(
Entered in paper journal at 7:41 AM at home.)
Dream #1
I was at "my office." I had been fired by the head of my department, MR. I walked through a floor of trading desk tables. The area was empty, lit with dim, greyish fluorescent light. To my right was a grey wall. To my left were the desks. AT the left end of the rows of desks was another wall, with offices set into it. As I walked along, I thought about having been fired.
I now sat in the far left corner of the floor. There were a few other people around. I sat in a chair while a girl knelt before me. We were talking about something. The girl was short, pale, with a cute, roundish body, and brown hair, probably in a layered style. The girl had pale blue eyes. She wore a fancy, black dress, the top of which seemed a little sparkly while the bottom seemed somehow layered or frilly.
I was apparently wearing dress clothes, but I was also trying to take off a little lingerie miniskirt, which I had apparently been wearing. (
This was a skirt I actually had as part of my transvestite collection: a tiny, turquoise-colored, satin miniskirt with a sheer, pink fringe around the bottom.)
There were a couple guys working near me, to my left. The were big and maybe dressed a little roughly. Another man, a big, tough-looking businessman, walked up and spoke with me and the girl. When he saw that I was taking the miniskirt off, he tried to ignore me and keep talking. But he made a grunting or throat-clearing sound to show his annoyance. He walked away.
I was ashamed to thing what the girl would think about me having worn this lingerie. But the girl seemed attracted to me because of my transvestism. She stood me up, possibly taking me by the hand, and led me into an office.
The girl sat down in the chair behind the desk. I knelt before her. She whispered something into my ear which seemed to me to mean that she would like to see me in lingerie. She seemed to be inviting me to her house so I could dress up fro her.
But the girl was saying everything in an obscure way, and her words themselves were somehow very hard to understand. I asked the girl to repeat what she'd said. She did so, but I still couldn't understand. I asked her again. I could tel that she was now getting annoyed.
Dream #2
I was in an office. I had probably just gotten fired. I walked through aisles of trading desk tables. The floor was mostly dark, as if only faint lights from somewhere else lit the room. There were two aisles of table desks. I stood in the left aisle.
In the right aisle, a couple rooms ahead of me, my co-worker NN sat with some other administrative assistants, talking about one of the heads of our department. The head was a woman who had recently become gay or come out as being gay.
NN was showing internet photos to the other assistants: pictures of a man like the director of our department, MR, swinging on something like a strip-club pole and wearing nothing but a diaper-like object made out of gold, red, green, and white striped wrapping paper.
NN said that the newly-outed department head had always engaged in sexual activities like the one pictured with her husband (who may have been another departmental head at the company), so that everybody thought guys turned the woman on, but just in a weird way. But then the woman had come out as gay, and that struck everybody as being even weirder.
I now stood in a large, marble lobby. The floors, ceiling, walls, and columns were all a pinkish-tan, polished marble. I stood on a second level. Down a level from me (to my right, and down by escalator) was the main lobby or entrance for this building. There may have been window walls for the entrance, letting in a lot of natural light.
To my let was a wall (perhaps a tan, unpolished stone, not marble?) with two arched doorways (or, perhaps, at first, just one doorway) in it. This floor was like a mezzanine balcony. It was maybe fifty feet wide and moderately busy with people. Someone stood before me and down a ways. The person looked like a security guard, but he was accomplishing basically the same task I was.
Cars would come from my right (possibly having come up the escalator?) and pass into the doorway to my left. I was overwhelmed with anxiety from having the cars constantly passing so close to me. I was probably here waiting for somebody or waiting for a certain time to pass, and I didn't want to be bothered by the cars. So I backed away a bit, to the second doorway.
Now it was like the entrance way through which the cars passed was one large square, like a theatrical proscenium. The cars passed across a shallow, dim hallway, like a hallway at the Schwarzman branch of the New York Public Library, and then through an arched doorway.
There were a right and a left doorway. The cars had to pass through the right doorway. I stood over at the far left end of the proscenium, trying to stay away from the cars. At the right end was the security guard, who now also stood by a little booth and had an automatically rising gate-post beside him.
At first, the cars kept going through the right doorway, like they should have. But they then began veering as close to me as they could. I felt like they were veering toward me because they didn't like something about my looks. They wanted to intimidate or annoy me by driving close to me. They all understood that they had to go through the right doorway, and that the left doorway was no good for them. But they all drove as far left as possible, to get as close to me as possible.
The cars were all small, possibly made by an Italian manufacturer. Inside, driving, were mature, tough businessmen, like the businessmen in Italian films from the 1960s.
I thought, Well, they'll only be hurting themselves by driving through the left door. To prove this to myself I followed one car as it drove through the doorway. The car immediately hit a downward staircase (wide, tan, marble). It couldn't stop. It stayed upright, but it comically tumbled down the steps.
I now thought it would be fun simply to lure cars into the left doorway, through their anger at me, and watch them destroy themselves. I lured another car in. Then I lured another car in and followed it. The staircase was now a thin escalator, a little grimy, like an escalator down to a lower subway. The hallway was thin.
The car, like a longish, roundish car from the 1930s (
my drawing doesn't do it justice), sped onto the escalator and almost immediately flipped over, then toppling over to the left side of the escalator. A wall may have saved it from toppling over the side. But I had a bad feeling the car was going to explode. I may also have seen the second car stalled somewhere near the third car.
I ran back out to the mezzanine. I felt awful: I'd actually caused physical danger by playing an awful mind game with people. I needed to go get help before the car exploded.
The building was now somehow like a movie theater. I flew toward the escalator down to the lobby. I was with two girls. I flew down, slightly ahead of them and over the escalator, while they rode the escalator down. There were bright lights and colors somewhere, possibly coming from some large display. I could somehow see that it was night outside.
I was still apparently rushing out to get help, but I was also with these girls, who had just come from watching a movie. The girls were making some kind of gossip talk about movie stars. I thought, Don't these girls realize what a dangerous situation we're in? I stood on the ground and pushed the door open.
I now sat in a Mexican restaurant with three women. To my left sat a girl like my friend KB. We sat across the table from two other girls, one of whom was intellectual but girly, and the other of whom may have been more tough and solid, like KB.
The restaurant was tall, like it was two stories in height, with the second story as just a balcony running along the walls. The place was empty except for us. We sat at a long row of booth tables before the large square bar which stood at the center of the restaurant. It was night, and the restaurant was dim, with no light on over us and only some incandescent lights over a small area of booth tables which led back to the kitchen to my left.
The girls were all talking gossip talk, possibly about lesbians or about being lesbians. I didn't feel too engaged in the conversation. I might now have been sitting to KB's left.
A waiter walked up to me. He was Mexican, of medium height, but gaunt, bony, and bald, so that he appeared to be tall. He wore an all-white uniform and was pushing a cart, like a cart full of bussing trays and dinnerware for cleaning. The waiter spoke as if he was to get the whole order for my party from me alone. I told him something. He began to walk away.
I may have turned forward, but I then felt a strong hand forcing my head to the left, so I was turned almost 180 degrees in my seat. I broke out of the hold violently and was about to sit forward, when I noticed that the person who had turned me around was the waiter. I thought, Well, I'd better be nice to him. I don't want anybody spitting in my food.
I looked politely at the waiter. The waiter looked very concerned. He bent down and whispered in my ear, "You better be careful, Casanova." It took me a second to understand what the waiter had said, as if the words had been all garbled.
The restaurant seemed a little more populated now. There seemed to be red neon light filling the area. There may have been music playing.
I thought, Why would the waiter have called me Casanova? I then realized it was because I was the only guy sitting with three girls. I thought, If the waiter only knew that these girls were all lesbians, he might not be so worried.
