(This dream entered only in daytime paper journal. No time/place info for entry.)
One dream vaguely remembered from last night.
Dream 1
Don't remember the beginning or the premise of the beginning.
I was fly-jumping up a hill of dormant, dry, tan, and purplish-pink grass on a grey day, trying to catch up with some man (my friend R?) and an artist woman. I wasn't quite able to fly up the hill as well as I could fly-jump over a flat surface.
I was afraid that I was losing my ability to fly-jump at will. But now -- the landscape changed to something indoors, like a smallish museum or a business or hotel building with a sculpture garden in it -- I was back to jump-flying regularly.
R and this unknown artist lady, who looked like the leonine math teacher in Fellini's Amarcord in a black dress, were now standing somewhere on a second or third level with me. R mentioned sculptures to the art lady as if they were my sculptures.
I don't remember what happened after this. Now I stood by some long, messy table at which R sat, either at the side or at the head. The table was kind of smashed up and covered over with papers, but it at least used to be classy.
We were in a smallish room like an apartment bedroom. It felt a little cold, as opposed to the rest of the "museum hotel," which, though resembling nothing more than a series of tiers and floors of living rooms and living room-like lobbies connected by stairways, like a suburban MC Escher, felt very warm and welcoming throughout.
Both R and I were anticipating the visit of R's girlfriend Y. But once she got there R seemed distant and consumed by whatever work was on the table.
I hung out for a second or two before telling Y she had to come see the sculptures in this place, one in particular, a fountain sculpture of a young girl. The sculptures were now the work of the artist woman.
Y and I walked out into the main area, walking along something like a balcony which overlooked some tiers and stairways. I began fly-jumping again. At first, once again, I didn't quite believe I could do it. But something in me loosened up. Y kept up with me somehow, though she wasn't fly-jumping. In fact, she was impressed by the fact that I could do this.
We came to either a ripped-out, torn-out section in the balcony or else a large, long stairway down and then back up in the middle of the balcony. I thought to myself, This is the big test whether I can really fly-jump. I jumped across the gap, barely making it.
But we weren't finding the sculptures. we weren't heading down onto the first floor (or basement?) even though that's where the sculptures were, because we didn't want to go down until we came right to the sculpture I was looking for.
Sculptures had started filling the lower levels, standing on pedestals, hidden behind strange, carpet-covered walls, standing in the center of hexagonal couch arrangements, guarded round by fences, standing all alone. They were all black, perhaps some kind of lead. They were done in a quaint, lovely early twentieth century style, or actually more like the early style of Rodin. Most of the sculptures were busts, especially busts of men.
At some point we two decided we had to go down to the lower levels to find the sculpture of the girl. We mazed around through there until we finally reached the sculpture (? -- I can't say for sure if we reached it. It may have been that as we searched I was never quite able to envision the sculpture to know exactly what to search for, and then that I at least could envision the sculpture).
But as soon as this happened we two were in some kind of small basement bedroom. At first the warm incandescent light was on. There was a bed against the long wall opposite the closed bedroom door. Over the bed was a window covered by blinds. I don't think there was anything else in the room.
Somehow Y and I were now laying in bed together. We were just friends, and we were just hanging out, talking about something. But I now managed unconsciously to have put my arm around her.
Y laughed at me as we lay there and said something like, "So even you were only pretending not to be sexually attracted to me. It kind of gets troublesome after a while."
Now the lights were out. Y and I were holding hands in some way so that my arm was still under and around her but was bent up at the forearm and perpendicular with her arm, which was also perpendicular.
It seemed to be thundering and raining outside. I cracked open a view between two slats of the blinds. The window was dotted with smattering raindrops. The sky was a streetlamp-orange purple. We were right next to a bridge like the Brooklyn Bridge, except skinnier. It was the middle of the night.
One solitary man walked past the window, saw into the window, and hurried his walk. I knew he was one of R's employees, and that he would now tell R what he had seen. I tried to get Y out of bed. But she kept pulling me back down and laughing, still holding my hand.
Now the lights were back on. There were now two beds in the room -- in an upside-down L shape, or a 7 shape. By the lower bed, which lay at the foot of the bed we had been laying in, was my backpack.
Y rolled out of bed, possibly covered by the blanket. She crawled toward the door, laughing a little. We could hear R laughing bitterly from some distance down what I "saw" as a dark hallway.
I now rolled out of bed. I had all my clothes on, but I also didn't have all my clothes on. I was looking for my clothes. I crawled, dramatically, desperately, yet in slow motion, toward my backpack. I must have stood at one point.
I heard R say something at some point. Y said to me, "Well, he's going to find us. We've been caught in the act."
I now collapsed over my backpack. I was upset of course, that I'd betrayed my friend and was about to hurt his feelings so bad. But I was also afraid, literally weak in the knees, because I knew R could kick my ass.
Y was still chuckling, as if this was all kind of fun and exciting. She told me something like, "Oh, get up. come on. Get up, you idiot."
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