Dream - I drive back to Nevada, then through town behind things, a woman's voice worries that the military might object, I see dead patients and the skins of faces in the windows of a hospital, I go inside but people try to capture me, I go out with my car following, and a woman also, and my car and I get into a fight with people sent after us

On Monday, June 21, 2010, around 9:30-11:30 PM, I dreamed I went back to Fallon, Nevada. It was late at night. I was driving the dark blue 1987 Oldsmobile. I went just outside of town along behind it, and then started going down an alley thickly paved with dust and gravel, going west, running parallel to the main road through town. I went all the way back to the end. It seemed I had done it before, maybe on an earlier trip. Early on someone was commenting on it, someone outside the car, who I somehow clearly heard, maybe a woman, worrying about it, about whether the military might be upset about it. I discounted it some, mainly on the basis that I probably wouldn't be noticed.

At the west end of town there was a big building, one story probably. It seemed to be a hospital as well as other things. The dream seemed to replay that segment a few times. Finally I was driving along it looking at huge windows facing the alley, lined with patients in beds, tilted up some to face the window. I was slowly driving along looking at them, then their faces were near the window, and as I went along looking at them I suddenly realized they were all dead. Then I went by a series of smaller windows, though still picture window size, that had a series of almost flat, collapsed, almost featureless pale leather skins, and I realized it was the skin of faces of people. The voice had still been worrying, but was not as loud, though it still seemed close.

At the end of the building I went inside, as I had done before in some earlier replays. I think the car may have come in too, a little ways, but then I was on foot and going down a corridor, lined with pictures, watercolors perhaps. An occasional person went by, dressed in hospital/laboratory white.

Then there was a bit of a commotion. I had been noticed. Some military officer, maybe a general, was after me, wanted me captured. I quickly retreated, going back and turning at the end to go down the other short corridors, winding. I came across my car, which was somewhat smaller, and it followed me. A woman, maybe in her thirties, started tagging along, at a distance.

I got outside, and the car was still following along, hovering in the air. I didn't have time to get in it. I got a ways out, going along some gravel roads, without buildings, not very far. Then I got into a fight with people who had either been following me or whom I had come across here, maybe partly both. The woman was worrying about things, about the fight. I was fighting one of them and a little ways off the car was fighting the other. The car was much smaller now, maybe six feet long. It got on top the person and was beating at him with its front wheels. He was on his back on the ground and seemed to be getting the worst of it, though he tried to fight back. One time when it seemed he was beaten he suddenly started throwing a lot of hard punches at the car's front, seeming to cause some damage, though I couldn't see it from the angle I was looking as a disembodied presence. My physical body was busy fighting with the other person, successfully so it seemed. My attention was almost entirely on the car and the fight there. The car itself was a little flexible, like a cartoon car. It started fighting back hard then, coming down on the man over and over with its wheels, punching him with them.

The car finally got off him. The woman was worried about the man and went to him, saying that they needed to get him to the hospital. He had been through such things before and come out alright. Then she poked at his chest while he lay there still, and the chest went in some with the sound of breaking glass, but came back out. She paused, staring at it, and said, "Well, maybe not this bad...."


Note: Late that night, maybe around 1:30 AM, June 22, 2010 (I originally wrote 13:30 AM, which would be incorrect; it must have been 1:30 or 12:30), when my mother got up off the couch she knocked her glass off the little table and it fell on the floor and shattered, with the sound of breaking glass, similar in sound probably to what was in my dream, though my dream happened first.

Dream - The narrow valleys and the steep mountain ridges, and the dark funnel cloud that passed over my home

On Saturday, June 12, 2010, around 6:30-9:30 PM, I dreamed I was at home with my mother, who looked younger, maybe in her forties or fifties, but sometimes I went to the south, across a series of brown dirt mountain ridges, steep but not very tall. Sometimes there were more mountain ridges than at other times. I was going to a place associated with work, the work in Nevada, something to do with secret stuff I think and testing things, and maybe to some extent with bombing from planes. It all took place in a valley between the ridges, at least most of it. The valley was just a narrow crevice between the ridges, as the other valleys between the ridges were.

Then, at home, I was in my bedroom with my mother, talking to her. It was in the afternoon I think, Saturday or Sunday. Going to the window and pulling the curtains aside a bit, I saw outside a tall, black, funnel-shaped cloud not far away, to the north, and heading this way. It was coming fast. I told my mother about it and went back and looked out the window again at it. It was here already, things were falling down on the house in front of the window. I heard the impacts, mostly ash and cinders and things like clumps of gray-white burned charcoal almost the size of my fist.

My mother was trying to contact somebody about it, using a little device like an iPod in appearance. I tried to use a similar thing. I think the radio in the room had been on too. She got somebody but then lost the connection, and was saying something like, "Ohhhhh, they're gone, I've lost the connection," in an irritated manner. I had managed to get somebody on my device, and I wondered if I had interfered with her device, that they used the same phone connection and it wasn't able to keep them both going at once. The radio in the room was on a separate connection, the original phone connection, but the little device used a second one that was somehow set up.

Then my connection was gone and hers was back. The people she was talking to said they didn't have any records of what she was reporting, and so far no one else was reporting it, and gave other possible explanations, ones that didn't really make any sense, and sounded really patronizing. I suggested that maybe she should contact a TV station, that maybe they would have heard some reports. Considering the situation, since the people had said there were no reports, it seemed likely that the source of it might be very close, in the neighborhood, maybe no more than a few streets over, or even the next street over.

I tried to go out and find out more about it, and I went back over the mountain ridges to where I had been, in the very narrow valley, and it was starting to go over the ridge to it, but paused at the top of the ridge for a while, sometimes going partly down the side of the mountain and then retreating and going back up. A plane flew low over it and slightly between the ridges, above me, checking on it apparently, and it seemed the dark funnel cloud might be part of some test that was being done, somewhere over in the next narrow valley to the north, a valley that I had passed over to get here. It seemed confusing, though. I didn't know how the dark cloud could have passed over my house that way, if it had originated out here, well to the south of it, and it was going south as it passed over the house.

There was also something brief then about scientists in white working in laboratories, just a few of them, and hearing them talk about it a little, apparently working on it, and I was looking in from way above them, apparently viewing them, directed to them by someone else, but not actually physically being there.


Note: The dream was probably influenced by seeing on the CBS News at 6:00 PM, which I saw part of, the burning of part of the oil spill in the Caribbean Sea, which produced a tall slanted funnel-shaped cloud, very black.

Dream - The thieves, the horse, and the battle

On Friday, May 28, 2010, around 9:30-10:30 AM, I dreamed I was at home, looking out the back window, by the kitchen table, with my mother. We were irritatedly talking about people getting in the backyard. It was probably late in the day, getting toward evening. We saw some kids going along the top of the fence, but then it seemed like it was the concrete fence across the alley, not the wooden fence we have. Then a woman was out there and took the kids, slowly, to the backyard of a house a little to the west and across the alley from us. She was talking to them, pleasantly it seemed. Then she got a call in the house, which someone there evidently transferred to her cellphone, and she was saying something like, "Is that the spammers again? I have to take this." As she got back to the house, talking and listening on her cellphone, she turned and looked back at me. I somewhat grimly waved at her, and she waved back.

It got dark. My mother was worried about someone getting in the yard. I went out and looked around a bit. Things were not exactly as in real life. I think the two male mulberry trees were still there, and there were a few things sitting around, on the porch and in the yard, that aren't there in real life. I located a pickaxe, but I think it was mostly the head, I think the wooden handle was mostly rotted away. I picked it up and may have carried it to some place on the porch. We also had a dog we don't have in real life, a medium-to-large size one, as well as at least one small one that may or may not have been similar to ones we have or have had.

I went back inside and told my mother that I didn't see anyone, and told her about the pickaxe, which could be used as a weapon by us. Things were taking on an increasingly chilled, ominous feeling, like something was going to happen. It seemed important that we leave a message about the pickaxe, and send a message about it to some other people, in case they needed to get one, and so they would know about it, and so there would be a record of it if something happened to us. My mother had put something on the refrigerator, held by a magnet, a kind of violet strip of old thin construction paper, with straight lines drawn on it dividing it into boxes. I was talking back and forth to my mother about the measurements, while she was trying to call someone and leave a message. I was talking about the approximate measurements of the head, how big it was, and was giving the thickness of the shaft, which seemed important. As I had measured it near the head, it was something like 2 3/4 inches, and I was writing it in some of the boxes, then I realized I had gotten it wrong and it was actually 3 3/4 inches, and I wrote it in another box. I needed to change the others somehow, I might have to do it later. Then I thought that it would be good to make a small drawing of the pickaxe head, so that there would be no question about how it looked. Then I saw that my mother had already done it, on another narrow scrap of the same paper, that was a little to the right of and partly over the paper I was writing on. The image was drawn vertically, and a little crudely, but was good enough. It was much bigger than I would have done, maybe half a foot or so long. I had been intending to draw a much smaller image.


Then the woman and the kids were back at the fence, near the gate. She was telling them to go inside the yard and get something. They went over the fence and started digging in the yard, and came up with some pale shallow plastic things, like things to put paint rollers in when you are trying to put more paint on them. One of them had a huge pile of scratch pads [small blank notepads, around 3 x 5 inches] from the radiator shop, with advertising on them. It wasn't what they were looking for, though, they were looking for something else.

I was getting mad, and told my mother that I was going to go out there and stop them. I was intending to scare them off and gather up the scratch pads and take them inside, but when I went out and started walking across the yard toward where they were, or had been, I suddenly saw a huge horse, light brown in color, striding purposefully toward me. It was probably around 8 or 10 feet high at the top of its head. I started backing away. The big dog, which had come out from its place of hiding on the porch, stopped and started to back up a bit, too. I turned and started going more rapidly back to the house, the horse was moving too fast. While its eyes looked a little uncertain, it seemed that it intended to head right for me.

I got inside and got the back door shut and I think locked, and went around the counter to the dining area, telling my mother what happened. I went back to check on the door, staying back by the end of the counter, and saw that the horse was bashing at the window in the door with its hoof, looking angry. It didn't seem that the window could stand up to it, and probably not even the door itself. I saw the window, which was longer now than in real life, bending sharply inward, taking its thin metal frame with it, and the window cracking in several places, with big horizontal splits going across it, like it was a plastic sandwich reinforced glass, like a car windshield, and not just regular glass.

I went away, back into the dining area, nervously talking about it with my mother. I went back then and checked, expecting to see that the horse had its hoof and leg through the glass, but instead saw that it was a man there, with his leg hanging through. He was wearing a black mask over his eyes and a black bandanna around his head, and was evidently a burglar. I went back in the dining area and nervously talked to my mother about maybe somehow trying to get the pickaxe. I couldn't remember where I had left it though, was it somewhere on the porch or out in the yard? Then I went back and found the man had gotten most of the way in; his arms and body were in now too, only his other leg was on the other side. He was holding a very small gun in his right hand. I went to him and started trying to twist his leg around. He was looking at me surprised, like he was thinking, don't you see have a gun? He kept trying to get the gun pointed properly at me and I kept twisting his leg and moving it around and up in the way. Then suddenly he had it in his other hand, with a clear shot at me. I stopped, there wasn't anything I could do to block it. I let go and backed up some, wondering if he was going to shoot me, then abruptly he had a another small gun in his other hand, too. He took my mother and me hostage, and took us along with him. He didn't seem really interested in what we had in the house, at least for now. He wanted us to do a job for him, to help him steal something, I guess to prove our loyalty, and in any case make us useful. We left and went out into the night with him. The area now seemed more like Fallon, Nevada than Arizona.

He sent us toward a supermarket. We were supposed to search in the trash cans out front for something that was left by an associate, something from the store. He stayed well away, in the darkness by another building, but it was pretty dark where we were too, not much light to look at the things with. We took out some things. Some of it looked a little interesting, like the paint roller-type shallow container I had seen in the back yard, but we didn't find anything like we were supposed to be looking for. It hadn't been described, only that something would be left there, but we didn't find anything useful or valuable, at least toward the top, where presumably it would be. Something had evidently gone wrong, or maybe he hadn't been able to get out here with it yet.

Suddenly, there was a commotion of some kind in the store. He had evidently been found out. We hurriedly left.

We were wandering around then, wondering what to do. It seemed like a good time to talk to someone in law enforcement, get them involved, but we were also afraid that the man, the crook, might be mad at us and try to hurt or kill us. We finally decided to try to find someone. I remembered seeing a man a bit earlier who I knew was a police detective. We went back to the general area where he had been and eventually found him. We told him about what had happened. He listened and was trying to devise a plan about what to do. He talked to someone on his cellphone about it, and we went to a place where I had earlier seen the horse parked on the street, in a parking place. The horse didn't look so big now, more like the size of a normal horse. I told the man that the horse might know something and be able to help us, though I wasn't sure about its reaction. It looked back at us with a little bit of a mad, irritated, uncertain look as we came toward it. Then it was thanking us profusely as the man untied its rein to free it, and it started talking about how they had mistreated it. It agreed after a pause to help us, seeming to be reluctant to get involved with the man again, and then resumed complaining about how it had been treated.


My mother and I went back to our house, which looked a lot different now, but found the man and his associates were already there, and in the process of stealing some things from it before they left. The man was inside and was handing stuff out to them. Besides the man there were two other people, a somewhat short middle-aged Oriental man and a very tall muscular man who appeared part black and part Asian, and wasn't wearing a shirt. They saw us, and the head man seemed to want to get us, perhaps kill us, but they got in an argument. The others, particularly the Oriental man, didn't want to do it, and the Oriental man wanted to let us go. He was yelling at the head man, and he had a weapon that was two heavy hooked-together dark sticks. The hooks were just heavy eyelet type things and weren't sharp, they were curved around so they were almost closed and had blunt ends. He was swinging it around his head, threatening to throw it at the head man, but the head man threw an odd thin metal black piece, very slightly bent, with a wider thing at the back end, like a small light gray pipe that went over it like a handle. It hit the Oriental man in the leg near the hip, going almost straight down, and went in deeply. He screamed, but kept on standing.

The fight continued, all three of them in it, generally separated quite a bit from each other, 10 or 20 or more feet at times, throwing things at each other and yelling. It may have been mostly the associates, widely separated, fighting the boss, but it seems the associates sometimes threw things at each other too. Sometimes a couple of them got close enough together to get into a struggle, and try to swing their sticks or whatever they were holding, trying to hit the other person's back or whatever else presented a good target, or trying to stab the other person, if the weapon was of that type, and sometimes one or the other of them would get tossed or flipped. Then they might get separated by a bit and sometimes one would even chase the other briefly, till the person chased got far enough away or the fight became more equal again.

After a bit either the Oriental man or the part Asian, part black man threw some of the sticks at me. I managed to avoid them and they landed at my feet. They were apparently intended to hit with the hook and cut into a person, though the hook was curved over and blunt. It seemed the proper way of throwing them was to swing them around your head and somehow quickly unhook the one that wasn't being held, to let it go flying at whatever was being aimed at. I got two of them sent at me, still hooked together. You could hook three together, I saw it done, and let loose two and still be holding one, though I'm not sure it was done in this case. I was trying to throw them back, and I think I did, throwing both, not trying to get one unhooked, but it was awkward and I don't think I hit my target.

At some point, I saw the horse coming back, a pleasant and hopeful look on its face, but as it got closer it became aware of what was happening, of the crooks being back and the fighting. Its eyes widened and stared at the scene, and its expression drifted downward into a surprised dismay. It leaned its body back, pushing at the pavement with its hooves, slowing itself to a halt and then backing up. It turned and left, looking back once or twice at us, a nervous grimace on its face.


Then the Oriental man was going off with the head man. They had some kind of carriage, like a horse might pull, but no horse this time. It was filled with stuff. They were going along beside and behind it, pushing and guiding it I guess. They had gotten pretty far away already, maybe a hundred feet. I had a couple more of the heavy dark hooked-together sticks, ones that had been thrown at me, and I took careful aim, thinking I could get them this time, and threw the sticks. They flew forward at them, scooting along the ground after a while, but still heading straight for them. It looked like I might get them. I think I even had a line attached so I could pull on it, to drag them back when they got hooked.

All of a sudden the sticks stopped and started coming back, going backward, and I saw that they had one or two more sticks hooked onto them. The tall, muscular, part Asian part black man was standing a few feet from me, laughing, and pulling on the line, dragging them back. He had thrown his own sticks at them, and hooked them. I was apprehensive about what was going to happen now, but he seemed friendly and genial, not wanting to harm me, and amused at the situation. He didn't want me to harm the others, either, or get in a fight with them. I had a feeling that I might be able to get him to help us later, maybe help us escape or even turn against the others and get them captured by the police, if I could convince him to do so. He seemed close to being able to do it, but I wasn't sure how close or if I could convince him. He didn't seem willing to let us go at the moment though, or maybe I was too intimidated to even try.

The others came back. Maybe he called and signaled to them, waved them back over, it seemed he might have but I'm not sure. We were captured again.


Then we were together somewhere else, and they were working with various things, bent over some, working at them, with some open boxes around with things in them. They were working in or near the boxes, separated from each other by probably six to eight feet, getting things ready for the next job. The head man was saying, talking about the next job, and what had happened this last time, "At least there were no witnesses."

I was standing a few feet from my mother, who was to the side and slightly behind me, and we were probably about eight feet in front of him, and I said, "But what about next time? What about the next time?" He stopped talking and lowered his eyes, looking thoughtful and subdued and a little chastened, but he continued working, bent over his box. I stopped talking too, suddenly feeling strange and vulnerable, thinking that perhaps I had said too much. We were, after all, witnesses.


More happened earlier, and some more happened in town after we first escaped, but I don't remember it.

Dream - I am at a school, but can't find my class again, and I had left my backpack and briefcase there, I go outside, but they have a new tardy policy and I am too late getting back

On Monday, February 21, 2011, around 11:00 AM-12:20 PM, I dreamed I was in school. Though I think initially the place may have been something else, it was school now. It was apparently something like DeVry, though it was laid out more like my high school, but was still different from either one. It had some landscaping out front, with a short slope down to the parking lot. The buildings were long, and set up in two rows. I was in the building on the far left, around the middle, but not quite that far. My sister was there for a while, and we talked for a bit, but she then left, having to go somewhere. There were very few people around when she was there.

We were initially in one of the empty classrooms, and then wandered across the hall, more to an administrative area, which was also pretty empty, and maybe to a restroom there briefly. As she left, more people were showing up, students. It was almost time for classes to start. The place became busier and busier. I wanted to find a restroom, looking for one on the original side of the hall, where I knew a couple were. I had trouble finding them, but I think I did eventually find one somewhere, maybe back on the right side of the hall, though it seems I did find something on the left. I had trouble then finding the class I was in before. The rooms seemed different, some of them bigger even, with unfamiliar students and teachers. The students, sitting in their seats, turned and stared at me as I peered in the rooms, or glanced in the windows as I went by. I had left my backpack and books in there too, maybe even a pale brown briefcase.

I kept going back and forth, sometimes over in the administration area too, and classrooms past and behind it, and also way back toward the front. The rooms in the front half on the administrative side were mostly offices, with a few at the very front on the other side also offices, but I glanced in them too, just to be sure. Sometimes a woman, generally wearing glasses, looked up at me from behind a large desk, at the back of the room. The rooms on the classroom side tended to be much larger than those on the other side of the hall, with some of those on the other side being very small indeed. Though the administrative area in the middle had large open areas with the offices, they were small themselves, and had only partial walls, perhaps only four feet high sometimes, and were largely open to the very large carpeted highway in that area. As I went back and forth in the hall, some of the offices did seem to change to classrooms, but at the same time some of the classrooms enlarged to be partly offices, sometimes with rooms joining together with big open areas between them, though closed off with doors to the hallway, except for the middle of the building, where a very broad hallway went through, and they became open rooms with short four or five foot walls.

Classes ended and there was a little break until the next ones. I went back in the rooms around where I had been. Most of the students were gone now. I looked among the chairs but didn't see my backpack or anything else I had left. I hoped that it was given to the teacher, that someone had noticed it and said that someone had left them, or the teacher had noticed them, and perhaps the teacher had put them behind his long desk, or maybe had them put in a lost and found somewhere, though that would mean they would be more trouble to get. A teacher was still there, but though he looked at me like he wondered why I was there and what I was doing, he continued talking to the student in front of him, from perhaps ten feet away from me.

I started to wonder if I should leave. It seemed late in the school year, and I only had a few days left. Did I even have any more classes today? I wasn't sure. It seemed I might have missed a couple trying to find my stuff. Were they important, was there anything in them that I had to know, or to do? It seemed there might be an economics class. I thought they were sometimes in the afternoon. They didn't happen every day, just two or three times a week. Thinking on it, I realized that I hadn't attended one for a long time, maybe missed most of the classes. There was still supposed to be a final I thought, maybe today, if I hadn't missed it already. It might have been on a previous day, or maybe was going to happen today or tomorrow. I didn't know just when the class was going to be. It was possible I had already missed today's. I couldn't even remember where it was supposed to be, or what room it was in. I thought it was more to the back, maybe on the other side of the building, or on the hallways leading there.

I walked through that area, back and forth. It seemed to be late in the afternoon now, and there weren't many students in this area. Sometimes I saw teachers looking back at me, from their classrooms, looking concerned, and sometimes they looked something like what I thought my teacher looked like, but not quite. I wasn't sure what good it would do me to take the test right now anyway. I had missed most of the lessons and hadn't read most of the book. I really needed to study some before I took it, as much as I could in the day or two before the test, if I could put it off that long, if I could convince the teacher to do so, or to give me the test if I had already missed it. I went back toward the other side of the building, still looking, still hoping to find my stuff. The hallway through the middle was carpeted and very large.

At the corner, on the far side and the left from where I currently was, was a four or five foot wall partially enclosing what looked like a bar, and in some sense was, with a long counter and stools, but though it served refreshments, and liquor I believe, it also acted as a lab bench, where advanced genius students worked on special projects with, I think, military significance. I wondered if my stuff might be behind the counter/lab bench. A couple of teacher's assistants were behind the counter, and they and the students were talking in low voices. The teacher's assistants had small smiles. I wandered through the area and looked at the bookshelves against the wall on the other side, and wandered back toward and into the classrooms, through the large open connecting areas. Classes were still being held, but there were fewer students than before. I eventually went toward the back, toward the exit. It seemed now to be between classes again.

Outside, I looked around. It seemed to be early afternoon now, and there was bright sunshine. The building had wide concrete steps leading down to a broad plaza that ran between the buildings. Though earlier in the dream I was in the building at the far left, now it was the second over from the left. I started wondering if I was in the right building, and should check the one at the left, though I thought it was just used by non-seniors. They had recently started a crackdown on people who were late to class, and had put monitors at the outside doors, and if you were caught you had to go to an office somewhere and get a special pass. It was mostly about humiliation and inconvenience, and it seemed to me that it would inconvenience the teacher to have the students, with their special pass, come in really late after having to go through all that, and the teacher then having to stop what he was doing and take the pass. I started heading off toward the other building, while some of the students looked worried at me, like they were wondering what I could be thinking, to do something like that, go away from the building, when there was so little time left.

I went inside the other building and down the hall a ways. It was as I thought, something used by younger students. I turned around and headed quickly back toward the exit, and then out into the broad plaza, and started making my way quickly back toward the other building. There were still quite a few students heading for the entrance there, clustering around it, trying to get through. Some teachers or other representatives were slowly going up the steps, sometimes looking a little amused, and some came from the inside too. The people doing this were in a rotation, with different ones assigned at different times. The ones going to the building went through the glass doors. One of them looked something like a younger version of Mr. Gatti, an artist who had been the art teacher at my high school.

I tried to hurry, but I was getting tired, and my legs were too tired to move fast enough, unable to go up the long steps fast enough. The Mr. Gatti lookalike came slowly back out, talking a bit, holding a short skinny dark pole in each hand with a triangular white flag on each one. He carried them to places in the concrete marked with pale X's and placed them in holes there. If you hadn't made it past that spot by now, then it was too late. I was almost there but not quite, coming in from the far side. I hoped I might be able to convince them to just let me in. Several other students were trapped there, too. It seemed silly to have to go through all this, especially for me and because of who I was.

They finally got to me, but there some trouble for some reason. I was finally given a paper, that was wider than it was tall, a form with things jotted on it, and told to take it somewhere to my left, into a side entrance from where the part of the building there formed a slight arc here, but the people I saw didn't seem able to have anything to do with this, and the few who did know something about it weren't able to help me, and in any case the thing I was given was incomplete and actually had some wrong information, a bad case number I think.

I went back to the big desk there outside, on the concrete, and waited again and then tried to get it straightened out. I started to irritatedly wonder/worry if they were going to bring up something that had happened quite a while back, maybe over a year, a mistake people had made that had quickly mushroomed into outrageous accusations with people looking suspiciously at me, even after I had explained it all and hopefully straightened it out. Someone did start to bring the earlier paper in though, coming from the right, from back behind things, and another person frowned and started saying, "Hey, aren't you the one?" I started irritatingly explaining it again, how I had met with someone who came on school grounds, who had been a speaker I think, and some people had seen me, and misunderstood who he was, and thought he was a radical communist, terrorist even, and it grew to where I was a member of a radical communist organization, and trying to get a situation where an atomic bomb could be set off, near the school, and it was all garbage, or something to that effect. I looked at their faces now, still with frowning suspicion on them, though that was lessening into an unhappy acceptance, like they still weren't quite sure about me. The Mr. Gatti character looked calmer and not quite as suspicious, though he still looked like he wasn't sure he believed me, but was willing to let it be someone else's problem, if it turned out to be one. He was looking different now, heavier, changing even as I watched, then becoming less overweight again. He looked less like Mr. Gatti though, and I wondered if he might be a relative, perhaps a son or nephew.

I got the pass, or rather the precursor to the pass, a paper that I had to take inside somewhere and get the real pass from. It seemed kind of a waste of time now, and I wondered if I should even bother or just go home, and come back again tomorrow. Still, as I went toward the middle of the building, and the administrative area, I kept my eyes open for someone who might help me. Looking up at times, with my head still down looking at the paper in my hands, I saw a woman standing up behind a desk, in the middle area, behind a low wall. She was looking my way, and looked a little like someone I knew, from the time I worked in Nevada, the red-haired woman in the Supply department, in the Purchasing section. I wondered if she could help me.

Dream - The landlady, the prediction, the tall can of Coke, and the last time there

On Thursday, February 17, 2011, around 4:30-7:20 AM, I dreamed I was in Nevada in rooms I rented. It was the middle of the night. I was walking around. There was a big bed sideways near big windows with blinds and/or curtains, near the front door which was to the right of the windows, as viewed from inside.

I walked to the right, to the big living room. It had a big structure like a salad bar without food, a cloudy plastic cover on top. Lower down under a broad shelf was a big container of water all across the bottom. It had been slowly filling up due to a drip. I had forgotten to dump the water for a while, and it was now full. There was a pink plastic rectangular tub, like from the hospital, floating in it. I reached down and got it and dumped some of the water into a huge ceramic drain near the window, partly hidden behind the curtains. It had its own tub to be dumped, but it was only partly full. I might have dumped another tub's worth from the big water thing in the room. I had already dumped several from somewhere in the bedroom, walking in the bedroom holding the tub, in my underwear. I had earlier been in bed trying to sleep.

I heard outside a couple, perhaps in their twenties or thirties. They had a room to the left, as determined from the inside. They were taking things out and putting them in their car, finally leaving. It seems the woman was in a little bit of a huff.

Then I realized that the window was fully uncovered, the blinds up and the curtain drawn and pulled up and/or back, and the door fully open, with just the screen door closed and hooked, I had been walking around in my underwear and they probably saw me. I couldn't understand how I had gotten so sloppy, even leaving the front door open when I had been trying to sleep. It wasn't safe. In actuality, though I didn't think of it, earlier in the dream everything had been shut.

A man came in who it seems was a roommate, though I hadn't been aware of one earlier. He was tall and had dark hair. Talking to him, I wandered back to the living room and reached under the broad shelf, but instead of the water there was cushioned vinyl with a big pack of papers, and there was also a tall, tall can of Coke, maybe a foot and a half long, slightly thinner than normal, and straight all the way up and down. The sides bent easily, and it didn't feel tight like an unopened can normally would. The papers and Coke were left by the landlady, a little gray-haired woman slightly overweight. I opened the Coke and started drinking it. The top was bent a little and bulged up on one edge, and I wondered if it leaked a little. The man stared at me. We wandered around and continued talking, going further in to another big room behind the bedroom.

The landlady showed up and started explaining about the papers, taking them and unrolling a somewhat flattened, big, simple, line-drawing map of Nevada, and talking about earthquakes. Then she took a much bigger paper and unrolled it to a huge map of most of the US. There was still a lot to be looked at, and she started unfolding the other papers. There was some text and some tall columns. tables, of figures. She didn't seem to be getting to the point very well. Whatever she was trying to tell me she said had happened before, years ago, and came in cycles.

We had wandered to the room to the side, and I saw a few big fat spiders on the wall. I finally mentioned them and she said to kill them, they're poisonous. I think I did make an effort to hit them with something, maybe a book.

We went back to the other room. Some young people had shown up and were talking with each other. They were other tenants, in rooms further back. I saw a long spiderweb from the ceiling, like a narrow funnel, long tapering point up. It had several spiders on it, maybe three feet from the floor. They were the same size as the others, but thinner and grayer. I finally pointed them out to the woman.

At some point I got a second tall can of Coke. It seemed that it was May, on the edge of summer. It was getting toward dawn now, but still dark. The young people were getting ready to leave. I had to get ready to go to work soon.

I didn't know if I was going to continue this, to keep coming out here. I didn't really have the money and they didn't pay me. Maybe I should say something, ask them to, that if they want me to keep coming out they should pay me. On the other hand I had simply been doing it, without asking, even going in without a badge, the guard at the gate cheerfully waving me on through. I had been at work earlier in the dream, had sometimes even seen my boss, and though he looked at me I don't know if he said anything to me. I should just give this up and stop coming. I didn't have the money to keep doing it, in fact I didn't really have much money at all. Could I afford to give this up though, to give up the money from it if I didn't have another good source? But then I realized I wasn't getting money from it anyway, it was just an expense. It didn't matter if I stopped, I wouldn't lose anything.

I realized this was probably my last trip, that I wouldn't be back. It seemed sad. The landlady was still talking. She had gone to so much trouble telling me this, and getting the papers, though she had probably done this for all the tenants, and she had given me the Cokes, an award for something a few months ago, at a picnic, and although it still wasn't clear exactly what she was trying to say, she had spent a long time at it. Now I might never find out what it was, if I said I was leaving, and I would disappoint her too. She would miss me.

I started to say something about it, but I only got out a little. She started cheerfully talking about something that happened or would happen, in October I think. I couldn't think what month it was now. I tried to think of it while she talked on, and I finally said, jokingly, a little in desperation, "What month is it? I don't know, maybe it's October now."

It seems there was more later, but it may have been another dream. I can't think of it right now.

Dream - I meet Ivan T. Sanderson and Bernard Heuvelmans, and then later, my lab partner

On Saturday, July 18, 2009, around 9:15-11:15 PM, I dreamed I was driving to Nevada. I stopped a few places along the way, and got to somewhere up north, perhaps beyond Fallon and several miles to the side, and was staying in a small town. A lot of mountains were around, covered with pine trees.

I had some device with me, that I had picked up somewhere along the way, that I sometimes put on my left shoulder. The object as a whole had a somewhat flattened thin-walled steel tube look, bent a little, and rounded some at the ends. It was steel colored, but darkened and maybe a little grimy or greasy, and was maybe ten inches long and two inches wide. When I had it on my shoulder it was literally laying over it, with most of it down the front but part of over my shoulder to the back. On the side that was underneath was a seam, where one side of the metal overlapped the other. On the part that was on the back of my shoulder, the end of the device slanted sharply, was kind of laid down partway along the underneath part of the device, and had something like a bolt or tube encircled at a distance by the metal of the walls of the device, that stuck out a little, with the area between the walls and the thing in the middle being black, perhaps from a heavy coating of grime or grease, though I think it might have been that color regardless. On the other end, the one that hung down the front, the device was apparently just sealed off by the metal walls being folded together, in a smooth even way, and was somewhat rounded, something like the toe of a sock.

I went outside and put the device on the ridge of the mountain beside the house, for my mother to see the small thing on the end. I normally kept that side facing down, along the back of my shoulder, out of sight, hidden from people, but I had placed it in plain view now, sticking up in the air. I think that the end I was trying to show her might have had some electronic function, and could maybe somehow be used for signaling, but also had a more special significance. It was something important, something that could be used to give us some kind of power over other people, maybe even something like magic, and I wanted her to know that I had it, was successful in getting it. The device was small, and she was far way, beyond mountain after tree covered mountain, that went all the way to the horizon, but I thought it might be visible to her, especially if she used binoculars, as I thought she would. There was something about it, about the magic of it, that somehow magnified it in your awareness, when you focused on it.

I went back inside. Ivan T. Sanderson came in from what used to be my sisters' bedroom, talking to someone, giving him or her a reading or answer to a question. I was hoping to ask him about me. He was dead so would probably be able to give correct information. He kept talking to the other person, though, as I tried to get his attention. We were in what was my bedroom now, larger than in real life and shared with other people. Two largish beds were low on the floor, side by side with space between them. The dark green cover on mine kept lifting up in a big wave, which moved from the far top corner down the sheet. It did it over and over at slightly irregular intervals. I was trying to point it out to Ivan. I finally got his attention and he made a surprised comment on it. I asked him what it was and he was saying it might be a ghost, or maybe he attributed it to some other supernatural entity. I noticed that air from a fan seemed to be coming all the way from another room and was wondering if that could do it, but I'm not sure how much I said about it, if anything.

Two or three other people came in and were talking, one of them a blond woman. I noticed that someone had put a pillow to the left of mine, with a person's name on it. I hadn't expected to have to bunk with someone so soon, and had been hoping I could avoid it. I noticed the name on the pillow was the name of Dick Cheney's daughter, Liz. She was the blond woman, and was now in the space between the beds, turned mostly away from me, talking to someone. I kept trying subtly to get her attention, saying, "Look who is sleeping next to me," or "Look, someone is already sleeping next to me," or some similar thing.

She finally turned around, and realized I was the one she would be bunking with, and said in a forceful, somewhat insulting manner, "Oh no I'm not, I wouldn't sleep with you," or something like that, and took her pillow back and got her bag of stuff, which was by the bed, and moved off to a bed that I guess was on the far side of the room, though I didn't really see. I was glad she was gone, though I had some mixed feelings about it, and wondered if the replacement, who might be a guy, would be any better.

I went back to work. It seemed to have a bit of a shopping center combined with it. I picked up a snack that was basically a thin, breaded skin over a tiny ribcage that had bones like fragile wires, with a long half loop of something, perhaps white plastic, that went over the top and down the sides and beyond. It had some extra breaded skin at the top. I ate at the top while Ivan talked to someone who was apparently Bernard Heuvelmans. The thing I was eating had a brownish string loosely tied around it, in a loop from the top to the bottom, and I pulled it up, which easily broke through the ribs, breaking through and crushing the whole structure and pulling it up, and I ate the skin and crushed ribs, crunching them. Bernard looked at me disapprovingly, not liking the noise and thinking it denoted poor manners, though he initially didn't comment. Later when prompted about it, in a kidding remark by Ivan, he did say something about it being bad manners, and not done where he came from (which was France). I didn't say much about it.

I wanted to find something else to eat now, I was still hungry. I think I went to Engineering for a while, then back toward the other end of the building. I stopped in a small conference room that was where the men's restroom was in real life, and maybe was part of the restroom in the dream. The Engineering people were there, perhaps most of them standing, but a few were sitting on various things. I picked up a canister that was left there, that evidently had some more dried breaded skin in it. It was something left by someone in management. The other people had things too. They appeared to be similar, the ones I glanced at, but I didn't know if they were actually all the same. They were gifts of appreciation, left there for us; apparently the entire department was being rewarded.

I was nibbling at mine, and I think had it mostly gone, when a manager or supervisor I think, someone in power, came in from somewhere in front. I don't remember who it was now, but I knew him in the dream. He looked at what I had, then thanked me for it and put a large cookie on top of it and left. The people nearby were looking at it and at me, at least one with a little smile on his face. I was a little uncertain about what had happened. I hadn't brought him anything, this was something he had given out. I was feeling a little guilty now, though, about not bringing anything. As I picked the cookie up to eat it, the others were getting up and leaving. A little while later I went back toward town, which was Fallon, not the town earlier in the dream.

The way was somewhat different than in real life, with a much longer rise to the mountain going from town, and a more uneven surfaced road. I went back at least part of the way on a little stiff bar with rounded corners and a flat bottom, that had some mechanism, like a few tiny wheels underneath it, that could be used for travel. It seems it had to be pushed along, like a skateboard, to get it started, and then it would go for a while. It was much narrower though, only a couple of inches wide and an inch high.

It was only around two or three in the afternoon. It was cold and the road was wet in places, maybe with some partially melted snow in places too (in real life it was extremely hot that day, around 115). We were on the road leading to the service station, where it would turn and head toward town. The people around me thinned out. There were two or three places along the way that had some connection to work, that we needed to stop at or some people needed to stop at.

I went around the corner, going toward town, but then came back. Someone from work was with me, who wasn't too bright. I cautioned him that we had to go slow, that police might be hiding. He nodded a little, his eyes big, his jaws spread apart but his mouth closed. We went back around the corner a ways, to a nearby place, that was by the service station but on the other side of the road, the east side. It was evidently a bar, and the area in front of it was thick with people from work. I mostly stayed outside, though he went in. He eventually came back out, and slowly walked and drifted through the air in a big arc around the corner, taking my advice to heart about not going very fast. By all appearances he was drunk, though. I stared at him, and some other people did too. I felt that the police were also staring at him, from their hidden location, not sure what to make of this.

I then had to go back to work. I was starting to feel that I might have left too soon. A few other people were also heading back. One of them was the person who had invented the little device to ride on. He seemed to have suffered from hard times, though. He had been unable to get a patent for some reason, and was now being laid off from work. He talked to me a bit about it as we went along. I was having trouble getting it to work now. He seemed to having trouble, too. The device had shrunk to just a few inches long, and I was stretched out pushing it along with my hand, through what remained of the cool wet slush. It had resistance to movement, as before, when I pushed at it to speed it up, but it didn't seem to reach a point where it could travel on its own, and kept slowing down when I stopped pushing.

I stopped at a place along the way, where the road was still going beside the Navy base, though the base was quite a ways to the side, and the place was on the opposite side of the road from it, to the east, on the left. A short, dumpy middle-aged woman there talked in a somewhat critical manner about things, sometimes to other people and sometimes to me, then abruptly softened and reached toward my face with a crumpled ball of tissue, wiping at a sore that was apparently between the corner of my mouth and my nose, on the right side. I had been unaware of having one. She seemed satisfied about getting it clean, then turned away with the tissue, continuing to talk, in a softer and more matter of fact way, about things and work and what people were doing and what they expected of her and what they thought she was doing with her checks and tests, which were not really what she was doing as they had misinterpreted why the tests were needed.

I went on toward work, but then went off to the side to the right, somewhere after the road turned to the left. I went into a wilderness area, with occasional small trees. I found my lab partner there, looking the worse for wear, though he was happy to see me. He had been assigned to this out of the way place, evidently because they didn't want him anywhere and didn't know what to do with him, though he didn't talk much about it, just saying something about being assigned out here now and comically indicating his surroundings. He didn't seem to be too upset about it, just a little confused. There was a large, rough, light grayish basin there, like it had some kind of coating, that had an old book in the middle of it, some papers too I think. He went off somewhere for a while, evidently to do whatever he was assigned to do out here. I knew that people could rate him by marking along the rim of the basin and lower down, with the markings closer to the edge being more favorable, and markings along the inside, along the sides of the bowl, being more unfavorable.

I got something like a pale yellow pastel art crayon and started going along the inside wall of the shallow basin, rubbing the crayon back and forth as I went, making a broad blurry line along the middle there. Different places were supposed to denote different areas being evaluated, but I didn't pay any attention to that. Some other people had left earlier evaluations in different colors, in clearer narrower lines. Many of them, perhaps most, were little marks on the rim itself, but in some places the markings were clearly unfavorable. I came to realize, as I went along, that I should have been going more toward the outer edge than the middle. I hadn't wanted it to appear that I was just giving him a maximum grade, thinking it would look too much like I was just showing favoritism, but it had turned out to look more like a so-so grade, or worse. I had most of it done, though. I went back over it, trying to spread the color out more to the outer edge. I didn't know how this would be checked out by someone, I guessed they would have to come out here on occasion to look at it. My lab partner came back, and then a person came to look at the basin. I don't think they were very happy about it.

I went back to the woman I had met earlier, to complain about it and try to set the record straight. Someone else was already there, though. After talking to me very briefly, apologetically, saying that she had to talk to the other person first, she went off a ways with him. While waiting, I found a little old book or manual, with soft darkened pages, that also had evaluations. It had a section that had a dark red line going around the edges of the pages, a line that had been left there earlier as an evaluation; perhaps part of it was left there at an earlier time by me. I tried to add to it now, going along the edge, making the line darker and more noticeable. The woman came back. I talked to her, trying to defend my lab partner, and she got irritated. She said that people didn't understand, that she didn't care about what grades they got in school, it didn't mean anything, what she cared about was the ability to actually do the work. I was trying to reply, but somewhat stumbling over it, that he really knew things, and really knew how to do things. She looked back at me, her head lowered a little, frowning, but seeming to have softened, just a little.

I finally went back toward work then. It was getting later, though, perhaps close to five, and I was starting to wonder if it was really worth it, and how I would account for the time spent away, but decided to count it as really part of work, since it seemed to deal with work at times. I think I met someone important from work, a man, perhaps a military person of fairly high rank, with gray hair and who stood stiffly erect, and spoke in a very businesslike manner. He seemed at least partly in favor of me, though. I'm not sure I actually made it all the way back to work, it seems he was at some place along the way, somewhere off the road to the right.


Note: Ivan T. Sanderson and Bernard Heuvelmans were friends in real life. Ivan T. Sanderson (1911-1973) was a naturalist who used to spend a lot of time collecting animals, and became interested in reports of animals that were unknown to science. He became interested in UFOs, too. Bernard Heuvelmans (1916-2001) was a zoologist. He was also interested in unknown animals.

Ivan T. Sanderson wrote a lot of books on unknown animals and some on UFOs. Some of the books are:

* Abominable Snowmen: Legend Come to Life
* Uninvited Visitors: A Biologist Looks at UFO's
* Invisible Residents: The Reality of Underwater UFOs
* Things
* More Things
* Investigating the Unexplained: A Compendium of Disquieting Mysteries of the Natural World

He also wrote books on known animals, including:

* Animal Treasure
* Living Treasure
* Caribbean Treasure
* Living Mammals of the World

Bernard Heuvelmans wrote several books too, including:

* On the Track of Unknown Animals
* In the Wake of the Sea-Serpents


Wikipedia entries on them:

Ivan T. Sanderson
Bernard Heuvelmans

Dream - The large hooting animals on the small island, and the juvenile versions of them in the big building

On Monday, August 17, 2009, around 3:30-6:30 AM, I dreamed I was out in the north Atlantic Ocean, coming back, possibly around Nova Scotia or New England. There was a very small island, maybe only 20 or 30 feet across and 10 or 12 feet deep, black and rocky looking, humped up a bit, in an irregular way. Waves were splashing against it and sending spray high into the air, and water was washing over it.

Some strange sea mammals were there, packed close together on the small island. They were extremely large, and pale colored, a very pale pinkish orange. When standing on four legs, with their heads raised, they were probably around eight to ten feet long, and the legs might have been six or so feet long. Their bodies were large, long leathery cylinders hanging in an oval shape; their legs were also leathery cylinders, and very long, expanded and drooping slightly around the ankles, with some wrinkles at the knees. I think their necks were probably skinny cylinders, though I don't remember for sure anymore, and I think their heads were basically cylindrical too, though I'm also not sure about that. The island was crowded with them. Their bodies moved around, twisting to the side and back, and leaning forward some and then back, frequently standing on their back legs but sometimes dropping forward to briefly stand on all fours.

I was on what seemed to be a fairly big boat, apparently a research vessel. The person who had been my lab partner in school, and who later worked with me in Nevada, was with me. I asked him what they were. He acted like he was familiar with them, and said they were elephant seals, I think. In real life, elephant seals look nothing like that, but in the dream it didn't register. I was a little doubtful, though. A plane or helicopter was on the other side of them, coming in low and close, trying to film them, and they were making an odd sound and rearing up, trying to get it. I don't remember the actual sound anymore, it was a kind of loud hooting sound I think, like something birds might make.

I stopped there for a little while, and got out and was writing what they were on the side of one of them. Whatever I was using was maybe a foot long and tapered to a point on one end, and had some weight to it, like it had some metal in it. It not only wrote it in pale brown, it impressed it into the skin, making indentations that formed a groove. The groove would stay there in some form for years, maybe for the rest of the animal's life, long after the color faded or wore off.

It seemed very important to me that the name be there, that what they were should not be forgotten. The animals were just now starting to come into the public consciousness, though the government had known about them for a while. I could foresee an extended period of time when the public would be interested in them, perhaps for decades, but that this would eventually fade, until they were largely forgotten. The animals were long-lived, though, perhaps as much as 80 or 90 years or more, and if some people should come here a long time from now, and find the animals here, a mystery to them, they could still know what the animals were by seeing by what I had written, and the name of the animals would not be lost.

After writing the name, I also wrote something in smaller letters under it, something more specific, at least two words, perhaps the scientific name. I also did at least part of it again on the hip and upper leg, writing in a downward direction with smaller letters. The animal seemed to tolerate what I was doing, but was milling around a bit. The island was packed, so it was difficult to move too far. It was starting to get a little concerned, though, and had a kind of "why is this happening" expression, so I left and went back to the boat.

I don't remember why we were there. I think we may have gone out on some kind of military thing, that something had happened up north, some kind of situation, and had to be checked out. Then, on the way back, we went by the small island and the animals. It seems that the ship was scheduled to go by there, when it could, as part of a regular check on them, but I was on the ship because of what had happened up north.

After we got back to land, I went into a large multistory building. My lab partner probably went with me, though I'm not sure now. Some other people were there. It's possible some members of my family, such as my father or brother and maybe even my mother, might also have been there or came there or I was going to see them later or go with them later. I'm pretty sure some members of my family were there either when I came or came with me or came after I did.

There was a very big room in the front, very wide, like a lobby, it basically ran across the whole front of the building. In the center at the back was a small counter, with one or two people behind it. A little to the right of center at the back was a rectangular indentation, perhaps six feet high or a little less and maybe eight feet wide and perhaps 15-18 inches deep, covered with ceramic tile. It also had a ridge at the front at the bottom a few inches high. Inside it were several of the creatures I had seen on the island, but much smaller. I was told these were juveniles. They were standing up on their hind legs and facing outward, making higher pitched hooting sounds, faster and more insistent than the adult animals.

Several feet to the right of them was a door that led to the inside, and a ways to the right of that, at the edge of the room, was a heavy red curtain in an angled wall, that also led to the back, by a different route. I think it also led to some stairs, but I think the door did also, to different stairs, as well as to what lay behind the lobby. There may have been some kind of theater back there, as well as other things. Some food was available to the left in the lobby, as well as little places selling things, not actual full rooms, just counters and wire racks, though some may have been small rooms that lacked a front wall. The place seemed to be a government place though, one that was at least partly secret, that had offices and things, back in there and on the upper stories.

I went through the door to the right of the creatures for a little while, though I didn't go very far. I came back out and the people I was with or going to be with were urging me to leave, we had to leave now. I started to go toward the doors and maybe got halfway there, but the insistent high hooting from the creatures kept worrying me. I went back and looked at them, wondering if they should be released, if it was time to release them. It wasn't up to me, though, and I wasn't sure what I could do about it. I finally reluctantly turned and left them, and went toward the glass doors that were the exit.


I wrote the dream down the night after it happened, and forgot some details in the intervening time, though even right after I woke up I didn't really remember much more in terms of activity. I know the dream was much longer, particularly in the beginning, and there may possibly have been something about Nevada, maybe staying at some place there, but I'm not sure.

Dream - Riding in old experimental cars in Russia, drawn there through watching movie footage

On Monday, August 24, 2009, around 2:00-6:30 AM, I dreamed I was driving on large hills. It was cold and slushy, sometimes with damp, partially frozen slush covering part or most of the road, sometimes with tall ridges in the middle. Sometimes it was night and sometimes it seemed to be almost night or perhaps just before dawn. We had more than one car, two and maybe three. The person who was the Engineering Manager where I used to work was in one of them. He was having trouble with the build-up on the road, really worried about it, scared of it, particularly the ridges, some of which seemed about a foot high. I sometimes went over them, though I tried to maneuver the car so that a wheel was over them instead of the middle. This wasn't always possible though, the road sometimes curved some, plus I moved the car gradually back and forth looking for better parts of the road, plus sometimes a car would come from the other direction, and I couldn't always keep the ridge under my wheels. I couldn't move too quickly, too, because the car might lose traction. Although I thought the front of the car would scrape on the ridge, perhaps breaking or scraping off the top of the ridge if it wasn't too hard, the car went over the top of the ridge without any noticeable problem. I didn't even hear or feel scraping, except for perhaps for just a tiny bit initially, though the ridge should have been far too high to drive over without hitting it. Later, sometimes the Engineering Manager seemed to be in the car with me, in the passenger seat, cringing, and sometimes he wasn't, being instead in a car ahead or behind, sometimes far enough distant that it wasn't visible.

The slush and snow went on for a long time, with the road going through it, and sometimes up and down hills. The scenery initially, besides the large hills and the snow and slush, seemed to be dirt with low vegetation and some trees, not big ones. Later it was much the same. We eventually got to where it was apparently slightly warmer, and there was little or no slush. We were out far away from the cities, out in the wilderness somewhere, though even earlier we were on the edge of things.

Getting out to where there were small towns or settlements, we stopped somewhere to get something to eat. It was part restaurant, part convenience store. I think my father might have been there too, at that time. Perhaps he was with us later too, in a different car.

As we continued on, the hills got more gentle, more like slopes, and it was a little warmer and the land mostly dried out, becoming more dirt. We reached some place far out away from places. I think the roads were even dirt by then. Someone else showed up too, about the time we got there. It seemed we got involved with something, and I think I may have gotten somehow to Nevada, perhaps to someplace north of Fallon, though earlier it seemed to be in Arizona. I got involved in doing something there, though I'm not sure what now. This may have actually been the area with the restaurant/settlements, instead of someplace farther out, I'm not sure now.


I was made aware, though, of people filming a documentary in Russia, and Siberia, of cars being sent out with television cameras, filming as they drove, going through the countryside, day after day. The land was mostly empty, sometimes with vast areas of low, mostly green vegetation, usually on the long slopes. Sometimes the cars drove over large hills and even mountains, though.

I was drawn to watching the footage, taken from the cars as they drove. It tended to be night at first, though sometimes it seemed early morning, and it tended to be mostly overcast. Sometimes we saw or went through small towns or settlements, generally just a few buildings, with small widely scattered homes out in the countryside. I'm not sure I ever noticed the driver, maybe a glimpse of hands on the wheel. The camera was pointed to the front, sometimes looking toward the sides some.

I seemed to be there, watching the drive through Russia, from a camera in the car. It felt like I was a passenger, able to look out to the side as well as seeing the road ahead. I was in different cars at different times. We were away from the cities, in the countryside, which was almost entirely unpopulated. Sometimes I would see other cars. We went over mountains and up and down long slopes. It was cool in the car, tending toward cold. I could feel it. Outside the roads were wet, sometimes with a little snow or slush, especially higher up. It felt very peaceful, in the car, being driven, watching the scenery. It went on for a very long time. Sometimes my attention would go back to what I was doing, back where I really was, and I would do things there. Then after a while my attention would go back to the cars in Russia, perhaps being reminded of them by someone where I was, and I would be drawn back to them, and would be in one of them, again being driven along. I spent extremely long times there. It wasn't like watching scenes on television of it, this was the raw footage being shot, before it was condensed for the documentary. I was there in real time, while it was being shot, and the long drives went on forever, for hour after hour. I was aware of this while it was happening, that I was seeing the long version, and that what would be later shown would be specially selected clips from it.

Sometimes, especially toward the end, I would see secret weapons or machines, out in the open, just one at a time usually, with a few people associated with them. The machines tended to get more futuristic as time went on, but still with a primitive look. Most were apparently left over from the old days, but some were still being worked on in a small manner. They seemed to be mostly on the order of rocket or bullet shaped tanks or cars, armored, with rivets showing, with projections on the front that were apparently rockets or guns, some were bristling with them. They were now apparently considered only marginally secret, something on the order of curiosities, and a small amount of national pride seemed to be associated with them.

Later I went back mostly to doing things where I was, still sometimes drawn back for a little while to the cars in Russia, as they went driving along, filming. Some fantastic machines were showing up where I was, too, but these were more advanced, and manned, more disk-shaped with wheels, bristling with projections, going fast, very dynamic. They looked vaguely like the thing Han Solo drove in Star Wars, though more of a ground vehicle, but still able to fly and sometimes doing so. A few showed up, singly, at different times, clearly visible in the bright sunshine. One of the machines showed up at an underpass, out in the country, came up very rapidly and paused, there under the intersection and partly out, then zoomed on. A few other people were with me. We were concerned about them, but though they seemed vaguely threatening, they didn't seem to be really concerned about us. We seemed to be working on some kind of project, something to do I think with making preparations and fortifications against them, protections against them. We were doing other things too, roadwork and some kind of construction I think.


When I woke up, I was sitting in a chair in front of the computer, with the radio on, and it was cold, cold enough to feel chilled. It had rained a few days ago and the temperature had dropped, with highs in the 90s. Now, early in the morning, with the air conditioner (evaporative cooler) apparently still on, it felt too cool, and I wrapped the towel, that I had as a small substitute blanket, around my shoulders and felt warmer.

Dream - Racing along a high, icy road

On Wednesday, April 15, 2009, probably somewhere in the 1:00-5:00 AM area, I dreamed I was driving in Nevada. It was night. I think it was just getting dark when I was setting out. I think my father was with me, also. I was going from Fallon north to gradually increasing elevation, then turning right. There was only one way back from here though, and one lane, not even a lane going here. The lane going back was already clogged with cars, all the way to the road I was on. I couldn't see what the problem was. I went past it to the other side of town. The whole thing was just a thinly developed area with scattered homes and businesses, but there wasn't any other way back. I was concerned about the time, that it would take too long, and I might not get back in time. I may have been concerned about going to work. I continued driving around, then somehow I did get back, at least in a way.

Then I was headed from Fallon, I think, but on the other side of it, going south, and had gotten past or to the first mountain, then I think I was heading back, going with some other cars down a mountain across a broad valley heading to another mountain. There was some kind of problem with the road I think, and maybe police cars waiting further on, that even came this way checking on the cars. There was a backup of cars even here.

Then I seemed to be much farther away, looking at the road from the air and the car going along it. The road was raised high above the ground on a narrow man-made ridge, and the whole area was covered with snow. The road had hardly any cars, and they were very widely separated, with long stretches between them. I saw the car I was in racing along the road, along the narrow snowy icy ridge high above the surrounding land, between mountains and heading toward the next one, and thought how dangerous it was, and how lucky I had been not to get into an accident.

Dream - The woman with the wooden station wagon

On Tuesday, September 15, 2009, in the morning, possibly very early in the morning, I dreamed I was driving in Nevada in the Fallon area in the dark, later driving in the rural outskirts to the south with a few other people. Someone with me, a girl I think, wanted us to sing an old Sonny and Cher song, but with vulgar language added. I didn't sing the vulgar language, though. There was something earlier about going to a room or rooms I was staying at too, and other things, maybe a car lot or junkyard. I think my father was there at times too and maybe my mother. I think it was a fairly long dream, generally pleasant.

Then I was in a big house with big some rooms. Two very large, very long tables had been set up, almost filling portions of two rooms. The tables were covered with various food dishes, fairly simple ones, mostly in plates or shallow bowls. The tables themselves were dark and simple. My aunt, my mother's sister, was there, and I think my mother and younger sister, and possibly my brother. I was trying to find something that my aunt would eat, making various suggestions. I think I found something like soft pretzel sticks and something else, and then a little later some small bananas, then I left to go home. The place was some distance from it.

I had gotten paid now and it was easier to buy things. I was going to get gas and pick up some more groceries. I bought a bunch of groceries at the service station, a paper sack of them. I was tired and operating mostly on nervous energy. I quickly threw a bunch of things in the sack, sweet rolls and maybe some more bananas and some other things, maybe some kind of meat too. I saw a loaf of Rainbow bread, but it had a small tear in the bag. I examined it closely and worried about it a bit, but decided to go ahead and get it. I intended to go to a real store later, but I wanted to pick up a bunch of stuff to keep us going for now. I was very tired. I took it to the counter and paid for it, then went back to the car. I had parked it at the pumps without thinking, since I normally get gas, but I just wanted to grab some groceries this time. I had stopped and looked back at it, but decided to just leave it, and hurry up and get the groceries. I felt bad about blocking the pump and hoped they wouldn't be too mad. I was too tired to get back in and repark it somewhere. It seems I did take the groceries home, and my mother and some other people were there. She was glad to see me, but then I left again and went to a different service station, somewhere in Phoenix. It seemed I was getting gas this time. It was a small station.

When I got back to my car, I saw a woman at a nearby pump who had a wooden car. It was large and boxy and very simple. It sat high off the ground on wooden 2 by 4 inch boards that acted as legs. At first they didn't seem to have wheels, but later I saw tiny dark rollers under them. The car was roughly a tall station wagon configuration with a short hood. It was mostly empty inside. The seats were just a wooden platform. It didn't seem to have an engine. Though sometimes it did seem to go under it's own power, other times it used foot power. I started talking to the woman a bit. She got finished and went to get in her car, and asked if I wanted to go with her. I finally decided to get in. I noticed a police car a little ahead and to the left, at another pump, and worried about it a bit. The car didn't have any seat belts, and he might decide to give us a ticket for that. The car was kind of odd, and potentially noticeable because of that, but since it was obviously a homemade thing I hoped he would give us some slack. He came back to his car and finished up, and mostly seemed to ignore us. The woman kept talking in a somewhat tired, matter of fact way about various things.

We started going and pulled out onto the street. I was sitting at what would normally be the driver's area, and she was on the passenger side, but she did most of the driving, though at some point she suggested I take over, and I drove from where I was without having to move. At some point she joked about having taken a Republican position on something, and hoped I wasn't mad about that. She was apparently a Democrat, though. We eventually got to a house somewhere, apparently hers, but then started to pull out in the street and leave again. It was morning now, though it was night when we started, and the light was still fairly dim. She was driving now, and was driving earlier when we got here I believe. I was still worried about getting stopped by the police, this time more because the car was so odd, and they might think it didn't meet regulations and was somehow unsafe. A police car was starting to come by at the left, as we waited to pull out onto the street.

The dream faded into multiple scenarios then, with us getting stopped by that car or another one, and the officer calling in and asking about it, and another car coming in from the other direction, and another officer on the radio saying that he had stopped some other car that was similarly odd at an earlier time, and the judge threw the case out, so it probably wasn't worth getting involved in, to just let it go.

Dream - The short evil angel, the plastic trash bag, and the big meal

On Saturday, July 31, 2010, in the midnight to 6:00 AM area, I dreamed I was driving back and forth to Nevada, sometimes spending a little time there at work. I was recording what was happening on 11 x 8.5 inch lined tablets, lots of them. I was even doing it at places I stopped along the way. I even stopped at some motels sometimes I think, instead of driving all the way at once.

I was eventually spending more and more time at home, still writing on the tablets. I spent a lot of time in bed, too. The bed was neatly made, with a thin white cover with thin dark random lines and dots. My brother was there sometimes, in my bedroom, talking to me, and sometimes my mother, and sometimes my younger sister, too. Things were generally very pleasant, though there seemed some hurry about it, a need to rush, and so sometimes a bit of a feeling of tension. I got quite a bit of sleep, though.

We were going to have a big meal in a few hours, and had hired some people to do it. I thought of it as catered food, though it probably was not quite that way, as it was going to be cooked here. A big white truck came, maybe more than one, and a lot of cooks and other people were rapidly carrying things in, including huge slabs of meat that needed two people to carry, one at each end, slabs that were six feet long and maybe three feet wide and a few inches thick. They seemed very happy as they rushed back and forth, bringing things in, and sometimes briefly talked to us as they went. It was just starting to get night now, probably around sundown.

We were leaving for now, though, going somewhere. We drove to a place and parked in a lot, somewhere to the northwest of home. We came in separate cars, at least partly. Some of the cars had more than one person in them. The lot was already pretty full, but we found spaces to park, in different areas of it. It's possible my father was in one of the cars, I'm not sure. It was night, now. I'm not sure what the original plan was. It seems we were going somewhere, and that we were only partway there, with a lot still to go, but the rest was delayed somehow for some reason.

Walking back toward home, I came across a woman, on a street near where I live maybe, though it seems it might be further out, who had interactions with a little angel. The angel was around three feet high, and shaped like a human dwarf. He was somewhat sinister, and at least partly evil. He sometimes came to her in dreams, and sometimes at least partly physically, though he always seemed associated with darkness, and was never clearly seen. He predicted death sometimes, and told her that her baby would be deformed, maybe even caused it. Her baby was deformed, and lived for a while, long enough to be a small child, and either then died or was killed, perhaps by her, perhaps by the angel, perhaps by someone else, I'm not sure. It seems the baby might have even been caused by the angel, like he was the father, though it seemed like more in a magical way than in the traditional way, like he simply caused it to happen, by his power. She told me about some of this, and I could see it in my mind, and the rest I seemed to sense, like I was partly there when it was happening.

She had the dead child, plus a severed head of a man, in a dark plastic trash bag. The child was very small, and the head was very large and elongated, with the heavy, muscular neck included. The head and neck seemed to weigh more than the child. The woman seemed sad about it, and was a little disturbed by it, at least some, but seemed resigned to it, as the way things were going to be. I didn't see much of how she herself looked, as everything was very dark, though she seemed to be in her thirties, with longish hair that was partly curly. She gave me the bag, and I took it with me. I was going to take it home, though I'm not sure what I was going to do with it afterwards.

It feels like I might have made it home, but then there was a period of time when I was wandering around in the dark, on foot, on a street a little past my home to the east and in that area, going a little onto some other streets I think. It seems I met some people there, happened across them, and talked to them some. I was still carrying the plastic bag with the head and the dead child in it. The bag kept trying to sag, to unfold and get longer, the objects in it shifting around, which was awkward as I kept trying to hold it up, keep it off the sidewalk and the street, keep it from dragging. I was tired and a bit sleepy and not moving very fast.

I finally got back home, still with the bag. There was some problem with the driveway. A slot had been cut in the dirt beside it, on the left side of it, as viewed from the street. The slot was a bit wider as it went toward the house, getting perhaps over half a foot wide. I'm not sure of the purpose of it. It seems there might have been some thought about finishing it up and filling it in, though there was also some thought about using it to enlarge the drive, finishing it up and pouring concrete in it, but this seemed to be a consideration after the fact, after it was already dug. It feels the city might be associated with it in some way, like maybe it was something to do with the pipes. My mother's car, maybe the station wagon, was parked in the driveway beside it, with her and my sister by it, and I talked with them for a while. They seemed concerned about the slot, and whether they should continue on into the carport. I think some dirt and other things were a little in the way, too. There also seemed to be some concern about the engine, or something under the hood, and I sat the bag down in front of the car and spent some time looking under the hood and fiddling with things there. We finally decided to go ahead and put the car in the carport, that it was safe enough to do that, that there wasn't any real reason not to. She drove it in and then they went on ahead into the house. I lagged behind a bit, peering at the slot by the driveway, then I gathered up the bag, which I had picked up again before the car was moved, and went in.

Inside, the house was much larger than in real life, and the people who were fixing the food were almost done. A huge table was set up with food on it, and waiters and other preparers were rushing around with big trays, bringing more food to the table, and chefs were still working with getting the final things cooked, the final things ready. I went into the living room, but had to pause as a man carrying a big tray was trying to rush through from that direction. He abruptly stopped, in front of me, as he realized I was in the way. The head caterer, the person in charge, came in from the other entrance to the living room, with another tray I think, and was frowning at me from the other side of the room. I gathered up the bag and moved slowly off to the side, letting the man through, though I think I took a little of the food from his tray. I know I got some from somewhere. I was eating it, enjoying it, and thinking of the big meal to come.

I got some krill, too, from someone on the other side of the living room. I think my mother, and maybe my sister, and perhaps even the waiter, were talking about how good it was for you, and how good it tasted. Even though the krill was supposed to be good and very healthy, I was a little hesitant about it, though I was interested. I took some and started eating it and some other family members tried some, too. After a while, though, some of them, maybe me included, started to get reactions from it. The backs of one or both of our wrists and hands had swelled up hugely and turned a dull red. We were a bit concerned about this. One of the girls had it happen to her, and maybe my mother, and they were wondering what to do about it. We were in the hall/kitchen area now. I said that it might be the krill, and to stop eating it. I wasn't sure how long it would take the reaction to go away, whether it would be better by the time things were ready to eat or not. They were talking about calling a doctor and asking what to do about it, and I think they did, using a phone hanging on the wall.

I was looking forward to the meal to come, though. It was going to be a big family meal, with a lot of people there. Perhaps even some non-relatives, I'm not sure. It seems, though, that there was something else to be prepared, something else to be cooked and put on the table, before the meal could be considered ready to serve. I had to get the plastic bag with the head and the small child to the cooks. They were going to be put on the table and eaten, too.


I kept thinking that I was writing the dream down, typing it in the computer, and was going over and over it in my mind, putting a lot of it down, sometimes wondering if I had written a certain part, or thinking of the parts I still had to write, that I still had to finish. It seemed very important that I get it all down, and I kept coming back to it. I kept doing it over and over, but I would finally start to wonder if it was real, or if it was just a dream and I was just thinking I was writing it down. In the end it always turned out to be a dream. When I did wake up, the dream tried to slip away, and I had to grab at it, and bring it back, grasping at bits and pieces and filling more of it in, and then grabbing again the parts that wanted to slip away. I finally got it written down, starting probably less than an hour after waking up, or at least waking up and moving around, as I spent some time initially just sitting in the chair, trying to rest some more. I got pretty much all the major parts down, I think, though some of the details were forgotten, particularly in the first part of the dream.

The radio was on, and while I had been sleeping, the Coast to Coast AM show had been playing, including replaying the first two hours. The show had a guest and callers talking about near death experiences, which probably influenced the dream. There was also a show several weeks ago that I had been thinking about, where a man told about meeting a three foot high person with red skin and I think yellow eyes, who said, in a gravelly voice, "I've been in Hell all morning and I can't wait for you to die so I can urinate on your grave." The part about the krill probably came from a later infomercial, with the krill being a source for an Omega-3 health supplement.

Dream - The complimentary cake

Sunday morning, May 23, 2010, I dreamed I was in Nevada, driving off to work and then, after work, driving back to town. I was in the dark blue 1987 Oldsmobile, I think. I had recently come back from Arizona, maybe the previous day.

When I left for work, I was worried about having enough gas, but I thought if I had to I could stop at a couple of places before I got back to town, particularly the service station on the corner where the road turns toward town. I didn't want to, though, and besides I was a little suspicious of the service station on the corner's gas, and probably more so of the other one. I did have enough gas to make it back, though, and didn't think about it after that.

I had read something in the previous day's local newspaper, in the want ads, about someone giving out free cake tonight. They didn't say free, it was some other word meaning that, maybe complimentary. They were doing it because of something else that was happening, maybe a special occasion, maybe a fund raiser, maybe something else, I don't remember now. I thought I would stop and get some on the way back from work. I thought about it off and on that day at work, sometimes looking at the ad again, and sometimes wondering if I would really go ahead with it, but I kept reminding myself of how I had wanted to do it. I also thought if I should mention it to other people at work.

I was driving back into town now, into a neighborhood. It was night, early evening I guess. I didn't take the turn I normally did in the neighborhood, I went the other way. One of the cars from work went by, turning in the normal direction, the people in it looking back at me, probably wondering what I was doing. I took a few more turns, and the street itself turned back to the left, the area beyond it a broad dirt area. A lot of cars were parked along the curb. It was difficult to see the numbers painted on the curb because of them. I went on for a short while, just a few houses, then decided, based on the numbers and my feeling about the matter, that I had gone too far, and the house I was looking for was way back, maybe near the corner. I picked up the paper from the seat beside me and peered at it in the dark. It was supposed to be number 75.

I parked back at the corner, in the dirt area, and walked up beside a house and looked in the front window, from a distance. The kitchen table had a lot of stuff on it, including some large odd shaped un-iced white cakes, apparently in the shape of animals, maybe rabbits. A woman was there, slightly overweight, and a couple of kids. This looked like it was probably the place. I thought I should probably ask them.

One of the kids, a boy, went out back to the swing set. I went out there too, at a distance, staying out of the yard. The mother came out the back door, and I saw that what she was wearing was a pink flowered house dress or nightgown. She called to the kid to come back inside, that it was time to eat, and the kid said something and started to head for the house. The woman turned around and started to go back in. The soft rain falling on what she was wearing looked oddly slick and shiny, and I realized that she was wearing a transparent raincoat over her dress. I also saw that the dress had a seam down the back which had separated in the area of her rear, maybe two or three inches. Nothing was visible through it right now, though, it was just a dark line in the seam. I wondered about the advisability of actually asking them about whether this was the place with the cake, and wondered if I should just leave and forget about it. I really wanted some cake, though.

I went back to the front, and the sidewalk, and wandered there for a bit and among the cars, thinking I would try to find the house numbers on the curb I guess, and maybe getting some courage to knock on the door, when I saw an old woman out there, dressed in fancy clothes and heavy makeup. She was smiling, grinning, and asked if I was looking for the cake. I said that I was, and she took me in the house. The younger woman and the kids were at the kitchen table, the woman standing. The kids might have been, too, or might have been sitting down, and the woman was talking to them. I looked over at them as we went into the house, but we didn't go into the kitchen with them, and they ignored us, paying no attention.

The old woman took me instead to the left, to a table in another room. A huge rabbit-shaped cake was sitting upright, with light brown icing in heavy swirls. It didn't seem to have anything cut out of it yet. She talked to me, still happily grinning, as she went to it and made a cut up on the head, not quite enough to get the piece loose, as it still needed a cut down from the top. Then she reached down to get something to put it in, a piece of plastic wrap. She asked where I was from, and after a slight pause I said Arizona. She was asking something then about that, some nice conversational comment maybe, and apparently forgot where she had started to cut the piece earlier, and put the triangular serving blade under the bottom of the cake, where the bunched legs of the rabbit were. Still talking and distracted, she lifted up and tried to take the piece out, which hadn't been cut at all, and a big section broke off the cake, going up about eight inches, slanting to an edge at the top. She looked at it, startled, and said, "Ohhh!" Then, grinning again, said that I would just have to take the whole thing, referring to the large piece she had broken off. She put it in the plastic wrap, somewhat awkwardly, got it sort of cradled in it, and gave it to me. I thanked her and left.

I went out into the night and the soft rain, holding the cake that was awkwardly set into the somewhat bunched plastic wrap, which went around the bottom and up the sides some like a bowl, and not too much at the top. I was eating the cake as I went, and slowly walked back to the car.

I found it was the old green 1970 Chevrolet El Camino, a mid-size car that was half pickup truck. I had left the window most of the way down too, in the rain. I hadn't intended to be gone this long. Trying to find where the door lock was, I saw that it was in an odd place on the back fender, a foot or so from the wheel. I put the key in and turned it, and a window started to rise up from the fender that formed the side of the pickup bed. I think the window in the door also rolled up. I was startled, not expecting this, especially the window in the fender. I guessed it was some kind of automatic thing that had been built in, in case someone put a roof over the bed.

I got in and tried to shut the door, but it wouldn't latch. I wondered about that, thinking about a car I had that kind of trouble with, but it hadn't been this one. I wondered if this one had developed it, too. I seemed to be too crowded also, that might be part of it, I was too close to the door. I tried to scoot over some, without much success, and turned and saw to my surprise that my father was sitting there, and on the other side of him was one of my nieces. They were both younger than in real life, and she was still a child. Then I realized that this was one of the car models with a back seat and four doors (which didn't exist in real life), and I was in the back seat. I got out and went around to sit in the front. I had a lot more room, there.

I slowly backed off the dirt into the street, and turned so the back was pointing down the street. Another car was now trying to come from around the turn, and had paused. I put the car in drive, feeling tired and sleepy, but the car was still rolling backwards a little. I looked at the transmission markings and wondered if I had moved the lever enough, whether it might be in neutral instead. It was hard to tell. I moved it over some more, and after a pause, because of its age I guess, it suddenly caught and the car started slowly moving forward.

I drove around the curve and started looking for a way out of the neighborhood and back home. I sometimes ate my cake as we went. They were both somehow in the front seat with me now. My father suggested I share it with my niece, and, I guess, with him, but I had been looking forward to eating it and didn't want to. My niece started whining about wanting some, and started to cry a little, and my father was saying I should give some to her. I said, somewhat irritated, that I would find some place that was open and get her something there.

I went to the left and found after a little bit what seemed to be a main road, though it was just two lanes, and got on it, going left. We drove away, the neighborhood on our left, and very little our right. Soon we were driving through a long area that was largely empty, seeming to be on the outskirts of things. After a while, I found what seemed to be a very small shopping center and turned left onto it. A few other cars did too, not many. It was closed, and I think I was just looking for a place to rest, to sleep for a while, though I'm not sure I did.

Then it was getting lighter, toward morning. I started the engine and began slowly driving along the shopping center parking lot, trying to find a good place to get back on the road. There was a break in the curb, but it was raised too high from the level of the parking lot, which was mostly gravelly dirt in that area, and I thought the car would bottom out if we tried it. We seemed to be somewhere in Arizona now, on the outskirts of things, though it didn't feel that we had gone very far.

I finally got out somehow, turning right, going back the way we came. After a while I stopped at another small shopping center. It seemed to be in the afternoon now, on Sunday. I carefully drove through it with my car, through the entrance and into the building and then out into a large open area, a kind of large outdoor plaza, with the shopping center forming a big rectangle around it. Some kind of local celebration was going on, some kind of Indian-themed thing, with pots and ceramics and other things on display, and various minor games set up for the kids.

I drove slowly and carefully through part of it, along the edge of it. They had some little pots and ceramic figures set up in a partial ring in the way, though, a little ways into it, and I had to carefully thread the car through them. I turned right, then, and headed slowly into a space between buildings, heading out of the shopping center, but then turned around and headed back. My father was asking why I didn't continue, they might have had a shop somewhere on the other side where I could buy something for her to eat, but I said no, I wanted to try somewhere else. I didn't say any more, but I just didn't want to try searching around this place any more, it seemed too much work, and it bothered me to be in there with all this activity going on.

I tried to go back the way I came, but found that the ceramic stuff on the ground was now too much in the way. There was enough room to walk through, but not drive a car. I stopped and stared at it for a while, and started to go and then stopped again. There wasn't any way I could safely drive through it. Like before, it curved around an area with a tall thing in the middle, maybe a statue and fountain, but now there was just no opening big enough to get through.

I finally reached down the outside of the car door with my left hand, my right hand still holding what was left of the cake, and, still inside the car, picked the car up. With my feet sticking out through the bottom of the car, I then walked on through the display, and went through the entrance to the inside of the shopping center. I found though, that the way out was narrower than I remembered. Instead of double doors set together, they were now set apart from each other, with maybe eight feet between them. They were also being locked by some women. It had evidently gotten too late and the place was closing. It was still afternoon, but might have been around 5:00 now, and I guess the place, not being in an area with a large population, closed early on Sunday.

They saw I was trying to leave and one of them went toward a door to unlock it, the one on the left. I stared it it. It seemed awfully narrow, just intended for a person to go through. I finally headed for it, thinking it would have to work somehow, that I would make it work, somehow. While the woman held the door open, I went toward it, and I found the car was narrow enough now that I could walk on through, and I walked on through, happily.