Like a lot of people, I have been having odd dreams, disturbing dreams.
Back in August:
Guys are leaving a comic book or fantasy convention. Someone, an older guy, gets shot in the back. The next day, the protagonist is outdoors, running to the car. But because the driver is fearful of another assault, the protagonist is hanging outside of the car onto the rolled-down driver’s side window. There are roadblocks all over the city.
A group of maybe 50 people in an assembly hall at a meeting to reorganize a committee of some sort. I am sitting on a bench to the left of the podium. The speaker is talking about the history of the previous entity. She said, “It fell apart because of HIM.” And she points to me, and there’s a spotlight on me. But I wasn’t upset because I knew she was correct. And there was even a smattering of applause for me.
ALSO: I was on a side road off a paved country road. Someone in my group decided to walk up to the main road to pick up a pizza. After he left, a Trailways bus parked near me. The driver said to me that he was stopping because flooding on that main road was imminent.
ALSO: My late friend Norm and his wife were running a very nice diner. Great prices, great service. The cans of soda were only fifty cents each. But there was no location for the kitchen, so where did the prepared food come from?
ALSO: I’m a part of a team trying to ascertain criminal behavior. The premise is that we can more easily manipulate males who aren’t first-born or onlies into doing something illegal. We’re in this control room watching it all.
There are plenty of others. But my notes, taken when I wake up about 3 a.m., are often too cryptic to discern.