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Three Short Scenes

Morning of September 6, 2014. Saturday.

This was a series of three shorter typical dreams - after when I woke but fell into a fairly light sleep and a vivid dream state a short time later.

The telephone rings in real life and my wife answers. During that time I am sinking back into a dream state and am somehow aware that my brother-in-law is on the telephone, calling from America. Even though this is so unlikely as to be ridiculous to even consider the possibility, I am somehow convinced to a point where I try to wake myself more as I am certain of the conversation relating to him and his need to talk to me. Of course, I am wrong, and it was just the usual illegal marketing scam call-center call. Another day, another short circuit in dream “logic”.

The second dream is the typical “here I am at King Street in my old apartment” dream. I have not lived there for over twenty years. Of course my family is there as they are now and I have the usual concern that the landlord or landlady will realize we are using the apartment when it is supposed to be empty or I had been away for a very long time not paying rent. This time it is the northeast corner apartment and I am sitting on the floor near the south end of the room listening to music with a slight concern that our activity will alert the owners to our presence. My wife is sitting on the bed facing south and everyone else is in the northern area of the room. I do not question the short-circuiting faux “logic” of how we could possibly all live in one smaller apartment or why our possessions are somehow “still” there after us being supposedly absent or not paying rent for so long, but that is how it is. Interestingly, the usual liminal state of being in “both” places occurs for a time.

The third dream opens with me sitting on the middle of a couch in a smaller featureless room with at least three doorways - and I am aware of an unknown male. He is apparently a television producer or actor (or both) or at least someone related to work in television. He stands to my left. To my right, in walks Jonathan Frakes as he looked about twenty years ago. I had apparently played the president of Star Fleet or some such on at least a couple “Star Trek: The Next Generation” episodes or whatever at an earlier stage (even though I feel and sense that I am only about sixteen or seventeen years old) and am somewhat unsure of what is going to happen next (whether or not I am prepared) because I am apparently going to be in the same role in an upcoming new episode (even though the show has not been filmed for years), but I am confident and at ease, oddly enough. The studio seems to be located somewhere beyond to my right, but I remain seated on the couch. Everybody seems happy, but for some reason I ask them if they usually get along with each other. The response is not negative, but not all that clear either.

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