There was an actor named Robert Portuguese that I was infatuated with. He was a big, burly guy with a beard. I adored him. I had been a secretary in an office, but I was going to be something like a project manager, and there was a young blonde girl who was going to be the secretary.

I had cleaned out my desk and moved it to the other side of the room, but we were still going to have to figure out how to get another desk in the room.

Robert was talking to me, and the whites of his eyes and his teeth were so white that they had a blue cast. I was listening to him and trying to figure out who his voice reminded me of, and I finally did--Eric Clapton. He asked me, "Have you been doing anything creative?" and the blonde answered no, but I interrupted her and said that yes, I had been.

He was making a movie, and there were three young boys in it, too, one of them blind. In the movie they were supposed to go up into a building and rent an apartment from Robert; they were very star-struck, though, and weren't sure they could remember what they were supposed to do.

To put them at their ease, he throws a football out the apartment window to them, and it comes so fast that it flames on the way down.

Then we're climbing down the outside of the building, along some wrought iron balconies, and part of the balcony comes away from the building. I find another way down, and he's proud of me.

I'm driving to work; it snowed overnight, but the plows haven't been out. There's not a lot of snow, but just enough to make it difficult to drive. I'm having to pedal, like pedalling a bicycle, and I'm not making much progress. I keep pedalling and pedalling, but not getting anywhere.

Also, I keep falling asleep. I need to pull off somewhere and get a Diet Coke, but I'm afraid if I get off the highway I won't be able to get back on.

Then suddenly I realize I don't know where I am. I think about, and figure out that instead of getting on the entrance ramp to the highway, I got on the access road. I'll have to get off anyway, and get back on the highway.

I got a tattoo. There was a place near Disney World--or some other, similar, theme park-type place--maybe something like San Diego's old town or someplace like that--it was my name in Chinese (or a similar Oriental language) characters, plus I had gone back and had another character put on at the bottom, but I couldn't remember what it said. I liked it, though.

I called the tattoo parlor and asked how much I had to pay--this was after I had the tattoo--and after awhile, the tattoo artist came on the phone and said that it would be $275. I thought this was quite a lot, but since I hadn't checked beforehand, didn't feel I could argue about it. I was wondering whether he would take a credit card, assuming I had one with me.

So I went back to the place, and had to stand in a really long line in order to get back to the tattoo parlor and pay the guy, and while I was standing in line, I saw Dave. I called to him, and he came over, and I showed him my tattoo, and told him that it was just now starting to itch.

He said he liked it, mostly because -- I interrupted him here -- "because it doesn't look like anything, right?" and he agreed.

I finally got up to a part of the store that was like a juice bar, and they told me I wouldn't have had to stand in line, I could just have gone on back to the tattoo part. So I get back there, and while I'm figuring out how to pay the guy, I ask him to remind me what the second part of my tattoo says, and he says it says, "Hulia." ("Julia" pronounced with the Spanish "J" as "H".)

I was in Japan with a group of people, including Michelle from work. I had the feeling that I had been there before--everything seemed familiar to me, but I couldn't remember for sure. It was like I had been there years before, long enough ago that I had forgotten. It was all sort of hazy.

We were having dinner in a restaurant--Cello was there, and he was apparently making arrangements with a group of men for me to go out with one of them later. I pretended not to notice.

A steak was brought to me that was half rare and half well-done--I tell them I only want the well-done portion, and only half of that, so they take it away to divide it.

Then I'm outside an apartment, and am apparently supposed to defend it. There are people who come to fight, and they are tied by their feet and lowered into the courtyard--we untie them to fight them, and at the time I wonder why we don't just leave them tied up. I call for help, but whoever is inside the apartment won't come out.

Then I'm at a mall, waiting for something--perhaps for someone to come pick us up to take us somewhere. We are waiting inside an arcade. I want to go into some of the stores, but I'm afraid "they" will come and I'll miss them if I'm not in plain site. I decide to take the risk, and hurry into a couple of stores, then hurry back.

There are some tables set out in the corridor, and I go through some laminated tags. Some of them seem to be made out with "natterwick.co.uk" addresses, as if Natterwick was a real place--there's a whole series of things with the Natterwick address on them, and I can't figure out why, but it excites me.

I suddenly remember that Mike and I were here before, in Japan, and we went to Tokyo Disneyland together. There are photographs, advertisements for TD, and I think I see our picture on them.