I think it’s important for writers to write down their dreams.
Here’s the latest, from the night of December 5th.
Brit Marling
photo by Gage Skidmore
I stood in a
store with glass counters before it opened. The woman training me emphasized I
was to be part of an elite team training others. Instead of clocking in at the
start of shift, we would develop a unique signature. I developed mine as HOBBIT.
She also said we would skip through lunch breaks to continue training. I
wondered if this was legal. We would each carry around some large, bulky box
that possibly had training materials.
Four more
members of the elite team walked in, all female. The lead woman walking in was
a slim blonde with long hair. She was about my height. She was smart and
attractive, and I hoped to spend time with her. She had written her signature,
Brit Marling, on her right cheek in cursive.
I wrote my
signature, HOBBIT, on the front of my right shoulder. I saw that at such an
awkward angle, the letters came out distorted.
For some
reason, I hadn’t shaved in a few days. My whiskers had grown long in patches,
sticking out in odd angles from my face. I hoped the women would not notice.
We were now
sitting in a lecture hall, students at an elite school. I was sitting directly
in front of the blonde, with my row a level down from hers. I hoped I could
spend time with her. The lecturer was a typical bearded type with glasses. He
was standing at an overhead projector and going forth on a Christian subject.
A fellow with
fuzzy hair and beard interrupted. He said in a helpless voice, “I’m close to
following the teachings of E. It’s similar to Amish. You know, it stays close to
the earth.” He meant he was thinking of abandoning everything and joining some
religious agrarian community.
The lecturer
looked offended. He said, “You know E. is anti-semitic.” He immediately
produced an overhead transparency which he put on the projector, showing E.
with unkempt hair and beard, part of a protest. He clearly held up a protest
sign with an anti-semitic slogan.
The fellow
said, “I know” in a way that showed he didn’t change his helplessness or his
thinking.
The lecturer
went on to loudly denounce E.’s teaching. He ended by saying to the fellow
something like “Grow up!” but not so pedantic. He added, “I don’t have time for
this,” and went back to his lecture.
After the
lecture was over, I walked across the street to do something. I returned to the
incredibly large lobby. The blonde was standing there with three other women. I
walked up to them, mainly interested in her. They quite naturally accepted me
as part of their conversation.
We walked off
together. The blonde was now much taller than I was and wearing a thick coat.
It now seemed we were part of a medical school. She said, “We were discussing
how we have a pinched nerve.”
I said, “You
mean, how you have a pinched nerve.”
She smiled and
said I was right. “It was left after a procedure I had.”
One of the
other women had light brown hair. I stared at her face a few moments to get
familiar with her features.
There were now
just three of us walking. The blonde offered to introduce us to Donald Trump. I
agreed.
We were now in
a hotel, and we walked into a conference room. The three of us didn’t seem to
be students. Donald Trump was on the other side of a long table. He was in a
business suit, and he seemed to be a famous businessman, not president. He
spoke in his fast, sales pitch style. He offered to adjust the blonde’s spine.
She lay face
down on the table. She was no longer wearing her thick coat. She pulled up her
top somewhat to reveal her lower back. I said, “I need to leave.”
She said,
“Why?”
I gestured and
said, “Bare skin.”
She didn’t get
it and said I should stay.
Trump continued
to speak in his sales pitch style. He said, “I will now adjust the T3
vertebra.”
[This was
completely incorrect. The T3 vertebra is thoracic 3, in the mid back. He was
about to adjust L5, in the lumbar region.]
Even though he
was standing to the right of her, he somehow did a chiropractic kind of
adjustment to her L5, shifting it from left to right.
The blonde got
up and was immediately better. Now wearing her heavy coat again, she offered to
pay him fifty dollars, getting the fifty dollar bill out of her pocket.
Trump produced
an envelope. He said if she wanted to, she could give it to a favorite charity
of his. He announced the registration number of the charity. He held the
envelope so a closed-caption camera could see the number on the envelope. He
obviously realized he could get in trouble for accepting a fee for a service he
was unlicensed to perform, and for doing it in a hotel.
#
Since this was my dream, I know the interpretation of it. I’ve
redacted the names of the innocent, and the guilty. Have fun with any comments,
but only the dreamer knows the interpretation.
