Dream 20031119, 7:00 AM:

This dream sequence is somewhat disjointed. I woke up at one point and turned the alarm off (instead of hitting the snooze) and was kind of off-and-on for a bit.

I remember walking down the hallway of an old building; it’s some kind of institution, like a school or a hospital, with tiled floors and long hallways with many doors. I am talking to someone, another guy, and tell him that “While the rest of them were busy getting the same old line, I was getting a *dedicated number.*” I wave a piece of paper. I explain that this guy I met was the lawyer for the convention; he seems incredulous that a comic book convention would have lawyers, but I explain that it’s a big business.

I walk on down the hallway. Chris is with me now. I run and slide on the tile floors in my slippery socks. [note: I was wearing the “Bed Socks” that I knitted recently – I was very jazzed that they appeared in a dream! Red Clue socks are next.] We turn around a corner, and walk down a dark wood-paneled hallway, and turn into what appears to be a huge Victorian-style library. The walls are paneled in a rich dark wood with these little built-in red plaques that remind me of the patterning of a stained-glass window. I remark on how beautiful the library is, and I flip back the corners of my cloak. I hadn’t remembered being dressed in Renaissance clothes before, but I am now. I turn to my left inside the room, and there is a large staircase with no wall against it, just rising up into the middle of the room. I begin to climb upward, as does Chris. He goes a different direction at one of the landings, so that I can see him across the room. I realize that I’m dreaming, and decide that I want to fly. Suddenly, the dream fades; it changes from a very realistic sense of being there, to just imagining it. I try to relax and get back into the dream state, and eventually manage to fall back to sleep.

There is quite a bit of additional dream material that I can’t remember. This happens often when I go back to sleep, especially back and forth from sleep to waking.

I remember that I have been lucid off and on. It seems to come and go during this long sequence of dreaming. In a non-lucid part, I remember watching through a kitchen window as someone (Chris?) begins to cut the grass of the front lawn. I look down at the windowsill, and realize that the sink drain is somehow piped so so that the water is flowing out onto the windowsill. It is backing up this way because someone put stuff down the drain that didn’t belong there. I’m annoyed, and shout at Chris through the open window, telling him the drain is backing up again.

Then, a different scene, I’m walking down a dock at a lake or oceanside. I want to jump across to something that seems like a boat, but looks like just another dock. It has a bunch of aerosol spray cans of stuff on it, and then a tarp over the cans. I jump over, and miss the platform but get hold of the side of it, and try to pull myself up. There is something grainy on the underside, like a dirt-dauber nest, and I pull my hand back from it and brush it off, managing to eventually get up onto the dock. The cans are bug spray. The dock moves sideways through the water. Alongside us, swimming along on her back with apparently no effort, is a Peruvian woman in traditional dress with a black skirt and bowler hat, and a blue sweater. She has a spindle in her hands so that it sits upright on her stomach, and she is spinning as she swims along. Her fake braid things float in the water beside her. Amazingly, she doesn’t seem wet at all. Looking down into the perfectly clear water, it seems as if the bottom is just another water-air surface, as if the water has two top surfaces. I remark on it, and the woman says something in Spanish, then translates it to, “The Water is not touching itself.” I realize that there’s some kind of layer in there that’s making the visual edge. It reminds me of Xel-ha.

We reach the water’s edge. The Peruvian woman gets up and shakes off just a few drops of water, and I jump down. I am standing on a pebble stone floor, and it is shiny and looks like it’s under water. There is a woman here, she seems German or European, and I remark on the water, and she says something about having a double layer. I look closely, and realize that it’s a finish technique that makes the stones look wet.