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September 23, 1999: Bob and I were walking down on the Plaza, and Doña was walking behind us. It was a beautiful day, sunny and clear, and I would look behind me occasionally to be sure she was following. Suddenly I realized that I hadn't checked in awhile, and I looked behind me, she was trailing far behind. I motioned to her, and called, "Come on, baby," but she suddenly veered off into an alley. I told Bob to go after her and bring her back. Then I turned back around to face the way we were going, and there were two big dogs in my path. I realized that if Doña had kept on the path, she would have met the dogs, so I was glad she had been smart enough to avoid them.
 September 19, 1999: We were at Disney World on vacation--the first day. Bob and I had gone swimming, and he asked me if I was hungry, and I said I was, and he said we should go back to the room to shower and get dressed and meet his parents. It was nearly 10:00, and I thought that by the time we did that, it would be time for lunch, but I agreed, and then he was gone. I realized that I didn't know our room number, and the hotel complex (Dixie Landings) was HUGE. There was no way I could find it by wandering around. I looked in my bag for my cell phone, but it wasn't there--I had left it in the room, so I couldn't call him, and he couldn't call me when he realized I wasn't with him, and didn't show up. I found a phone and pressed "0," but nothing happened, just a long silence. I tried two more times, and the second time, I got a hotel operator. I told her who I was and asked her to look up my room number, but as I was talking to her, I realized that she couldn't/wouldn't do that, in case I was someone else. So I asked her to look up Bob's parents' room, and call them, and she did, but the phone just kept ringing and ringing, and no one answered, and no one came back on the line. I went into the main building of the hotel, and it was like a little country kitchen, painted white with yellow trim, with one of the walls wallpapered in a colorful fruit and vegetable pattern, and the other walls with a green lattice border around the top. I wandered around, looking for the phone operators' room, but couldn't find it, and didn't want to ask. I was wearing a swimsuit and my hair was grungy, and I felt very awkward and out of place. It was getting later and later, and I didn't know what to do. Then Bob was there. I said, "Have you been back to the room?" and asked, "Have you already showered?" and he nodded yes, and then he said, "You're not supposed to be here." I woke up, and told him my dream, and he said, "You're lost again." He promised to come looking for me if I don't show up where I'm supposed to be, and I promised to carry my phone with me.
September 18, 1999: I was on the Plaza. It was night-time, and it was raining, and I was wearing a dress and hose and heels (that's how I know it was a dream). I was walking along, and there was a truck parked on the sidewalk, and I couldn't get around it, and that was sort of the last straw. There was a car parked by the sidewalk, and I asked if I could have a ride. There were six people in it--two Caucasian men, two Oriental men, and two women. They said they would be happy to give me a ride, and I got in. They start driving, and drive all the way through the Plaza, and I'm beginning to wonder if they're ever going to stop. I don't say anything, though, and they finally stop in front of a Chinese restaurant. I tell them I'm glad they stopped, because I was worried they were going to drive all the way to St. Louis! They laugh, and say they've only stopped to change cars, and then they disappear. And I'm back on the Plaza again, in the rain. They've dropped me off in a parking lot that's on the roof of a building, and I have to walk down a long inclined driveway to get out. I resign myself to it, and start walking.
September 12, 1999: I was in a dimestore looking at a rack of small toys. I especially wanted a little plastic tray--like a tip tray--but couldn't find a "Barbie" one. I realized in the dream that I wanted it for the kitsch value, I didn't really want it as a toy as I would have as a child. I finally did find a Barbie one, but the one that interested me in the meantime was, I think, a "My Three Sons" one, except that the sons were all in their sixties. They were sitting around a kitchen table with "Mom" in the background (except, of course, there was no Mom in the original series, that was the point), and they were all elderly. And there was a poster on the refrigerator about one of the sons (the Fourth son?) who had died before the show aired. They were called things like Groovy Uncle Ernie and Nifty Uncle whoever. The carpeting in the store was loose, and every time someone came in the store, the proprietor would shake out the carpet, like you would shake out sheets and blankets on a bed, and it would settle down slowly, with the air puffing it out. I walked over to the other side of the store, and as I walked, I stomped down the air bubbles. I needed a sheet of paper, and a sheet of cardboard the same size. I got the paper, and then went to get the cardboard, and there was only one piece left. I thought it would probably be okay, and walked to the counter to pay for it. There was a notation on it that it cost one dollar per pound, and I was wondering how much it would weigh. I had two purses on my shoulder, and realized that I had brought both my current purse and an old one, which was stupid of me. I had tons of stuff to carry, and was trying to juggle it all. A woman rushed in, through the store, heading for the restroom, and when she came out, she couldn't find a video that she had brought with her to return. Everyone helped look, but no one could find it, and somewhere in that process I noticed that the store owner had disappeared. I asked another worker at the counter about him, and he said he had gone to the backroom, that sometimes he became overwhelmed by the fact that he was working in a store, and could be doing better things with his life.
September 8, 1999: I was covering myself with oil in preparation for a sauna, or, at least, something that involved steam and hot rocks. There were several other people with me doing the same thing, and although I didn't get the impression that I knew them, they seemed somehow familiar to me. There were also people watching us, and I marveled to myself that I didn't feel uncomfortable or self-conscious being naked in front of them. The dream was so vivid that when I woke up, I touched my skin to see if it was coated in sticky oil.
September 4, 1999: Dreamt about manipulating photographs in Photoshop, cutting them up and putting them back together in different ways, and about online auctions, and about a site called Gigabuys and the woman who was running it; her parents didn't like the man she was dating, and wanted me to do something about it. They sent me a duffle bag full of samples of things like shower gel and lip gloss, everything smelled wonderful. It was all supposed to make me make her come back home.
September 3, 1999: I was on a ship, an oceangoing vessel, like in Horatio Hornblower times, I imagine. That sort of time period. I was standing at the side of the ship, looking out at the ocean, which is incredibly active, with lots of huge waves and other boats and ships in the water The phone rang. I answered it. I couldn't hear what the person on the other end was saying, because of all the noise. I asked again who it was, and as I did, the captain of the ship walked past me. He asked me who was on the phone, and I said I didn't know yet, and he said if it was for him, that he wasn't there. I can't hear him very well, either, and I say, "What?" and he repeats not to tell whoever it is on the phone that he's there. So I wait a few beats, holding the phone down by my side, then get back on it and say sorry, I can't find him.
September 2, 1999: I dreamed a mystery story. I worked, or lived, at a motel in a resort area; more like a Minnesota or Lake Area sort of resort, not a tropical one. Cabins paneled in glossy knotholed wood, Adirondack sort of furniture, with green and red and cream upholstery in a burlap kind of texture. A man showed up there and was staying in the motel. An older man, seemed respectable and nice. I liked him. I had found a nice old leather satchel, small, made of beautiful golden colored oiled leather, with straps and buckles. I decided that I needed to pack this man's clothes in the satchel, as a surprise for him. I packed the things very carefully, trying to pack them neatly and have them all fit in the bag. As I was packing, I came across some clothes that were damp, as if he had sweated in them, and they weren't folded like most of the other clothes, but arranged as if they had been hurriedly pulled off--underwear inside of slacks, that kind of thing. And then I found a woman's dress and scarf. It was filmy stuff, purple and blue, and I held up the scarf to look at it, and to show it to another man who was there, who may have been some sort of manager or security person. He carried the scarf off with him and gave it to another man, a black man, who was definitely some sort of security officer. Perhaps a former policeman. The first man asked his friend to find out what he could about the scarf, and the security officer went off with it. I was regretting showing the scarf, because I really liked the visiting man, and knew that this was going to get him in trouble somehow. I continued packing, and then found an outfit of clothes that would fit a small boy--a small shirt and a pair of jeans. I stuffed them into the side of the satchel without showing them to anyone. The man is walking by the cabin, and he sees the security officer with the scarf, and he starts running up to the cabin. He says, "It's not what you think--she was my sister. We were on vacation in Miami, and we took the long way . . ." and I woke up.
I was in charge of arranging some sort of show that involved a musical presentation. There were two possible musical groups, one of them a somewhat "ordinary" folk music group, and the other, Snakefarm. The ordinary group agreed to perform for us, and then after they did, Snakefarm came to me and said they wanted to Well, ovbiously I would have preferred Snakefarm, but the other group had come to me first, and I really couldn't tell them thanks, but no. So somehow it happened that I had the idea that they both could perform, the first group first, and then the one I really wanted to hear. I was so excited to see them . . . The first group performed, having somehow acquired an entire orchestra at some point, and they were okay, but not very exciting at all. Then the auditorium cleared out while the band broke up their instruments, etc., and milled around waiting for the next group. I was sort of worried that no one would come back to hear Snakefarm, since, as I just realized, I had neglected to tell anyone that there would be a second act. I went and peeked in the door of the auditorium, though, and it was gratifyingly full. I was very glad. But then, right before they went on, Michael Delory came by where I was sitting with a few people, one of them an overweight adolescent boy, and he (Michael) was putting a stack of blue plastic boats up on a shelf above our heads, and he lost his grip, and they fell onto the boy's head. The boy immediately started sweating, and I wiped the sweat from his face, and I thought at first he was going to be okay, but then his intestines starting coming out of his mouth, and he had to stuff them back in. I was really worried that this was going to mess up the show, but an ambulance came and took him to the hospital, and the show went on. They sang "St. James Infirmary."
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