My mom’s mansion

I dreamt that I went home to visit my mom, and she had moved into this beautiful old house.!it was gigantic- at heady seven bedrooms, all spacious. There was a living area that led out to a hallway, and this room, like all of them, had dark wood floors and many old, layered rugs that were left by the previous owner. There was a little podium set up by the entry, like for a bouncer. I don’t remember what else was in there. In the hallway, numerous doors lined the walls, by the doorways were so wide that if the doors were open the rooms didn’t feel closed off. Among the rooms in this fall were:
Playroom (next to the living room)
This room was divided into three sections: at the front of the room was a baby grand piano with the keyboard removed and a drawer added there ;an interesting storage unit!). Behind it to the left were many layered rugs and low bookshelves and cubbies, like a long reading area. To the right was a classroom I’m area with small desks and an easel and chalkboard. The previous owner had left all this but I figured it would be perfect for Sasha once it stoped being creepy.

Meredith’s room (across from the playroom)
Meredith’s room was sumptuously decorated in silver and tulle and satin with silver and blue and pale purple rugs over the dark wood.

Music room (next to playroom)
This room had a full-size grand piano in brown and plenty of space for a jam session.

Mom’s room (at end of hall)
Mom’s room was decorated in natural colors and fivers. There was another baby grand in there it I didn’t see if it was real or storage. She had a big closet too but the details escape me.

There were supposedly other rooms and stairs but i don’t remember. 

A late night out

I found out that a band that I'd liked from college would be playing in this town that I lived in... although I have never lived in a town like that. It was on a river, and it was a busy place. It was sort of like Denton, but nothing like it.

But the band was also St. Lucia. I got to the venue, which was a fast food restaurant with an attached auditorium, with my own keyboard in hand. The audience wasn't big - maybe 50 people. I played along and harmonized on all the songs, and the singer thought that was pretty cool.

Unfortunately, there was a storm coming and the river had flooded; there was a bridge near the restaurant that was completely covered in water. Everyone that was left (many had left early) quickly headed away from the river up the road, and we were afraid the water would cover us but it did not. We ended up at a hotel on a high floor; there were about seven fans and the band there. They asked us if we wanted to go to a bar and just chill out, and everyone else in the group agreed. I hesitated, as I didn't really want to go to a bar, but I decided I wouldn't have another chance like this again so I went along as well. We all had a great time talking about music and vintage Bollywood movies.

It would be a very long drive home for me, so I took a couch from the bar (because that's completely normal) and went to find a random apartment to sleep in. (I don't know how I got there or what happened to my keyboard.) I had just the couch and a bag with me. I found an unlocked apartment in a campus complex, opened the door, and knew it was two female roommates living there. I brought the couch in, hauled it up some stairs to a sort of open landing/loft area, then watched a little bit of a Shah Rukh Khan movie that we'd talked about in the bar... but I was very tired and fell asleep.

In the morning, I woke up and was trying to figure out how I'd get the couch back out, when the girls who lived in the apartment woke up and I could hear them have this conversation:
"So your friend stayed over last night."
"She's not my friend. I thought she was your friend."

I realized I needed to leave right away before they saw me, grabbed my bag, left the couch, and ran as fast as I could to my Prius, heart pounding.

It was at this point I woke up and realized it wasn't real ... I was awake for about an hour or so and wrote all that down on my phone.

Then I drifted back off to sleep and had another dream where I went back and confessed to them that it was me who had gone to their house and slept on the couch. I hoped that if I could make friends with them they'd forget all about it, but I wasn't sure if they would or not by the time I woke up again. 

Penticton 3

I had gone back to Penticton yet again, this time to plan a fourth trip there.

(The first trip, I took in real life. The second was a previous dream; in that one, I had gone in November or December with my mom, A., and R. I guess I dreamt about this a year ago or so. In that dream, we had driven throughout the city streets and never really found what were were looking for, but stumbled on a really great burger place on an unexpected street. We had gone to a mall to watch a movie, and the mall was a large brick building. We never made it to the movie thought because there was a disaster and we all had to evacuate, but everyone was ok. I remember very little else about it, except for an area that was mostly water with a bridge and a gazebo in the middle of the bridge. It looked nothing like the real Penticton, but was absolutely the same city in my mind.)

This time, it was January and it had snowed recently enough to still have some snow on the ground. I was scouting out Airbnb places so that A. and I could come back, perhaps in June. I'd already gone once in December and once in April, so now I wanted to go at the peak season. I followed the same straight roads I had followed the previous time and came to a white wooden house that I'd found on the internet. The Airbnb price was $93 or something similar so I figured it was a good deal. I went inside and encountered someone in a red and black jacket. We talked briefly and she showed me around the place. I figured it was a good place in winter and would certainly be better in summer. So I decided I would stay there that night, but wanted to go out and explore the city a bit since I was back.  

I went walking, and crossed the bridge with the gazebo. This led me outside the city and perhaps even outside the country, but it wasn't too difficult to get back in. The only problem was the snow; I kept slipping on the snow and ice. I thought I should probably get back after a bit of solo walking around the city and surrounding areas, so I came back to the house. I realized I needed to stay there for the night, so I asked them about the price, which I saw on the internet was $93. But they told me that because of the snow, they'd increased the price to $118. They knew I had to have a place to stay so they increased the price since I had nowhere else to go. They also told me that in peak season, it would be $138, but it wasn't like I had anywhere else to go since the hotels would be full. I realized they were shady people and left, knowing I could get a private room at the hostel I stayed at the first time I went there. 

A place to gather

(November 17, 2014)

I had recently found a new comic whose work I liked. Her name was Lorraine, and her acts really reminded me a lot of my life. I thought I was watching a tv show, but it turned out the clips were very short and I just thought they were connected, but they were not. I was so addicted to these clips, I was watching them in my car and the car battery ran low. So to charge it back up, I drove around the block. I then came across the house of one SB, on a corner lot of a very wealthy subdivision. As I drove by her very large backyard, I got a glimpse of her menagerie, mostly very cute kittens. They were frolicking all over a large, nicely planned garden.

I stopped the car and went inside to say hello. I entered through a large patio/hall. She was cleaning up after a Girl Scout cookie party that she had been hosting. We made small talk, then my friend AR texts me, asking him if I could go pick him up, as he was at a nearby bank.

I went to pick him up. The bank actually looked like a house, which confused me, but I saw him and pulled over to get him. I sat in the passenger seat - actually, in the center - and he drove. On the way back, was telling him about Lorraine. He asked me if she reminded me of DB, which I thought was an odd question, so I asked him why everything reminded him of DB. But he ignored the question as we drove by SB's house again, and mentioned how he missed going over there, and how he knew all the cats by name. So we decided to stop by again, just for a minute.

This time, we go in by the front door and end up in the kitchen. There's a big group meeting in the kitchen, talking about Ferguson and protests. AR is sitting on the bleachers outside in the patio/hall but I'm quite interested in this discussion so I come in and listen more. The leader of the group asked me if I was really interested or if this was just a passing thing, and asked me to prove it. I got nervous and wanted to write my information down but had lost all my motor skills. It took me a long time to write down my name and address, but somehow I did. I also wanted to exchange addresses with someone, but couldn't find any more paper.

Then there was a group activity; we all had a piece of thread and we were supposed to give ours to someone else. I didn't know anyone so I chose a guy randomly. Turns out he was a famous singer and I didn't know. At this point, we cleared out the kitchen area for his show. We've been talking for a while and he asked me to sing something but I said I only had Hindi karaokes. So instead, he asked me to make an announcement to start the show, but I was bad at it and people made fun of me. I went to go get food, to abate my embarrassment, but my motor skills were still very bad and I couldn't get the chips to stay on my plate, so I tried to throw it away and I couldn't even do that. I realized it was time to make my exit, so I go look for AR, but he has driven home. 

K's wedding reception and a reckless driver

K had returned yet again, but this time he had gotten married and was having his wedding reception. He invited A. and me to come and of course we were very excited and said we would. I wonder who he married though - Petrichor, or the red-haired girl? I never found out.

I had to go to my old university, so I took the car and drove there. As I parked the car, a blonde sorority girl came over to look at the Prius. "I've never driven one of these cars before. Cars for poor people. Can I?" she said, then just took my keys from me. I hastily jumped in the passenger seat as she took me on a terrifying ride. Up stairs, across the main quad, forcing people to run to get out of the way, barely missing beams... I was afraid she would wreck the car. I pleaded with her to stop, as it was the only car I had and I couldn't afford another. But she kept driving like a maniac - at least until she got bored and parked in a parking garage then sauntered off.

I got out of the car myself and coming around the corner were A. and a visibly shaken K. It turns out he was not able to get a train ticket to Nagpur, which was where the wedding reception would be held, in time for the wedding. He had a lot of things he had to bring as well, and now it looked like the whole thing had to be postponed or maybe cancelled. I was briefly thankful that girl had not wrecked my car, because it was now needed, and just said without thinking, "Oh, we're coming anyway. You can ride with us." A. shot me a death glare; his original plan was to take the train and if we couldn't get seats, then he was hoping we'd just not go. But now we were committed to a very long drive (I assume we were in Delhi. I don't actually know.) and we started making logistical plans to fit three of us, all of our suitcases, and the reception decor that K had with him into the Prius. 

Showing one's political affiliation by what notes we sing

My dream was like reality in that we had one performance left of a very large choral work. In every other detail it differed, though I can see where parts are based in reality. The work was set in some Hindustani classical raga which used what is called in Bengali 'kori ma' - the sharp fourth or in Western music, if set as an interval against the tonic, the tritone.

The choir I was singing with was run by the Episcopal church, which had (also sadly true outside of dream) been bitterly divided on the topic of how gay people were to be viewed and their role in the church. And somehow this issue of politics also got tied up with a musical controversy: the conservative contingent had also decided to change this raga to include shuddh ma instead of kori ma. (Upon waking, I realize this is analogous to the demonization of the tritone in the Middle Ages.) In this case, the conservative contingent had won out and we were now to sing all pieces without using kori ma.

But we had one concert left.

Even among choir members we were divided. To sing it as we had been singing previously would be to defy the church and show support for the liberal agenda - even if the reason we were doing it was because it was impossible to relearn the whole work in a day, it would still be construed as such. Hardcore conservatives and those who were scared of backlash said 'change it, even if it means we make mistakes in performance.' Liberal people such as myself thought this was ridiculous and wished to sing it as it was, and those who didn't care thought "there is one concert left; can't this be grandfathered in?" The director of the choir seemed to fall in the "I don't agree with this but I don't want to lose my job" camp but also the "We can't relearn this in one day and it will sound terrible" camp and could not make up his mind, leaving us to fight it out amongst ourselves.

I wrote a scathing op-ed about it, how it was against the message of the church and also particularly against the message of the piece we were performing to be so legalistic, Pharisaical, and political that the litmus test of where you stood was whether you sang a piece as it was written or a revisionist version with a note one-half step down. How this piece was based on a particular scale that gives a particular feel and you can't just go changing it to flaunt your position on an issue that has nothing to do with the music. And how this ridiculous question of the "how many angels can dance on the head of a pin" type only serves to point out who is obedient enough to do what we ask and who is not, and does not make the church any better and only serves to make music worse.

I woke up before a final decision was made but I am sure I would have refused to perform regardless of the outcome.

A practice room, or perhaps a prison

I was at the university in the city across the border. K and I were writing a song, whether in a practice room or a prison I am still not sure. It was halfway underground, with a window across one wall on the top half, looking at the outside. We were not concerned, so it must have been a practice room, although it felt like a prison. For hours we sat there, writing, talking, forgetting to eat, as the hours passed, looking out the half-window (or was it that we were looking in on ourselves?)

The night lingered on. I felt sleepy and closed my eyes for just a moment. I did not want to waste a second of this time in sleep; the next moment I knew he would go back to the unknown world he inhabited. In that moment, I felt him lay his head on my shoulder. I did not open my eyes. We said nothing and drifted off into sleep together.

I woke up later to find he was still sleeping peacefully. I didn't want to disturb him so I fell asleep again myself. No, no, this time was not wasted at all.

I woke from the dream with lyrics in my mind, which faded immediately upon waking.

Who is the K of my dream? I don't even know. He looks like no one I know and as I read back on these posts later, I assume it is this person, or it is that person. But it is not. I think perhaps K is that aspect of myself that loves me unconditionally, accepts me, doesn't judge me; I slept last night after unfavorably comparing myself to others and maybe this is just how I remember that such comparison and critical judgment is unnecessary.

He does resemble Akshay Kumar in "OMG" quite a bit, hence the initial K. But with better hair.

14 reasons the world is not ready for a female guitarist

Such was the title of the Buzzfeed article I was reading upon it having become common knowledge that the band that was my favorite in my dream - let us call them Mystery because I forgot what they were called - had a new guitarist named Michaela. Not Michael. Michaela. And the music world went crazy. How could a woman shred, they asked? How could she tour when she needed to be home cooking? Would she ever get married?

But tour she did, shred she did, and it just so happened that Mystery's tour took them to the town just across the border from me. Very nice, I thought, and I decided I would go to their show whenever it happened, but it was quite a ways off in the future so I didn't think very much about it besides wondering when tickets would go on sale.

Choir practice was at the high school it used to be at that Monday night, so I went like a diligent little fake soprano, sang my piece, and when choir practice was over, went out to my car and began to drive home. On the way, I got a call from an unknown number. I picked it up and the voice on the other end of the line was a surprise - it was an acquaintance of mine who had talked to the manager of Mystery and said they wanted me to come rehearse with them for the upcoming show. WHAT. Of course I said yes, but I had to go get my microphone first. They wanted me back at the high school in thirty minutes. Half of my microphone and accessories were in a storage unit, so I went there first. Then I had to go to my mom's house and find the other half. I felt I was racing the clock and that if I got there after 10 PM, I would not have a chance.

Microphone acquired, I drove eastward again, only to get yet another call from A., who was eating at a restaurant and wanted me to join him. So of course I did, but I told him we had to really get going and I wasn't hungry anyway, because I needed to be back at the high school by 10. He said he had to move his truck (truck? okay) and went outside. I followed shortly thereafter to see a huge garbage truck moving forward a little too fast in the parking lot. A Dumpster fell off the back, and the truck lost control and hit another car. I got really scared and called out A's name, but no response. I went over to the truck and didn't see him inside it. No one was inside it, which should have scared me more, but I was just glad he wasn't in the truck. I didn't know where he was, but at this point I couldn't figure out what else to do - I had to go. So I got in my car, may or may not have clipped another vehicle on the way, and drove back to the high school and hurriedly ran to the auditorium.

And there is A, just sitting at a table and chatting with my friend. The band's manager is milling about and I am dying to talk to him and even more to get up there and sing backup on those fantastic Mystery songs I have loved for so much of my life. Michaela is warming up, playing scales on stage. I go over to my friend and A. and ask him how he got there so fast but he doesn't really have an answer for me. At this point, I've realized it was a dream but instead of being able to do whatever I want,  I just feel guilty that I haven't woken up yet, and everything starts moving slowly. At long last the manager comes over and flashes his million-watt smile in my direction. I hastily introduce myself to this absolute genius of a man and then before he can tell me what he wants me to do, I wake up so I can start my day. If only I had gotten there sooner...

As if I lived in a novel

In my dream, I had such a lovely house. Very 80s style, modern. The door was on the south side, and there was a wall of windows there. Next to the door was a table with my computer and keyboard on it, and chairs on either side. There was a large living room with a brick floor and at least three bedrooms.

I was at home after having gone out to a club and running into a friend I had only met on the Internet, K. When we saw each other, something clicked. It was as if we had known each other for decades. That term "on the same wavelength" ? That describes every moment of every interaction we had. What an amazing person! We talked through the evening, then at the end of the night, K. came to my home, accompanied by his bartender girlfriend with long, straight, brown hair, who was wearing a purple corset and had a name that wasn't a name. Petrichor. The three of us hung out, played music, talked throughout the night. It was a shimmering, shining time.

A. came home briefly and joined us in our revelry. The four of us seemed like we had been friends forever. Then he had to go back to the lab. Petrichor also had to leave, so they left together.

K. and I started talking then about writing music. We had discussed collaborating on a piece earlier, and put on some old songs for inspiration; songs from the sixties. At one point, he got up to dance and motioned for me to join him. We danced in such joy, as if it were the sixties and today all at the same time, and the only thing that existed was this dance and the music of the spheres. It was as if we lived in a Madeleine L'Engle novel, and this was my life. It was a gesture of simple and pure friendship with no overtones, no ulterior motives; something that does not exist outside of books. I stepped back, looking at this Friend with amazing hair and broad shoulders and told him, not I love you, but We should get to work. For that is, indeed, what love is - endless and tireless work to leave the world a better place than we found it.

We sat down at the table by the door and began to write. The song we sang was one I wrote back in college - "Don't walk into that place/Into the shadow of a newly-familiar face/I never wanted to live this way/Or it had never crossed my mind before." He strummed a guitar; I switched between the keyboard and the computer. At this point, there was a knock on the door. I opened it to see a very cute and feisty red-haired girl, who introduced herself as K's girlfriend, and walked in. I was confused; wasn't Petrichor K's girlfriend? But I had the good sense not to say anything, and over the course of the next few minutes it became apparent that this curly-haired sprite was, indeed, K's actual girlfriend, and that she didn't know anyone named Petrichor. How could this absolutely wonderful person, or someone who seemed wonderful to me, be seeing two girls at once who didn't know about each other...? People's lives are complicated, I suppose. No one is all good; no one is all bad. Perhaps, later, privately, I would ask him. But maybe it's not any of my business.

She decided she would stay the night. I was tired, so I showed them to a guest room on the northwest side of the house, decorated in ivory and flower petals, and went to rest in my own lilac-colored room. A. comes home to join me. I tell him we have guests, and we drift off to sleep.

In the morning, we all wake up and watch cartoons together. I cook breakfast and the atmosphere is bubbling over with the joy of crepes and mimosas and exuberant conversation. To be honest, I liked Petrichor better, but this girl, whose name I never quite caught, is as bubbly as the mimosas. She also reveals that K's amazing hair is actually a very high-tech wig, and he is very nearly bald! I react with a smile, but inside I'm secretly proud of A's full head of thick, natural hair.

As it approaches noon, K. says they must be leaving. I hug each in turn and they depart. I know it is highly unlikely that I shall ever have such a soiree again, but I hope for a knock on my door the following evening...

Later, alone, I turn on the TV and there's a show on about the bar where Petrichor worked. The bartender speaking on the screen is named Petrichor and she's wearing a purple corset - but she's a petite blonde. Cut to a shot taken the next day, where a six-foot tall man in a purple corset is manning the bar, and the patrons call him Petrichor as well. The regulars treated them all as the same person, asking them questions about events that happened the night before, when a different Petrichor was on duty, and getting answers as if they were there. Who was the real Petrichor? Was there a Petrichor at all? And who, indeed, was the beautiful brunette who had come to my home the night before?

Retired hockey player becoming sci-fi special agent

I was at a department store doing a bit of shopping, when I saw a very tall, blonde guy with long hair who seemed to be a little confused. After some thinking, I realized it was Pavel Bure and went to say hello to one of the stars of my childhood. He was very nice, but his thoughts seemed to be elsewhere. Then he told me he had to get back to the gym, and went to the back of the department store.

For some reason, I followed him. He went into the gym and started practicing a routine on two balance beams. Then he went to the rings and practiced some more. I just observed for a while, then he told me to come over, so I did. He told me he would be back in a while, folded himself into a plastic container, and closed it. I was obviously concerned about this -- how could he breathe? -- but he reassured me he would be fine.

I walked into another room off of the gym, and there he was again, but somehow we had moved into a different universe. He had the ability to move between universes, similar to but quite unlike Fringe, and there were some tasks he needed to do in this universe - and he needed my help. Because I was with him, I had also gained this power. We went to my house, which was similar to the house I lived in while in junior high, and we went into a closet where there were a few toys and clothes. He told me that he had to do this for my safety while he went to yet another universe, and locked me in the closet from the outside. I told him that I wasn't going to go out of the closet until he was gone, and he could trust me, so he said okay but I'm not sure if he locked it or not. It didn't bother me -- I figured I had my phone with me anyway -- so I busied myself figuring out what the things on the floor were. Only then I realized I didn't have my phone, and I started to panic. If he had locked the door, would anyone come into the house? If he didn't come back, would I be able to make a lot of noise and would someone come and get me out of the closet? But then I had that feeling like you do when you realize you're in a dream and all you have to do is acknowledge it and wake up -- so I did -- but --

I didn't actually wake from my dream. I woke into the universe he was in, which was the "main" universe, into a restaurant similar to a Cracker Barrell. I was standing against a dark paneled wall covered in pictures of celebrities who had eaten there and shots of country life. He was there, sitting in a booth opposite me with an elderly couple and two car seats with two babies, whom he had rescued from the alternate universe and brought back to his grandparents. I realized that after retirement from hockey, he had become a special agent of sorts with the ability to travel quickly through space, or through universes, and he solved crimes. But because of this, he'd lost his ability to do very much else, like carry on regular human conversations, so he spent most of the time in the gym, maintaining fitness and agility through complicated gymnastics. He was like the most devoted of musicians I knew, people who honestly seem to live on a different plane mentally and spiritually, with a childlike single-mindedness, only his aim was mental control of his physical body and being able to manipulate the physics of the universe around him.

Volcano at the beach

I was on a beach with A, my mom, my brother, and a few friends. There was a beautiful mountain in the distance on the other side of the water. We were just generally having a nice time at sunset, playing at the waters' edge when I noticed that the waves were partially black. I thought it might be oil or something, then someone mentioned that it was coming from the volcano. But it seemed normal, so we just kept playing but stayed away from the water.

Soon the water was overrun with this black stuff, and I figured it was probably time to leave. So I called out to everyone that we needed to go now. Just as I'd said this, you could see lava running down the sides of the mountain and ash clouds forming at the top. Of course, everyone at the beach had the same idea and started running for their cars or for home. My car was right there on the beach, but I could not find my keys in my purse. I was afraid that the lava would come through the ocean before I could find my keys. Luckily, I found them, unlocked the car, and sped away. As I was leaving the beach area, I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the mountain explode in a volcanic eruption. I told myself, "This is a dream. Wake up." But I couldn't wake up, so I figured that it was real and I better get busy saving people's lives by getting out of there.

I drove as fast as I could, following the Volcano Evacuation Route signs, until we came to a clinic where a few people (not that many, strangely enough) had stopped to take shelter, as it was out of the path of the volcano. We all got out of the car and the nurses there came to greet us and treat any injuries we'd gotten while we went away. I wasn't injured at all, but was really shaken up. The nurses gave us soup. They had lots of supplies and food there in a back room. I ate quickly and then went to see where everyone else was. A. was sleeping, as was my brother and a bunch of friends, in an exam room. My mom was talking to the nurses. I found out that the nurses had been so busy, they had not eaten. So I made soup for them since I made me feel better to help. I figured we should stay there until it became safe to go out again, and decided I would also get some sleep. So I went to sleep on a couch (which was when I woke up in real life.)

Ill-Fated Wedding

I always dream that I am in India. I don't know why.

This time we had gone for a friend's wedding. Maybe one of A's friends. I don't know who exactly it was. Many of our friends from Baton Rouge were also there, but it wasn't their wedding; it was some unknown person.

So A and the rest of the guys are busy upstairs with the groom, and even though I don't know the bride, I go help her get ready. She is dressed in all her finery and we chat briefly. She seems nice enough.

Right before the wedding is to begin, she gets onto the back of an elephant, but then something goes wrong, and the elephant tips over and crushes her and so there is no wedding.

Later, I was driving but not very well because I wasn't used to the car. I kept accelerating and decelerating too fast. A. was in the backseat and was going to get motion sick, so I swung into a parking lot and told him that he could drive. And drive he did, much better than me.

--

I think that I had this dream because I watched that awful Iggy Azalea "Bounce" video yesterday and this was my subconscious telling me exactly what I really thought of the video and Iggy Azalea in particular.

Trip to Mumbai (combining two dreams)

I have had two dreams over the last month or so that placed me in Mumbai. The feel was the same in both so I will write them here, with the first dream coming first.

I had travelled there for my junior high school friend's art exhibition. He was a sculptor. So I went to a shopping mall where the art gallery was. The gallery was all decorated in off-white gossamer. I found his sculptures in a back room of the gallery, partially open to the outside. The sculptures were alabaster. But I did not know very much about art so I just simply admired them and then went back outside.

I was glad to be there. That was the main feeling I had - happiness at being back in India. I was travelling with another lady, only known to me in the dream, named Caroline. She was an American woman in her 40s. We were at a train depot and needed money, so we used our ATM cards to get out American money and then had it changed into rupees at another, completely automated, kiosk. I did not know those sorts of things were possible, but it had been a long time since I had been to India.

We travelled out a bit to the suburbs, where we went to a party. Some of my online friends were there. Many nameless and faceless people, too. We lounged around in a white room. Two friends in particular I met there. One was just as I had imagined - the kindest, friendliest person with a million dollar smile, a heart of gold, and interesting things to say. He just was so full of brilliance and care that I wanted to talk to him to the exclusion of everyone else, but he and Caroline were in a conversation so I turned my attention to the rest of the party, and another friend who I was meeting for the first time. We had an interesting rapport, he and I; I felt I always had to be at the intellectual ready, but didn't feel like it was a one-upping conversation. I have used the term 'mind sharpener' to describe such people and conversations, but those conversations often felt a bit forced, as if I had to prove myself. This was not so forced. I do not even remember what we talked about. Certainly literature; maybe politics. It was intellectual, yet effortless and natural. And at the moment when I realized how effortless and natural it was, I realized I had something very important to say.

"I have to go."

And I got up, took Caroline with me, and we left.

We pondered how to get back to the downtown area (Although it was Mumbai, it was nothing like Mumbai actually was. It was more like Chicago, actually.) and decided we would take the metro. So we headed over to the metro. Images of the downtown area, brought from another dream, filled my mind. Narrow streets, brick buildings, again nothing like what is reality but it was indeed the downtown in my dream.

And I suppose we went there, but in a dream I have not yet dreamed.

Dreams that ended lucidly but otherwise were messed up

I went to Baton Rouge for work and it was at the same time as the Diwali show. So I also went to that,w hich was nice. At some point I had to go to the bathroom, so I went down the hall to the women's locker room. I walked into the men's first and saw a bunch of guys chilling in the hot tub, realized I was in the wrong one, and went to the women's quickly. There was also a hot tub there, and also a sauna and a steam room. I thought again about the fact that I miss having a steam room and hadn't gone to a gym that had one since 2008. There were, of course, lockers - it was a locker room after all. But there were no toilets. So I realized I had to wake up if I wanted to go to the bathroom.

It was 5:30 AM when I woke up. I thought I'd stay awake, but I fell asleep again.

And in this second dream, I was at home again, but some friends from the recent past had come back to visit. It was really nice to see them, but then they decided they wanted to get a picture of me laughing. I didn't want to take a picture, so one of them tickled my feet while the other one took pictures. I told them if they posted the pictures on Facebook, I'd kill them.

And this is how I found out that I am ticklish even in my dreams.

The manuscript of no return

I had gone on a trip, to a work outing of a sort; an offsite. I do not remember very much except a short plane flight on a very small, maybe a 16-seater plane. I had spoken with the pilot as though he were a bus driver. The  plane was well-outfitted with pale lacquered wood and almond-colored leather; very 1980s millionaire chic. Yet none of us were millionaires.

We got to our location and I unpacked my suitcase. Inside my suitcase was a story I had written. It was a story of my own thoughts and feelings regarding a sensitive matter, except with all names changed. However, someone who was mentioned quite a lot in the story did skim over the first page, just by glancing in my suitcase. Recognized it. Wanted to read more.

I was torn between handing over the manuscript, thus revealing all my private thoughts, and keeping it to myself even though I thought what was said there needed to be said. It was a moment of no return though; no matter what happened after that, everything would have changed one way or another.

I can't remember what my reaction was.

I woke up and the moral from the dream, to me, seemed to be to pack personal items in your suitcase underneath your clothes.

the etiquette of toys

In this dream, my sister lived in a colonial-era bungalow in India and I guess it was the colonial era, because she was not allowed to leave the house either. My brother-in-law was a wealthy landowner and would go out On Business. When he was gone, my sister was bored, so he would bring her beautiful wooden painted toys to keep her occupied. 

But she didn't like wooden toys; she liked plastic toys and would get other people in the house to bring her plastic toys.

My BIL found out about it and brought her a plastic toy on his next return home but was angry that she preferred the plastic toys over the handpainted wooden ones. 

A heavy warm stay in Tri-Cities

From Sept. 10, 2011

I moved to Tri-Cities and stayed with the family of a friend there. The house was almost like an apartment building and had a garage apartment, but I slept in the actual house, not the garage apartment. I did not know how long I would stay there. 

I lived everyday life there with the family. It was a life I loved; I felt like I was living in a dream where everything was full of orange and brown, flecks of yellow, nostalgia from a childhood I experienced and from one my friend experienced all wrapped up into a shared nostalgia that we were still lucky to live in.

We then went bike riding in Moscow, because of course in this dream Moscow was part of Tri-Cities. However, as we were nearing the edge of the U of I campus, we heard there was a tornado warning and decided to head back. We did not see any tornadoes though; only rain in the distance. My friend's bike broke down and I had to fix it, which I did with little difficulty, and we made it back before the rain.

When we returned, I wanted to make tea, but in my own kitchen there were no pots and pans. I took some from the main kitchen and began to make tea. My friend's sister and mom came in and wanted to talk about how long I would stay, because the neighbors had seen a card with my name on it and had complained; they said that citizens were not welcome in this neighborhood, only immigrants. I told them that was ridiculous and illegal, but I was ready to move back to Pullman because I missed Anirban. I called him and he was happy to hear that I was coming back. So I got ready to move back to Pullman, bringing the orange and brown memories of nostalgia back with me.

When no one came to our rescue

I dreamt that AM and I were in Baton Rouge, and we needed to go to the Walmart on Siegen Lane. We went there, parked in the parking garage, and went inside. Once inside the Walmart, we were a bit confused because the layout was different from the one here. So we just walked to the back-left corner (as facing the store) and found that there was an area that looked as if it were under construction, and behind that plastic wall were a collection of cubicles. There were office workers working in the cubicles. I felt like maybe we shouldn't be in that area, so we went out to try to find what we were looking for, but we could not find it. We walked up to the front of the store, where the checkouts were and a large open McDonald's right before the checkouts. I kind of wanted to eat at McDonald's but I didn't say anything, and we went back out to the car.

When we got there, we found that we were unable to leave because a truck was blocking us. Except that the truck was mostly on top of our car. No sign of the owner of the truck. At this point, I tried to figure out what to do. My first thought was to contact the building management (there was a small office building connected to the Walmart, and you had to walk through a corridor to get there). I asked a middle-aged couple if they knew who managed the building and they looked at me like I was crazy. So I walked into the corridor and found a small plate near the floor with the management company's name on it. I noted that down, but then decided it would probably be a better idea to report it to the police.I didn't have the police phone number in Baton Rouge, and I didn't want to call 911. So I looked up the number on my phone and dialed.

The first time I called, I got a business in Connecticut. Apparently the phone number was wrong, or I had misdialed. So I tried again, and this time got the police station, but they were only open to take calls on Tuesdays and Thursdays until 5:30 PM, and it was a weekend and 5:35 PM, so could I call back on Tuesday? I told them no, that we only had one car and I needed it right now. They hung up on me.

AM, at this point, opened the car and sat in it, because it was getting a bit cold outside. When I saw this, I told him to get out of the car, because the weight of the truck on top of it could crush it at any time. He reluctantly got out of the car, but not before getting our guns out of the glove compartment, and handed mine to me. Just in case. I took the gun and put it in my pocket, and tried to call the police back again. This time, no one picked up.

There was more of a crowd at this time, people coming and going. No one seemed to care that there was a truck on top of my car. We decided we wanted to sit down, so climbed up to a grassy area that was half-inside the parking garage, half-outside, and sat against a concrete block. A bit later - perhaps around 7 pm - a yellow truck came into the parking lot, skidded a bit, and landed in a parking space. I told AM that this is probably how our car got in such trouble. Not a minute later, a red truck came in, did the same thing, but toppled over on its side. The owner got out of the truck, swearing, and went over to confront the guy in the yellow truck. A crowd formed around them, and they started fighting. They also had guns. Suddenly we all realized we weren't safe and people started to lie down on the ground. I grabbed AM and we hid behind the concrete block, as low to the ground as possible, which was kind of useless considering we were about 12 feet above where the action was going on. When people started getting up and running for the exit, we decided to do the same thing. We jumped down from the wall and lost ourselves in the crowd. We got through the door, outside the Walmart, and at that point we were safe. But we had left our cell phones on that grassy area, so after the excitement died down, we went back out to the grassy area (from the outside of the Walmart) and picked up our phones, which were still lying there.

I figured no one was going to come fix this problem unless I called 911, so I finally did. The 911 operator sounded bored, and when I told her that there had been an accident and I needed someone to come handle it, she asked if anyone was hurt and I said no, so she told me it wasn't an emergency. Instead of arguing, I hung up the phone and decided to try again, but this time when I called 911 the phone just rang and rang. Finally I did reach someone else, but they couldn't understand what had happened and after all this time - perhaps now it was 9 at night - no one had come to help us. At this point, I realized my gun was missing, but figured it was probably for the best, because if the cops came, I didn't want to have an unlicensed gun on my person, and I didn't know how to shoot it anyway. AM was getting excited about the idea that we would have a rental car that insurance would pay for, and I told him not to give up just yet, that the police would come and fix the problem. I did understand that the car was probably undrivable, but at this point, the police HAD to come. If they didn't, it was a failure on my part.

Bits and Pieces

I have to start writing my dreams down again. I need to remember these things, I know it. Sometimes I don't write them because they are a bit shocking even to myself. But I should still write. Shouldn't I?

Here are a few things I remember:

From the summer, silk sheets and a round blue bed. Negotiations. Superficial beauty and all the things that surround that. What is it that is wanted? Not all that glitters. It is funny how in my dreams and in real life, I end up wanting the same things.

In mid-fall, I found myself writing a novel in my dream. In order to write this novel I had to spend time in a Victorian mansion to find out what it was like. I lived every word of the stories that I wrote, beautiful, historical, romantic. What would life be like after the novel was published?

Last night I dreamt of a large house, perhaps early-mid 20th century, with peaked ceilings of wood and the most beautiful chandeliers, one of which I knocked down with a long metal rod and had to clean it up. It was not my house. AM and RS were still roommates and it was their house. They shared a room that had twin captain beds with navy blue bedspreads. I felt less bad that I had destroyed their chandelier than that I was clumsy.

Everything in my dreams is more sophisticated, more refined, more dark and mysterious, more mahogany, than the life I experience (less orange though, usually.) It is the world of Sherlock Holmes and a thousand mystery novels. It is crystal chandeliers, magnifying glasses, fragrant oils, analog, wood and metal, no plastic, urgent skies, reassuring humidity. It is time to think and to write, no hurrying, conversations of truth and beauty, authenticity, and trust. It is the world I believe in, the one I want to make real. But does reality have time enough for this?

Wanton Destruction

My sister had bought a house, and we were packing up her old house (which was on a street similar to our grandparents') so that we could get her moved into the new one. I also lived on this same street - with my parents and grandparents - in a big house that was similar (though not same) to the one that we lived in when I was in high school. My sister's house was across the street and to the left of the house I lived in.

About two houses down from my house to the right was an abandoned house that no one took care of anymore. On this house was a copper awning. My sister decided that she wanted that awning for her new house, and since it was an abandoned house that no one lived in anymore, it would not be such a problem if she took it. So she asked me to help her remove it. I was a bit concerned about this at first, because it seemed to be stealing, but she convinced me that it wasn't a big deal since it was an abandoned house, and I ended up helping her remove it.

When we removed the awning, though, we had to remove what was one of the main support points for the house, and that side of the house collapsed into a mess of bricks. It looked pretty bad :\ We loaded the awning into her car, which was some 80s monstrosity, and got ready to take it to the new place in the morning.

In the morning, I sort of realized that this wasn't a good idea and that we shouldn't have removed that awning from the house. I went to go tell her this, and she had come to the same conclusion herself. There was no way to put it back though now, so I was trying to figure out a solution that would give us the least amount of jail time for Wanton Destruction of Property.

Then the solution came to me in a flash: Wake up! So, I did.