Willa's Journal - Dream Journal

November 21, 1999:

Pyewacket kept escaping from the house through some sort of opening--not the doors, and not a cat door, just some sort of break in the wall, or a hole, or something.

Bob wanted to put a collar and leash on her and tie her to one of the patio chairs, but I said what if a big dog came along, she couldn't get away.

He said that there weren't any dogs big enough to bother her out there, but I wasn't convinced.

November 20, 1999:

Bob falls and hurts his shoulder. I'm watching this from a distance; someone who is close by says they think he's dead. I call 911, praying all the while that he isn't dead. He doesn't seem to be--he lies there, clutching at his shoulder.

I'm supposed to be taking care of someone's pig. I'm afraid it's going to get away while I'm calling 911, and I think that I might be able to put it in my car, but I'm afraid it will make a mess. I can't think of any better place, though, and wonder if I got a small litter box and put it in the car, if I could get the pig to go in there. Then, the pig turns into a carrot. Someone sits down on it and breaks it, flattens it, and I say, "What about my carrot?" and scramble to pick it up and try to see if it's fixable. It doesn't appear to be.

Then, I'm among a group of Oriental people. I seem to be on a bed, riding through the street in some sort of parade. I'm wearing a bridal dress, and I'm afriad that it will catch on something and I'll fall off, or fall down the stairs. I try to tell someone, but no one is listening to me. Or perhaps they don't speak my language.

[This last part is interesting because when I was telling this dream to Bob at breakfast, he said, "Oh, that's because of the Korean wedding at the Floridian (one of Disney's hotels)." I said I hadn't seen the wedding, and he said that he and his parents had gone to the hotel and there was a reception or something going on there. He thought I had been there with them, but I hadn't. I seem to have picked this thought up from his brain, which I think is always pretty interesting.]

November 17, 1999:

I was working; the office was being renovated, or redecorated, and there was stuff everywhere. I was called out to the lobby, and when I got there, there was a man who said he was a big fan of my journal, and wanted to meet me. He showed me his gasoline credit card, which was supposed to indicate that he was who he said he was, and that he wasn't dangerous to me.

I told him I was glad to meet him, and asked him if he wanted to see my office, which he did, so we walked back that way. Somewhere along the line, he disappearance, and I ended up carrying around a little girl with Down's Syndrome, whose name was Dinah. At the time, I realized that I had named my cat Dinah after her, but wondered if anyone else thought it was strange.

Even though she was very heavy, I carried her around with me everywhere. When I got back out to the lobby, my admirer was getting ready to leave, and I shook his hand and said I was glad to meet him, and he smiled, and he had a decal of Mickey Mouse on his front tooth.

November 12, 1999:

I was at the ocean. There was a model of New York City, or some other large city, under the water. It was some sort of demonstration of how deep the water was, showing that there was an optical illusion of some kind, i.e., it wasn't as deep as it looked. Looking down on it made me dizzy, as if I would fall in.

On the beach was a pile of Pokémon cards; I thought they might be my niece Karrie's. I was looking through them, but as I did, I thought how I wouldn't be able to tell which were the valuable ones, then I realized that she probably would have already separated those out. I start climbing up a steep flight of steps from the beach, and when I reach the top, realize that I've left the cards down on the beach and have to go back to get them.

November 8, 1999:

Standing outside a concert hall, on the sidewalk, talking to Eric Clapton about how he would like to retire and just be a "regular person" for awhile. He said that he thought he could afford to do that, that he had enough money--"Not in my pockets, Willa, of course," he said.

Sitting in a large room where people were giving talks/presentations. I was over toward the middle of the room, sitting away from everyone else. On the left was a row of chairs were a group of women were sitting--the angels and singers. In front of them was a man who was in charge, or who had given himself the task of keeping the room quiet for the presenters.

The angels continually talked among themselves and giggled, and the man would turn around and speak to them sternly. I thought how glad I was that I hadn't sat with them, since I would no doubt be getting in trouble myself.

Toward the front of the room was a young boy and his mother, and the administrator-type (who reminded me both of Larry, a man I used to work for, now dead, and Bob's friend Darrell) turned on them and berated the boy for not being quiet. He (the boy) wouldn't stop shouting that he wasn't doing anything wrong, and his mother kept trying to quiet him, while trying to reassure him that he really hadn't done anything wrong, it was just the man's perception.

November 4, 1999:

Eating chocolate chip pancakes and talking to Robin Williams, telling him that the degeneration of the physical body was unimportant, that it didn't matter that we were getting older, that we remained the same inside, and that was what mattered..

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