Captain’s Dream Log, Stardate -313629.1
May 16th, 2009 at 7:48 am (Dreaming is Free)
Last night was a particularly strange mix of dreams. The two don’t connect at all, but they amused me anyway.
First one had my workplace re-located to San Francisco. While we were moving in, I realized the next day was Christmas. I immediately decided I had to go pick up treats for the guys I work with.
This reference is based on my yearly Valentine’s day “candy bombing” of the IT side of the office where I work. I generally go out and buy varied types of treats, sneak in early, then leave a few on each developer’s desk. If they have space on it I’ll write “from a secret admirer”. Then plant some on my desk and watch comedy ensue.
So I find myself in this super-compact version of Wal-mart (I despise going to Wal-mart, by the way, avoid it as a rule) sifting through bins of all kinds of weird shit with Christmas labels on it. Like “Christmas Cinnamon Rolls” or “Holiday water guns”. I eventually give up when I see Brian, Will, and Richard are there too and Will is steadily working his way through the bins, taking a bite out of everything.
Woke up.
The next dream found me in LA, where I was in an office building that turned into a museum at night. The lights were very low and the conversation was quiet. I start poking my head in all of the office areas roped off, and I find fancy water fountains, cars, and this giant clock. The clock was solid gold with silver chains, and it had a giant pearl face about the size of a small dining table. The gears were the size of plates. It was off, so I turned it on, making this tremendous ticking and grinding noise.
Immediately the curator comes racing into the secret room and chases me out. I realize I’m towing luggage, it’s almost 6pm, and I have to be to the airport in an hour. I race outside and catch a cab. Two other people with a little black yappy dog wearing a bandana jump in and we take off.
When we get there the couple races out of the cab, throws their luggage on the conveyor belt, then head to the gate. The little yappy dog tries to follow the luggage, gets stuck on the belt, and starts barking at the ceiling. The cab drives off and takes me to a private terminal.
Upon checkin the lady at the counter says my plane is ready. I suddenly realize *I* am the pilot and have to fly myself back to Vegas.
Another side note, I have a mild-to-medium fear of flying. Once upon a time in an attempt to get over it I bought MS Flight Simulator, but succeeded only in crashing all of my planes. To be fair it was a WWII version and I was getting shot at by the Japanese, but still. Don’t ever come look at me if the pilot becomes incapacitated on a flight and they need a backup.
I immediately begin recalling all of my tutoring from my previous experience of Flight Simulator, and realize I’m going to crash and burn, hard. Do I just go in and do it? Or do I swallow my (considerable) pride and find another way home? The latter won. I admit to the attendant that I don’t know how to fly and I need another way home.
Not missing a beat, she books me on Hula Airlines (I made this up in my head, apparently). It’s a private plane for tourists heading to Hawaii. I find myself in line with tons of people wearing leis and grass skirts.
Woke up.
Decided to get up for the day after that. Can’t top that dream.