Dreams

Dream, 19 November 2024

It is the first day of my new contract, with a large government department, and I report for duty, along with two other new starters. The contact who meets us hands each of us a slip of paper with a desk number on it. My number is 527. He waves his hand over the large office area in front of us and tells us to each find our desks. The office consists of open areas, rooms and corridors It contains many desks, some of them with people busily beavering away in front of computer screens. The other new starters and I head off in different directions to find our respective desks. 

It is not an easy task. The desk numbers are hard to locate -- they're tucked away in hard to get at places. I assume that the desks are numbered consecutively, but just when I think I'm getting close, with the numbers approaching 527, the sequence suddenly jumps. I realise that I will have to check each available desk in the office, a mamoth task.

Eventually I'm sure that I must have looked at all the available desks and I still haven't found 527. I find the contact who takes my slip of paper and shows it to the person responsible for desk allocations. She takes a look at the slip and says that the number isn't 527. If you look closely you can see that the top of the 7 is actually a loop and the number that I thought was 527 is in fact 529. She points to an area where the desk should be. 

I look at desks around the area and I still can't find desk 529. I reflect on what bad luck it was to be allocated that desk. I bet the other new starters are happily ensconsed at their desks by this time. I ask someone in the area if they know where desk 529 is. They tell me they think they have put a bookcase where 529 was, and that's why I can't find it. They say it's not a problem, they'll move the bookcase out and replace it with a spare table that they have until they can get the proper desk back. They leave and return with a table and a stool. The table is old and the top is worn through in places, and it wobbles. The stool is old too, and low. I sit down and my eyes are barely above the table top. I notice that the stool wobbles as well as the table. Just then, the other two new starters walk past. They are still looking for their desks. One of them looks enviously at me seated on my low, wobbly stool at my wobbly table.

Dream, 18 January 2024

It's the middle of world war 2 and I am working in a prisoner of war camp in Australia. The camp holds captured Japanese prisoners, and I'm working in the section that arranges prisoner activities, to keep them amused. One of the activity projects is compiling a book on local birds. One of the prisoners has a particular interest in local birds, and is collecting the information. He has taken photographs of lots of local birds and is collecting them into a chart. Another prisoner, a superionr officer to the first prisoner, is helping with the chart layout and the descriptions. The layout that they have come up with is unimaginitive and old fashioned looking, and I want to change it to make it more attractive and readable. I have to be careful though because some of the fonts and styles that I want to use haven't been invented yet, it being the World War 2 era. Also I wonder how I'll go putting it together because desktop publishing and personal computers haven't been invented yet.
The head of the prisoner activity section is worried that if I suggest too many changes, it might offend the prisoner and his superior. I tell him not to worry about that. My father is a prisoner of the Japanese, and I assure him that the Japanese do not worry at all about offending the Australian prisoners. 

Dream, 6 September 2023

I had this dream on the night of the day where I had to collect lots of personal identification documents to send to Melbourne, to verify my identity. In the dream:
I  have a list of things to collect to confirm my identity, things like birth certificate and a copy of my passport. One of the list specifications is that I have to include an item of my clothing. I presume they would use it to do some sort of DNA or olifactory match up. It had been a hot day and I was wearing my black cargo shorts, so I decided to include them. 
I have worked through the list, assembled the rest of the items and just sent them off. I am having second thoughts about sending the black shorts. I am pretty sure they would be suitable since I had just worn them that day, but they are my favourite pair of shorts, what with all of those pockets. It occurs to me that it would have been good to have the shorts to wear tomorrow since it's supposed to be hot again. Maybe I can retrieve the items and swap the shorts for a shirt that I don't particularly like, or maybe another pair of shorts that I didn't wear very often. 
I check to see if I can swap the shorts for another item of clothing, but it's too late. They're gone.

Dream, 4/11/2022

I’m delivering a flat screen monitor. It’s unwieldy to carry but it’s not heavy. The delivery address is on the corner of Glenn Stubbs Drive and Honesty Avenue. I’m pretty sure that  Glenn Stubbs drive is the street that I’m walking along, but I don’t know where Honesty Avenue is. I need to find a place to put the screen down and look it up on my phone. I happen to be passing a church. The church is old and dilapidated and looks like it’s not used any more. The church yard is overgrown with weeds and long grass. I go through the gate and approach a wall. I can see that there are some of those ornate cast aluminium chairs near the wall. They are old and the paint is worn. They are never a very comfortable seat but it’ll do as somewhere to sit while I look up where Honesty Avenue is. I grab one of the aluminium chairs and manoeuvre it around to a spot close to the wall. The chair’s legs get snagged in the undergrowth but finally I get it to a spot where I can sit on it.

Dream 6 May 2022

I am wandering around a university with my two early teenage boys. The boys are apparently my sons but they are nothing like any of my sons. Anyway we have all finished what we came here to do and now it's time to go home. I walk to the spot where I parked the car but the car isn't there. I'm fairly sure I parked the car here, but maybe I have been turned around and it's in a similar spot on the other side of the university. I cut through the university grounds to the opposite side, but no car is there. Neither of my sons can find the car either. OK, so the car could have been stolen or I have parked it somewhere completely different. I circumnavigate the university and look in all of the available parking spots without finding my car. OK, that means it must have been stolen. I'll have to ring the police and report it, and then get public transport home. Bit of a pest but not the end of the world. 

Dream 9 August 2021

I am at a concert featuring The Carpenters. I wonder what the hell I am doing there since I don't particularly like The Carpenters, not my style of music at all. Once they start performing, I can see that they are competent enough but the songs don't appeal at all. After a song, Karen announces a break. They go offstage and are gone for what seems like ages. They finally re-appear and Karen Carpenter announces that for the next song, she wants the audience to sing along in two part harmony. My heart sinks as I don't like concerts when they ask for audience participation. Karen divides us into two groups and allocates each group the harmony to sing. The song starts but I have forgotten which group I belong to, which harmony to sing. I pick one at random and start singing. I'm sure that I have picked the wrong one, but to my surprise it actually sounds not bad .

Dream 3 May 2019
Judy and I are touring North Korea. We are in a souvenir shop and I'm examining the wares. The shop is full of interesting old things of the type you'd expect to find in an old communist-era country. I'm taking a close look at a hanging mobile of a world war 2 bomber. It's made of sheet metal, and the pieces slide apart to form the mobile. "Very clever" I think. "And it folds up into an A4 size piece of sheet metal. That'll be fine in my luggage." On another table, I spot a small crystal figurine of a man that looks interesting. It's about the size of my ring finger and I decide to buy that too. But when I reach the cash register, the figurine has grown to the size of a house brick. It's all crystalline and chunky now and not quite as appealing as it was when it was small. But I think it's still worth getting, and it should just fit into my luggage. As I take out my wallet to pay, I realise that my credit cards are missing -- must have been stolen. The place in my wallet where they normally are is empty. No world war 2 bomber or crystal figurine for me then! Judy phones the bank to cancel the credit cards. I think it'll be a bit inconvenient in North Korea without credit cards, but it's not the end of the world.

Dream, 15/3/18

I am at the Woodstock festival. Frank Zappa is on next. "Funny," I think, "I don't remember Frank Zappa playing at Woodstock." I am to play in the band. As I approach the stage, I wonder which instrument I will play. I hope it's the saxophone, especially if The Gumbo Variations is in the set. I mount the stairs to the stage, but the only band member present is the bass player, distractedly running through practice riffs. 


Dream, 19/2/17

I've been employed as a spy at a famous international bicycle race. To carry this out,  I've been entered in the race under a false name, Starsy. It's early days and the other contestants and me are all still getting used to the track. I'm slightly concerned that my cover might get blown as I'm no professional cyclist, and to complicate matters, there are a few people I know in the race who will recognise me. I don't expect this will be too much of a problem though, as I'm sure they will play along once I explain to them that I'm spying and they mustn't blow my cover.

I do a few warm-up laps. The first couple are slow because there are many obstacles on the track -- people reclining in deck chairs, random card tables and other miscellaneous detritus, not to mention other cyclists warming up. But I discover that if I plan ahead and work out the best line to take through the obstacles, I can whizz around the circuit quite quickly. I do a few laps and it's exhilarating. I'm flying along, effortlessly zooming past other cyclists, just missing the deck chairs and card tables. This tactic of working out the best line to take in advance seems to be going well.

AFter a few laps, I stop and return to the collecting area. They are posting the best practice lap times -- just the fastest few cyclists. I see my name go up in fifth spot. There it is, Starsy on the board. Very respectable time too. Hey, I'm not going to blow my cover with times like that. 

There is a lot of hubub going on; a new cyclist is arriving. It's a bloke from my high school, a good athlete, from a couple of years lower. He has his bike on a trailer and it looks impressive, all shiny chrome even though it's still all folded up. He smiles from up on the bike trailer and says "Watch this." He presses a button on the handlebars and the bikle slowly unfolds and takes shape. It looks like the latest thing. The front wheel slowly extends and drops into place. The wheel is highly elliptical, seriously egg-shaped. "The shape must be scientifically optimised," I think. H'mmm, maybe it'll work, but I'll back my best line tactic against those crazy elliptical wheels any day.

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Dream, 12/2/17

I'm living in London, and I work quite close to the building where The Guardian is published. It's a short walk to work, and I'm in the habit of stopping at The Guardian and picking up the daily paper, hot off the press. I enjoy the walk through the building to the counter where you can pick up a paper.  

I've been away and this is my first day back for a couple of weeks. I enter the building and walk down the long corridor, past the looming printing presses that churn out the newspapers. I front up to the counter where you pick up the papers, and notice that the team behind the counter is new. They look the same as the old team, elderly men and women, shirt sleeves rolled up or held in place with sleeve garters, granny spectacles glinting out from under their visors, but they are different people from the ones I remember. 

I ask for a copy of today's paper and the elderly woman behind the counter hands one over along with a green, two dollar note. I'm puzzled -- I had my change ready to pay for the paper. I ask why she is giving me money with my paper rather than accepting my money. She replies " Well . . we normally only give out newspapers to the destitute who can't afford to buy one, and we sometimes hand out small amounts of money to these unfortunate folk." I say that I just want to buy a paper, I'm not destitute and don't need the money. She looks puzzled and asks if that's the case, why I would bother coming into the building? It'd be far easier to pick up a paper from one of the many newspaper stands that abound in London. I'm stuck for an answer. How can I explain that I like the atmosphere of a big newspaper publisher, the walk past the looming printing presses, the smell of ink and paper, and the newspaper still warm in my hands.


8 Sep 2012

I find that I'm working in the country town of Korumburra, which happens to be the town where I attended high school. It's getting towards lunch break, and I notice that Roy Glover, an old neighbour from when I was a child, who was a couple of years older than me, is employed at the same place. We get to talking, and exchanging news. I thought he was dead, but here he is, alive and well. As it's coming up to lunch time, Roy and I arrange to have lunch together at a restaurant on the main street to continue our reminiscences. We head out the door together and into the street. 

I feel my pocket and discover that I have left my wallet behind. "I'll just duck back and grab my wallet" I say, and head back to where we work. I've just turned around when I realise that it's my keys that I have forgotten, and not my wallet. I don't need my keys to go to a restaurant, and if I turn around I can probably catch up to Roy Glover. That's good because I haven't spent much time in Korumburra since school days, and I don't really know where the restaurant is. 

I turn back to the street, but there is no sign of Roy Glover. "That's OK," I think. "There can't be too many restaurants in Korumburra  so it shouldn't be hard to find him. But the streets are crowded and also every second shop seems to be a restaurant. That's OK -- I'll just phone Roy Glover on my mobile and find out where the restaurant is. I open my mobile address book to look for his number. Damn!! I bought a new mobile recently and a lot of the numbers didn't come across from my old mobile. Roy Glover's must have been one of those because he isn't in my address book. 

But wait. I spot a mutual acquaintance among the crowds on the main street. He'll have Roy's number for sure. I call out to him but he doesn't hear me. I'm madly pushing through the crowds trying to catch him but it isn't easy. Just as I get close, the crowd closes in and I can't reach him to tap on his shoulder. Finally after a superhuman effort, I manage to attract his attention. But he doesn't have Roy Glover's number either.

Bloody hell, time is passing. Our lunch break will be over at this rate, before we can get a chance to eat. But look, there further up the street, up the hill is Roy Glover, waving to me and pointing to the restaurant. He must have realised that I couldn't find him and so he came back out onto the street. Aha. Right. I head off up the hill with purposeful step. 

But when I get to the spot where Roy was, he is no longer there. He must have gone into the restaurant. But again, there are three or so restaurants around where he was. Oh well, I'll just have to try them all. I pick out the one that looks like the sort of place that Roy Glover would like, which happens to be a pub, and go in. The dining room is down the back and not easy to find. I finally find a room that has a pool table in it, with four or five men standing around playing pool. "Anyone seen Roy Glover?" I ask. Each of the group of men look up with a quizzical expression. None of them know what the hell I'm talking about.