9:40
Had the weirdest dream. Remember fragments.
In old house in my room in dark. Dad had bad news. Came upstairs. Through door, heard him say Great Grandma died. Remembered a false version of our last conversation/interaction, was sad, and was scared that our family was smaller.
--> Took a flight to Santa Fe. Got there, Uncle Parker or [and?] Dad picked me up. Wanted to go to Cinnabon at airport, but recognized I’d have many more changes—like on the way back. Explored the food court and went to a restaurant I’d been to before that I knew was too expensive and instead of looking at the menu, this time an old, evil-ish Indian waiter gave us our table setting in a shower caddy-type thing and told us to sit at any blue-lit table, then I nudged Dad and said it was too expensive—we left.
Walking through food court, we went through a meeting of Stanford Flight Attendants, who were discussing their routes for the day. I said (to Kai) I had a lot of respect for Stanford student pilots/flight attendants.
After they adjourned, directly next to them, the leader of Berkeley Flight Union asked his members if they were having any problems.
--> Milling around airport --> end.
Then, driving through some somewhat suburban looking, yet high-rise populated section of Brooklyn called “Ridgerock” on a street called Rastafarian Drive with all the family.
Buildings were made out of terra cotta.
Road winded and I asked Mom/Dad if we’d been there before, remembering or making up an old similarly structured section of Brooklyn we’d driven through in a dream before, but they said no.
We came to a roundabout, pulled over, stopped and had some conversation on the sidewalk. Forget the rest, except that a crazy lady started screaming. Remembered and mourned GG throughout.
No comments:
Post a Comment