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I’m up early to head to Sunday breakfast, but I’m glad to be up, because I had a fairly awful dream.

Susie and I were in Los Angeles, working not at our house, but in an office somewhere.

We made plans with Jae and Karin to meet for dinner.  I made reservations at a good Italian restaurant for about 9 o’clock, but didn’t tell anyone.  But because Susie and I had to work late, we didn’t end up going to dinner until about 11:30.

Jae and Karin were still up for going out, but now going to the place where I’d made reservations didn’t make sense anymore.

Susie and I drove over to meet with them, and we all ended up getting into one car.

Then we headed towards downtown, where something would still be open.  By this point there were five of us, but the fifth person was somewhat indistinct.  Perhaps Lance? Maybe someone from my high school? Unclear.

Because we were going downtown, we decided to take the metro.  But the station where we got on the metro was in a really sketchy area.  In my dream, it was one of the stations half way down the 110, but they were much rougher in my dream than they are in real life.  It was dark, and as we waited for the train, Jae, Karin and the other guy were getting nervous.

We decided to go back to our cars and drive.  We didn’t like the stares we were getting from the folks around.  It wasn’t crowded, and I don’t recall a particular person or group of people.  We went down the stairs from the platform, and under the tracks.  On the sidewalk under leaves to the side of the stairs, we could see needles.

Then we had to pass a tall black guy, an obvious druggie.  The sidewalk was fairly wide, and he stepped into the street to get around us.  He wanted to sell us a needle of something.  Everyone was now getting fairly freaked out, but I thought I knew best.  I looked at him and shook my head slowly. ‘No.’

He kind of backed off, and half-weaved, half-stumbled away.  Then we came back and offered us something again.  I had positioned myself between the ground and him, and again said no and tried to wave him away.  I remember thinking that I had been sure he’d go away if I handled him properly like I was doing.

He got mad and stumbled towards me.  He was angry, but weak and extremely messed up.  We grappled briefly.  He smelled of sweat and bad wine.  As we were wrestling, I felt a pain in my right shoulder.

I pushed him away, he fell back, and got up, and went away.  I walked over to Susie and unbuttoned my dress shirt from the top—I was dressed up in nice work clothes, including a tie, you see—and should Susie my shoulder blade and asked her if it was a scratch or a puncture.

She said it was a scratch, she could see from the shape of the little blood spots on my white undershirt.  I remember being relieved, that that meant I wasn’t injected with anything.  But I was still going to have to get tested for all sorts of nasty, and I could feel it burning.

I remember thinking that it was really weird that the druggie had gotten so aggressive, that I wasn’t expecting him to behave that way and that he’d done something that I hadn’t counted on.

* * *

So what does it all mean?

I think it means I have fears and worries involving leading a group, and trying to get people through the situation we’re in.

I think it means that I’m afraid of sickness, and afraid of being wrong, and afraid of being attacked.

And I think it ties in with a constant theme of addiction in my life—not that I’ve ever been addicted to anything.  But few would say that I’m NOT addicted to email, and I do frequently binge on certain mental stimulants—Sudoku, computer games, certain novels, etc.

I don’t often remember my dreams, so I’m more prone to give weight to the ones that stick around.  On the other hand, maybe the ones I remember have just as much sense as a message in a bottle thrown by an addled teenager of some far away coast, lapping up on the shore of my consciousness..


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Noise and Paving

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I Went to a Canadians Baseball Game


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