yata

L.K means the K-th dream on the L-th day of good recall.

7.1

I go to the bookstore/cafe area at my school. There's a card table set up as a desk in the ambient space to the left of the enterance. On the card table/desk thingy is a tablecloth with some writing on it that says "bias-free line." There is a huge line of students lined up here. They seem to be paying for their items at the desk instead of at the "usual spot," which, in my dream, happens to be a mirrored image of where it usually is: normally on the left-hand side, it's now on the right as you enter. I see Friend EH in the line. I ask what's going on. He tells me that this line is for people who want to buy items without being discriminated against or neglected my the workers.

But the other line, the line for "biased service" is only a few people long. I decide to take my chances. The "bias-free" line is like 50 people long. I pick out some Mini M&Ms, and at the last minute I grab a pack of Sour Skittles. I am about to pay, but the lady who's standing there, ready to assist people in the "biased service" line, goes away as I walk up to the cash register. Seriously, lady?

My annoying neighbors, in real life, start playing some loud, repetitive, bass-heavy music.
I wake up.

I had done RWI before going to sleep, but due to the annoying neighbors playing awful music at 9am,
I forgot the rest of the dreams I'd had.

I may have even been lucid. Who knows...?

These dreams took place over the course of the last week.
Recall has fluctuated a lot.
L.K means the K-th dream on day L.

1.1
I am sitting in my high school AP Gov class, debating a book's usage of a Ben Franklin quote. I don't remember the quote itself. Maybe the exact quote was never actually in the dream, but only the concept that a Ben Franklin quote was just read aloud. I said that the usage couldn't have been what Franklin intended, since "America's founding was based on Athenian democracy." I asked the teacher, who was the one who actually taught my class in real life, "So is this story supposed to be post-present? Then why is the government fascist?" (In retrospect, none of this sounds anything like the AP Gov curriculum, nor does it sound like an even remotely intelligent discussion.) Friend AF was there too, but didn't say much.

1.2
Kinda related to dream 1.1. Was it the last day of classes for that year? My classmates and I had been sent off to buy party food at the local market. (The one where we'd occasionally buy lunch.) I was supposed to get frozen deserts: ice cream and popsicles. The popsicle flavors were unusual: lime, coconut, oreo (what the heck?). I was buying vanilla ones, as directed. (They seemed like creamsicles really.) It seemed like I'd been sent on the trip by my AP Gov teacher, but also by my math teacher. But it seemed like only one was doing anything like throwing a celebration in class. It was either/or, but my dreamstate was logically foggy enough to tolerate the potential contradiction there.

2.1
A dream on a beach. Grey sky, 30 degree sloping sand. I am with my dog, but a big black and white dog (a Border Collie, maybe?) is chasing us. (It looks very similar to a black and white dog I painted as a kid, though I didn't realize this until I woke up.) I have to push the dog out of the way; my palm redirects his snout away from my smaller dog. Oddly enough, when I looked back over at my dog, her snout looked shorter, and was a bit upturned. She looks vaguely princess-y, which doesn't suit her at all.

2.2
Another dream, in a watery world with lots of greenery. There is a big lake full of 20-foot diameter lily pads, and a bunch of stilt houses. In the distance there are mustard-yellow sand dunes and palm trees. I recall very little of what happened. It sort of seemed like part of a movie I was watching, and sort of like a video game. I eventually seemed to fight some boss battle against a creature resembling the Omega Pirate from Metroid Prime.

2.3
Another dream. Vaguely Harry Potter-like. (Similarities with the Gringots transportation system, the Ministry of Magic's toilet entrance, and Hermione Granger.) Me, Emma Watson, and some other random people enter a public bathroom in the subway station. The florescent lights are out, save for one, so it's pretty dark. The walls are made of cinder blocks and concrete. We all step into the wheelchair-accessible stall, where there's an fancy old-fashioned steel-cage elevator. We all get in. Emma Watson presses a button to take us all back to "the apartment." (Do we live together?) The elevator goes up, slides along the high ceiling, through a ventilation shaft whose opening is oriented perpendicular to the ground. The elevator exits the ventalation system. We turn right, and right again, and hover above an empty stall in a different subway station bathroom. The elevator plunges through the floor, and drops me and Emma Watson off in a stairwell.

The stairwell resembles the one in Eddy Morra's chinatown apartment (from the movie Limitless). The main difference is the stairs go up the opposite direction; the torque of the stairs is downwards in the movie, but upwards in my dream. Additionally, there's a large window situated to the right of the stair steps we've been dropped off at. Outside the window is a street, and across the street is some random inner-city shops, grey sky, trees with waxy circular leaves and light-grey bark. I am about to open the front door, but I hear shouting and furniture banging around. I knock on the door. A bullet whizzes past me, from through the door. I move to the right side of the door, back near the window. I jiggle the door handle, so that whoever is doing the shooting will think I'm still there, and will waste bullets. He shoots so many holes through the door that one could easily push a big chunk of the wood from the door right through. I wait silently. The shooter approaches the door, and pushes a big portion of the door's wood through. Just what I thought would happen.

The shooter sticks his head out. It's Tracy Morgan. (Lolwut?) He sees us and tries to shoot. I push Emma Watson out of the way, and move in front of the door. He'll have to turn his gun, a silver six-shooter, about 90 degrees in order to shoot me. But I won't let that happen. I grab his hand with my right hand, and the muzzle of his gun with my left. His wrist strength against two arms? No way. I turn the gun on him, and blast his brains out. Geez.

Anyway, I open the door, and walk in. The place is poorly lit, but there's light creeping in from the dusty horizontal blinds on the windows. My parents are inside; my Mom is at the narrow end of a ceramic table with tiles embedded in it, and my Dad is sitting in the middle of the long side, with his chair turned to face the TV. They seem unaware of the whole Tracy Morgan incident that just took place. They tell me they're about to watch a movie, and ask if I'd like to join them. I ask what they'll watch. I begin reading the decription on the DVD envelope. It's not that great-sounding. I hesitate, and ask if we can watch the movie from dream 2.3. (I didn't ask verbally though. It seemed more like telepathy.) My Dad points out that Natalie Portman is in this movie. I decide to watch it. I sit on the light-beige carpeted floor, leaving against an unoccupied grey couch behind me. In the movie, Natalie Portman has shoulder-length lavender colored hair, but I hardly found it unusual, (nor should I, necessarily) since "it's just a movie."

After the movie ends, I get up and go to the fridge. There are shrunken heads inside, in glass jars. They're marinading in something. I freak out, and wake up.

3.1
I go to a shop with beige walls, with depth about 100 feet, and width about 20 feet. The far end of the otherwise barren room has a sloped refrigerating shelf, (kinda like the place in Starbucks where bottled drinks are, but much steeper angle and many more levels). The shelf is taller than I am. There are lots of elixirs and nootropic beverages on the shelf. I pick out a JustChill which has a greenish color in place of the customary blue. I also buy a second drink, whose details I don't remember or maybe never dreamed up.

I head to my Dad's office, which seems to be in the Physics research building on campus. Huh. His office is long but not deep. About 30 feet wide, 7 feet deep. There are two windows, each with has black horizontal metal window shades. A yellowish light radiates from from the ceiling, onto beige walls and a chevron-shaped desk, made of glued together bits of recycled-wood. It's nestled into into the corner. I tell him "these drinks are great for focus," and that "they even have blueberry flavor," although that isn't the flavor I bought. He thanks me for telling him, but declines to try one.

4.1
I am in a girl's dorm room. The room has royal blue walls, and a 2 foot wide square window, across from the door. Between the door and the window is a desk of opaque tempered glass, like the one in my room. I'm sitting sideways in her swivel chair. Outside the window is the top of a tree, and the pale grey sky.

The girl has red hair, green eyes, a blue sweater, and a pink skirt. God she's cute. The rest is R-rated.

5.1
At an odd sort of apartment, where the wooden stairs come up to a wall, without there being a platform to stand on before getting to the wall. It kinda resembles Friend NH's place. Running parallel with the stairs' horizontal component is a hallway, with yellow wood floors, and white walls. Friend MZ has let me in, and I ask why he hadn't collected rent the money I send him a while ago. He gives an unintelligible answer, and I ask if it needs to be a paper check. He says no, and as he does so, he turns into Friend LM, but with an egg-shaped head. What the heck? He directs me to go down the hallway. He opens a white door full of glass windows. I see Friend MP inside the sun room, which has olive-colored shades covering the windows, and light creeping in through the edges. He raises a drink in greeting.

My alarm goes off, I wake up.

6.1
More border collies. A recurring dream? The context seemed a bit different. All I remember is that black and white dog from dream 2.1.

I had just come from a vast, brightly lit foot court, where the chairs were white plastic, the tables, floor, and counters were white marble slabs> It had a (low) ceiling resembling the ceiling of the business school. It sort of looked like that french restaurant near school too. Light streamed in from above, and I went to order something at the counter.

Walking with somebody into a brightly lit and spacious room resembling that old physics lounge, I attempted to eat a twix bar, which I unexpectedly found in my left jacket pocket. There was something wrong with the cookie part, and it tasted like bad vitamins. I spat crumbs into the trash and threw the bar in.

I proceeded to blame Michael Bloomberg. Was that who I was walking with? Maybe it was because of his paternalistic concern for the health of others, he had enriched the twix cookie to its flavor-death?