Dream: The Glass Jail Cell

Dream 20020826, 6:00 AM:

I’m naked, standing in a clear glass jail cell in the middle of a large public building, like a mall. There is a woman jailor, and she is dressed like an old-fashioned school marm, in a white blouse and a black skirt or pants. She reminds me of Conte’, with dark brown hair pulled up into a tight bun. There is a separate glass room at the front of the cell, and she comes from that room into the cell itself. I think she’s here to bring me food or something. I don’t like her.

I somehow get a box of wooden matches. I light one, and turn myself around with the match held out in front of me so that it blows itself out and the smoke makes a circular path around me. It seems like it breaks some magical spell that I was held captive by, and then I reach out and touch the jailor woman on the butt with the blown-out match. It seems like it makes her uncomfortable, like she suddenly realizes that she’s no longer protected by the spell, and I can get loose.

There is a black box with money in it in the front chamber, and someone comes in while the jailor is distracted and steals the black box. I manage to get hold of the keys, which are on the counter next to where the box was. We walk to another place. I remember holding the key in my butt as I walked naked down the sidewalk. It seemed like the right place to put it.

I get to a place where Jim, Julie, and some others are living in a camping trailer. It seems like it’s an RV park. I go inside the trailer, and they find a blanket to drape over me, and I am looking for a bathroom. The bathroom is a tiny thing under the counter, and I remark that it’s like the bathroom in Milana’s Mustang. We go to sleep, and I get a part of a mat on the floor that someone is sharing with me.

The next day, I’m outside, walking along with Julie S. We are talking about how we’ve managed to hold on, stay with our relationships. I notice that I’ve dropped my wedding ring, which seems like an unusually wide gold band, and it has gotten stepped on and flattened. I pick it up, and try to smash it back out to the right shape. It goes round again, although it retains a crease mark from being flat. I say, in a sing-song voice (like I’m reciting the Browning sonnet), “Why haven’t I left you, let me try and find a way.” Julie and I both laugh.

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