. All were strays or left another house by their choice to come live with me. Besides them, Pepper from next door stays on our porch and wants me to feed her (which I do), and two other neighbor cats seek me for hand-outs. I’m a soft touch.

But when I started writing about the cat dream, I concluded the dream wasn’t about cats. They were symbols being used. The words I chose to explain what was happening indicated the dream was about other things.

It was another dream of chaos (like, straight out of the courts). So much was going on, and my dream started in the middle of it. I was carrying a cat (not one that I have, nor have ever had) from one end of a busy, hectic place, to another. People kept calling me over to come and see or do something, or help them out. I ended up multi-tasking, and ending up losing the cat.

Now the dream became a story about a flooftective. Calling the cat, asking others if they’d seen her, I walked around shaking a kibble box, my agenda re-arranged. Thinking I’d heard it back by my place, I went there.

The dream gets weird. My place didn’t have walls, but was framed for walls. Doors and windows had been installed, but there wasn’t a ceiling. There was a fireplace, and a wall-less bathroom. Instead of using it, I chose to go up the hill to a public restaurant, clean, but not convenient.

My place was also unbelievably disorganized, with boxes strewn about, including empty cracker boxes. Anyone who knows me will recognize how different that is from my real life.

Without walls, people walked in and out of my place at will, exasperating me. I became stern about stopping people as they did that. A cat fight erupted, distracting me again. As I hunted down those involved, I discovered a cat that wasn’t mine as at the fight’s center. He looked like my current cat, Tucker, with thick, black and white fur and a bushy tail. As I was talking to this cat, asking, “Who are you?” in a calm voice, I heard a woman calling for Harold. While I called over to her, asking if her cat was black and white, the black and white cat left. I decided it was probably Harold.

The dream, or my memory of it, ended.


Writing about the dream, I found myself using expressions like ‘multi-tasking’.  I ended up applying it to my writing efforts.

Other clues were there, like being side-tracked, the missing walls, and the sense of chaos and disorganization. See, while writing this series this week, I became diverted into a fifth book in it. I soon recognized it would be a stand-alone novel that shared the concept and setting, much like the relationship between The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings trilogy.

Then, I realize how much I enjoy the creative side of writing. I dislike the rest of it. I don’t mind editing and revising – that’s like solving puzzles – but the business side is anathema to me. So, if I don’t finish, I’m working on a series, but there’s no pressure to finish and publish.

Cunning, aren’t I?

So, after thinking of the dream and situation, I knew that I had to stop working on the new, fifth novel, and finish the original series as envisioned. I can later go back to the fifth novel, if I want.



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