Dream 1
I was in a doctor's office. I wanted to see my doctor, but nobody would let me. I got mad. I filled out (or had filled out) a bunch of forms which I now handed to a line of receptionists, most of whom were young, tall, and handsome, but scraggly, men. I now found out that all these men were doctors who kept coming at me to prevent me from seeing my doctor, who didn't want to see me because I made him feel less intelligent. But I was coming to see him so he could help me help my brother.
I kept being forced right as I lost more and more forms to other doctors. One of the doctors found a stray scrap of paper on which I had written something nasty.
It was now determined that I was to see a certain doctor, young, tall, with a huge, frizzy head of hair. I handed him my papers and yelled at him that I wouldn't see anybody but my own doctor. He said okay, but I knew he had power to make me see him instead.
I ran out of the office. At first I just wanted to get as far away from it all as possible. But then it was like it suddenly didn't matter anymore.
It was dark, dry, and cool outside, like a late spring night in Flagstaff, perhaps. The building I came out of had a large lawn surrounding it that touched a road that seems now like a somewhat rural road. There were some buildings and a good amount of people, but it seemed like just a row, a longish stretch off road pulling together all the aspects of a high-class, small-town neighborhood without actually pulling itself out of a surrounding of lonely fields and forests of massive, leafy trees.
I felt incredibly happy as soon as I'd left the building a few steps behind. I took four or five steps before jumping and hovering four or five steps. I realized I was about to fly. I told myself to relax the next time I jumped, just to allow my body to float of its own accord. I flew up about thirty feet in the air.
People didn't seem to notice me. Everybody was happy, free, and easy, but unconcerned with anything except getting where they needed to go.
I knew I, too, was going somewhere. I followed this road as it all turned to tall, leafy trees. I knew this was a town I was familiar with. But I couldn't discern what town.
I hoped I wasn't dreaming. I thought, It would be such a letdown if all this flying hadn't really amounted to anything, not even an out-of-body experience.
I said, "No, you couldn't possibly be dreaming. You're going somewhere, aren't you?"
Now the forest road quickly ended in a "T" intersection, the road perpendicular to me, i.e. the top part of the "T,"
being something like a small town's main street strip lit up for the night.
I descended involuntarily only to discover that I was actually in a restaurant not unlike Casa Bonita in Denver, with mazes and corridors of seating areas ramping and plateauing and staircasing into each other.
I said, "Well, shit. I'm pretty sure this is a dream after all. I couldn't be in a restaurant like this today. That's not where I'm going, anyway."
Now a group of "my friends," they looked like the cast from The Life Aquatic, passed me and sat down at a table. There were about seven of them. They told me to sit down. But I had to get where I was going. They pointed me up a ramp (I had long ago forgotten that I was in a dream).
I was leaving, but I kept hearing some conversation from the table that made me want to go back. I kept seeing the image of work gloves with split-in-diameter cylinders of bamboo inside to cradle the fingers. When I got back, the Angelica Huston "friend" was talking about how she had been assigned to serve fifteen years in prison but how a friend had gotten her out in only fourteen.
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