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Dream Journal

Mail then Train, Old Movie, New Kitchen

Waiting at a curb with tickets to board a mail truck. Down the block are two more spots with a few people besides us who are taking this route. I decide at the last moment to walk to the earlier stop, thinking it’ll be more convenient for the postal driver.

Once we board, inside is a quote of a few paragraphs praising our friends Don and Tracy. I don’t notice the transition at all but we’re then riding a train. The train makes a stop and stays stopped. I then need to wake up my friend Mickey on the bunk above. Don’t know how long the transfer is, but it feels long.

Sorting petals of different shapes and colors while Tracy charismatically makes an announcement over the train’s intercom. The petals relate to a remake of a movie that is happening soon, where everyone on the train gets to pick a petal and that’s their assigned section of the movie. The original was regarded as boring and unrealistic when it was first released. I observe a close-up logo of a screen showing a still image of a stock camcorder in someone’s pocket, which was once the default image on product packaging — this somehow illustrates how little effort the movie went to. It became a classic in time though, and everyone on this train has come here for this process. This certainly makes it more stressful for me when I keep dropping petals on the floor. Thankfully Tracy has done a good job of stalling and managing expectations.


Unpacking in our new kitchen, many boxes to sort. My wife thinks she can’t help. She finds a task talking with our neighbors and spends her time that way.

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Dream Journal

Congressional Envelopes, Long & Gold

After learning some purported factoid about Congressional envelopes, I actually get my hands on one. It’s hugely overlong, with a vertical gold band and a tasteful border for the address. A surprising design feature:  if you hold it a certain way, the flap closes itself! I get my wife to try it; it’s tricky and it takes a while to get her to correctly press the pads of her thumb and forefinger over the gold corners. Why would they spend money to develop this technology? Who is this for?


I’m riding a personal cart on a single-track railway line that serves as public transit for a small rural community. It feels empty and follows a long highway along the convoluted recesses of the town. The trackway is obscured down the slope of a hill or levee, so you can’t even see it, and the routes seem to follow a river that’s out of sight. It’s a strange gray autumn day. I can’t recall why I’m riding the train, but I may be transporting garbage — a railway just for trash disposal.

Categories
Dream Journal

Going to a Beachside Dentist, Much Preparation

I’m getting woken up for a dentist appointment, by a guy I barely know, who’s been asked to do it as a favor. I tell him I’ve got to write my dreams down first and I’ll be 15 minutes. (Coincidentally, I’m actually woken about 15 minutes later by a loud, stinky truck outside my bedroom window.)

I speak with a therapist in a little room pod, in preparation for the procedure. I feel the need rather quickly to break professional courtesy to actually talk philosophy with her as an individual. She seems visibly exhausted to be forced to engage as vulnerable and human, and to delve into her personal views.

Thereafter, a big black girl helps walk me to (or from) the seaside in the evening — where the dentist procedure will be. I expect it’ll be really nice to watch the sunset during the course of it. I notice that she has the same limp as I do at this moment, in her left leg, and I offer to massage it once we find a stopping point to take a break. She forgoes a chair for whatever reason, lying down, and I start at her still shoe-clad feet and move around to her stiff calves and thighs. I tell her to let me know if she wants more or less pressure. She keeps asking for lighter and lighter touches, as if the massage is making her more sensitive and tense, but she never expresses any desire for me to stop.

I gather shoes I’ll need during and after the procedure. One pair is green and yellow, like a thrift store pair from Brazil I had long ago. I spot an old classic iPod of mine on the ground, wrapped in earbuds. While picking up my mail, I notice that a postbox near the top (for the group hostel/school I’m associated with) has been overstuffed, too full to close. I inspect the economy size bag of incense inside, labelled “Frogge & Kastom”, pilfering a few sticks, feeling that they won’t be missed. I try not to feel too guilty about it.

Bang! The truck outside my window loudly backfires. I’m irredeemably awake.