Dream 20030218, 7:40 AM:
I am at home, but the house isn’t my house, it’s the Kingwood house, kind of. I’m in the blue bedroom (which was my bedroom during most of my growing up, and is where I stay now when I visit) and on the bookcase is a container that appears to be like a diorama of a cave made out of sand. I look into it, and inside there is a plastic bag containing several baby turtles and a couple of eggs. I realize that there were only eggs in there when it was sealed up, and that whoever closed it up must have thought that they weren’t viable and wouldn’t be hatching. I reach into the little cave, breaking the top off of it in the process (it crumbles, like sand that was damp but has dried) and pull out the bag with the turtles. I am talking to someone who is with me now (one of those ubiquitous dream companions) and say that see, they’re alive… I touch the nose of one through the plastic with a pencil eraser, and it bites down on it vigorously. I open up the end of the bag, but don’t take the turtles out; I figure that they must be hungry and thirsty.
I hunt around, trying to find a good container for the turtles. I look at several different things, but none of them seems like the right container. They’re either too short, too open, or the wrong size. I finally find a zippered blue lunch-box shaped thing that looks like it would do. It has writing on the inside with a black marker, but it’s all smeared and I can’t read what it says.
Then, I’m in a classroom, and a professor is talking about something that sounds totally foreign to me. He is talking about the trip rate, or tip rate, of some electronic piece of equipment (a cell phone?) and he is pointing to a column of acronyms or short words (they’re things like TIP DIT WRJ) on a big white piece of paper. I am totally confused. I look around, and it seems to be making sense to everyone else. I am still holding the turtles. I say something about how I must be in the wrong class, and the professor says something back about how I am obviously not prepared, and I get up and leave.
Then, I’m in a house. I don’t think I have the turtles any more, but I don’t remember where they went. I am walking around, and for some reason try to do a handspring – I think to myself that I must not be dreaming really deeply, or I’d be able to do it. I try a couple more times, and then realize that I’m dreaming – it’s one of those so-obvious realizations. I remember something about visiting my sleeping body, and I start walking through the house looking for where I am sleeping. It has something to do with the feeling of fuzzy vagueness that I’m experiencing, and I want to increase my lucidity. I see several people in small twin beds, in rooms that appear to lead into one another, or there may be a common room that they’re opening off of. I look at one of them, and start to lift the covers off the sleeper’s head, but a dream companion tells me that I shouldn’t do that, or I’ll wake the sleeper, and it would end my dream. I look at several clocks as I’m walking around the house, and although they start out being close to real time (around 7:40) they seem to go backwards as I tell myself that I don’t want it to be so late… I remember seeing one that was 7:23 and then another that was 7:20. Then, there is one that is a black-on-green LCD screen, and it looks like mathematical formulae; it doesn’t have any semblance to the numbers that indicate time. It changes as I watch, and the numbers move around the face of the clock.
I decide that I want to fly, and see how it feels. I go out through a sliding glass door onto a back deck that is heavily populated with large potted plants; I remark to myself that it looks very different from my own porch, which has no plants on it. These are all large tropical greenery plants, like corn plants and striletzias. I start to fly up into the air, and for a moment I wonder if I need to swim actively, or just float. I decide that since I’m very conscious of the fact that I’m dreaming, I won’t need the flying action – the floating will be fine. I float upward, and encounter the branches of a big oak tree that is leaning over the deck; the branches are sort of punky and dry, and I remember the distinct texture of the wood being crumbly as I bump into it. Then the alarm goes off, and I wake up. *end*