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I dreamed about the Javascript class I took last month (and am taking again starting tomorrow). There were cats there, and they were named Fear and Hunger, and there was a new one named Trouble. February 20, 1999 Mike had given me a book, and I thought, "Oh, that's nice," and set it aside, and then a little later I realized that it was a book about him. I hadn't realized that before. I started to look through it, and realized that it was also about the Mafia or something. I wasn't too sure what this was all about. Then he called, and we talked for a few minutes, and then a little while later he called again on the cell phone, and he said that he had just driven by and seen me standing in the window, which I couldn't understand since I thought he was in California. But I looked around, confused, trying to figure it out. At the same time I was trying to figure out how to file his phone number in the cell phone's memory so I'd have it the next time I needed it.
February 19, 1999 There was a bad accident on I-35. I was driving to work and heard about it on the radio. Someone had caused it, and it seemed as if someone had died, but I was a little bit hazy on the details. I got off the highway before I reached that part, so I didn't see it. Later, I was in a bar with Matt, standing at the bar ordering lunch (a turkey and Swiss cheese sandwich on an onion roll), and there were two women sitting at the bar eating lunch and talking about the accident. They said something about the person who caused the accident having worked where we worked, and Matt and I looked at each other, then I turned to the women and asked them to repeat what they had said. They weren't very friendly, but one of the women repeated what she had said about the person who caused the accident working the same place where we (Matt and I worked). We started talking about it, and I said, "Who could it be, everyone was there today," and we went over everyone that worked there and couldn't figure out who it was. Then it suddenly struck me--"Jerry," I said, and I started trying to think of ways that we could find out more about it, and find out if he was okay.
I was in a house, and was going out through the backdoor, a screen door. As I pushed the door open, a mass of cobwebs in the corner tore, and a couple of spiders raced for safety. When I got out into the back yard, someone told me that my cat had just walked by wearing a sun visor. I asked for clarification on that one, and it turned out that the cat had been carrying a sun visor in its mouth, but that the person who told me thought at first that it was wearing it.
February 14, 1999 Gross menstruation dream, with blood all over the bathroom, on me, and on someone's clothes that they had left there. It came out easily, though, by daubing with cool water on a washcloth. Ick.
Also dreamed that Pyewacket ate all the baby's breath from my Valentine's Day bouquet. I only remembered that when I saw the actual bouquet after I got up, and the baby's breath wasn't entirely eaten, only partially.
February 13, 1999 Reading a book on DHTML in the office with Matt, and discovering all kinds of weird errors in it. We take it in to show Todd and his office is light up brightly with what looks like hundreds of blinking lights from the servers, which additionally all look like they're made of transparent plastic, like the new beepers. We show him the book and tell him there are errors in it, and I point out that it's an O'Reilly book, even, and the cover (O'Reilly books always have a different wild animal etching on the cover) has a picture of a dragon with unfurled wings, which I realize even in the dream is a very cool detail.
My cousin is making Japanese boxes to conceal drugs, which are packaged in brick-shaped packages. I feel this is probably not a good idea, but I don't want to turn her in, so I serve as lookout so no one can see.
I'm involved somehow with a criminal who decides to cut some elevator cables, and he cuts them while the elevator is on a high floor, and filled with people. I tell him I don't understand why, if he had to cut the cables, he couldn't do it when the elevator was on the bottom floor so that the people didn't get hurt.
I'm visiting a huge house--this house has two separate and distinct areas. One is formal, nicely decorated. The other is very casual. There are long hallways between the two sections. I'm eating dinner there, and we are to go take a plate from the dining table in the formal part and walk with it over to the casual part where we'll get the food, and then bring it back. I'm a little worried about crumbs. And the plate that apparently is to be mine is a white, scratched Melamine plate. I look around, though, and all the plates and utensils and glasses seem to be mismatched, so I assume that it has nothing to do with me in particular. It does seem strange, but perhaps only eccentric.
February 9, 1999 I was trying to take some sort of dark, moody picture of myself using the downstairs bathroom mirror. I'd look at myself in the mirror, then turn the lights down a little more and look again, then I went and put on a gray sweatshirt with a hood and pulled it up around my face, but it still wasn't dark enough.
February 7, 1999 I was involved with some sort of soap opera type thing--sort of a New Age Dallas or something. There was a 40ish man--handsome, lean, blonde, and a woman that he was either married to or deeply involved with, and there was also a younger woman that he was attracted to and involved with somehow, and the older woman was angry with him for that. There was something about water rights to a body of water that was on their property, and at one point they all were sort of walking/swimming through the streams. Then I was in a bedroom with the younger woman and she was showing me how she had put a protective spell on a book so that no one could read it and divine her secrets--something involving the words "above" and "dove," I think.
February 4, 1999 I dreamed that I was dying. I didn't feel or look ill, but I only had a week to live. I had pancreatic cancer. I looked at myself in a mirror and thought to myself that I never thought that I would end up dying young, that it had never occurred to me that it would happen like this. It didn't feel horrible, it just felt strange to think that I wouldn't be alive in a week. Very strange.
I was at a beauty salon getting my hair cut and colored. She cut it first, and left one side too long. Two people mentioned it to me, and said that they could fix it for me. I was going to let them, then I remembered that I was still going back to get my hair colored (it was a dark brunette color), so I thought I'd just have the one who cut it do it. I said that to the second woman, I said, "I'll just have what's her name do it," because I couldn't remember her name, and she said, "Her name is . . ." in a very snotty manner, and I said, "I didn't mean anything by it, I just couldn't remember her name." I had apparently gone home between the two operations to shampoo my hair, so I gathered up the shampoo and conditioner and started back to the salon, but I was worried that she was going to be mad at me because I was late.
February 3, 1999 Bob and his dad have put alarms on all the doors of the house, and then Bob went out of town. I don't know how to disarm them, and one of them looks like a gun, which worries me. But I finally discover that there's one door--the door from the garage to the house--that doesn't have an alarm on it, so I feel both lucky that I discovered it and sort of smart, as if I've discovered a secret. I open up the back of his car--actually more like an SUV--to get something out, and discover that he's left all kinds of things back there that I at first think is mail, but later realize is bags of clothes and camping supplies. I start taking everything out and taking it into the garage, but after I've opened up the car doors three times, which seems to be some kind of signal, the car starts. This appears to be an alarm, also. I don't know how to stop it because I never turned it on, and I don't have the key anyway. And then it starts to move.
February 2, 1999 I'm in a hotel bar, and on the back wall is a trompe l'oeil painting of a narrow Italian cobblestone street, with tall apartment buildings on either side, some made of yellow brick and some terra cotta. The street is dark because the tall buildings block out the sunlight, but the sun comes through and glints on some of the windows. I walk up close to it and look at it, trying to figure out how it was done, because it really looks like I'm looking out into a street and not into a painting on a wall.
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