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.

The Pants Dream

Yep, here we go, another pants dream.

It began with being at work. I was settling into a new place. It was an open work space. The CEO, who seemed to like me a great deal, was showing me around the place and introducing me to others.

He showed me my work space. Big desk, computer, etc., off to one side of everyone else, besides some steps that went up to a loft area where there were more work spaces. After he told me my assignments, he left. I got to work and finished very quickly. I then began hunting something else to do. Walking around the place, I had a sense that I didn’t belong. After a bit of that, I ventured to visit with the CEO to express that.

Busy with clients, he couldn’t see me right then, but I told his assistant that I didn’t think I was the right fit. She told me not to do anything, be patient, and she’d pass the message on, and then the CEO would speak with me.

I told another friendly co-worker that I didn’t think I fit. He tried to convince me that I did, but really lacked any solid points.

My wife arrived to see if I could go to lunch. Yes, I could, but I needed to change my clothes. I was in shorts. Thinking myself underdressed, I wanted to put on pants.

I’d brought some pants with me to the office. The first pair were dirty, so I didn’t try them on. I had fewer pants than I expected, and than spent some time looking for more. It came down to two pairs of pants. One fit perfectly but wasn’t a style or color that I liked because they were too different. White, tight, with narrow legs, they had diagonal black stripes. I was surprised that they were mine. The next pair were too large but I liked the style. I realized, though, since the first pair fit, I could put them on, and then wear the second pair of pants over them. Then I found a favorite shirt and put that on.

That combination seemed to work. I spent some time walking around, trying that out, verifying that I could move comfortably, and watching others’ reactions. I thought that others admired how I looked. Coming down the stairs from the loft, I saw a reflection of myself, and thought, yes, I look good.

I then left. It was lightly sprinkling outside. The CEO was at a table with clients under an awning. He called me over and introduced me to them, enthusing about me, which embarrassed me. I left to meet my wife.

There was a row of stores and cafes. She was supposed to be waiting for me outside. I figured that since I’d taken so long, she’d probably gone on to a store to kill time. I would check them until I found her.

I was checking the first one when she came in, finding me. As we were talking, she was telling me that she’d run into one of my new co-workers. As she was telling me that, he came in and askedĀ  if he could join us for lunch. We said, sure, and went off.

Later (with a dreamshift), my wife had gone. It was growing darker, with daylight fading and lights coming on. My co-worker and I were walking back toward the business. As we were, we saw a party going on and remembered that it was an office party. He went right up and in, urging me to follow. I declined. He said he was just stopping for a few minutes. I decided that I’d wait outside, just past the entrance, and leaned back against the wall.

The party broke up a short time later. My co-worker came out. He joined me, chatting, asking me why I hadn’t gone inside. I told him that I didn’t think that I belonged. As we were talking, another co-worker was striding by below us. Seeing us, he came up the steps and handed me a cup.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“It’s for you,” he answered.

“Why?”

“I thought you needed it, and wanted to give it to you.”

I felt flattered that he’d thought of me, and thanked him. He left. As he did, my friend and I began to walk. I drank from the cup that’d been given to me and discovered it was strong, sweet tea. It tasted wonderful. I began thinking, maybe I do belong here.

The dream ended.

Tea and Toast

Sick today. Third day that I consider myself sick. I’d felt it coming on last week and tried to avert it, but by Sunday a cold was marking my throat and my head was congested and throbbing. It worsened Monday. Last night was unpleasant. Sleep has stayed away like it was afraid of catching my cold.

On a side note to that, it’s weird that toast and tea makes me feel so much better when I have a cold. Other than a tangelo, Larabar (key lime) and a cup of coffee while writing, tea and toast has been my sustenance for the past two days. That combo definitely makes me feel better. It might be a panacea effect because tea and toast is what’s always been recommended to me.

So, sick, not on my deathbed, but sick enough to ponder whether I could and should go out to write. I’d gotten about four hours of sleep last night and my head feels like Buddy Rich, Phil Collins, John Bonham, and Keith Moon are having a drum-off.

That lack of sleep left me vulnerable to phantom writing throughout the night. My WIP haunted me, and I felt it was an imperative that I write today. I wouldn’t do any (well, much) walking, but I would write.

So, it’s been successfully completed. Eighteen hundred words and some editing completed. But, my Ibuprofen has worn off, my ears are stopped up, and my nose continues its impressive Niagara Falls imitation. I’m done writing like crazy. Time to return home for some tea and toast.

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