Wednesday, 15 July 2020

Dream journal: Twenty-five

This is the twenty-fifth in a series of posts chronicling dreams I have had. As usual, the date shown is the date the dream was captured. This is usually the morning after the night the dream took place. You can’t wait very long before capturing a dream because it soon disappears from memory.

16 April

Dreamt I was working. It wasn’t certain if it was in the public service or in a private company. I was involved in coming up with new ways to offer services to students. I had an idea to build and install on-campus machines to allow people to lock away their belongings (for example, a watch or a book) by paying a small fee using a credit card. My thinking was that sometimes people must bring to campus things that they don’t want to carry around with them while they are there. A watch might have secondary significations that could get in the way during a meeting the student might have organised to hold with someone. A certain book might likewise send the wrong signal, so the ability to safely ditch such an object somewhere could have broad appeal.

The machine would have a graphic display and a touchscreen and be enabled for transactions much in the way as is an EFTPOS terminal in a shop. We could (I told my manager) earn money this way at the same time as offering a useful service to our customers. People already pay for their car parking using a credit card, I thought, so why not for other things?

Then I was away on a business trip with my manager, a woman (in real life I had women managers seven times, in five different organisations.) The two of us were sitting in a stream and fish were swimming around us as we talked with the people we had come to meet. One of the fish was shaped like a perch and it was very friendly, coming in close and jumping out of the water in high spirits. It was kind of gold in colour and about a foot long.

Eventually, we all got out of the stream and walked around the interior of a round, Brutalist building. The fabric of the structure was crumbling even though, aloud, I admired the design of the place. I saw chunks of a black substance on the floor, and I picked one of them up to bring it to my nose so that I could see if it smelled of tar (it looked to me like solid tar). Also lying around were heavy, deep tiles that had come off the surface of the interior and that had been left on the floor (though, presumably, someone regularly cleaned the lobby of the hotel we were in). I picked up one of the tiles, which was shaped, in profile, roughly like a star.

I wanted to ask if I could take some of the detritus away with me – our ride to elsewhere was about to arrive and we were making our way toward the building’s exit – but I stopped myself. I had shaken hands with a very short man (he looked to be about one metre in height) who was the second-in-charge at the local council we were visiting.

He had looked at my hand suspiciously as I held it out. Though he did, in the end, take it in one of his own, our handshake was anaemic and limp. After shaking hands with him I successfully interpreted his look, concluding that the virus had him a bit spooked. As soon as I had this thought I regretted my gesture, but I went on talking with him about Brutalism, the architectural style.

23 April

I had a nap after lunch and dreamt that I was at a cricket game tweeting about the Covid-19 virus. Some of the tweets I made were about the match and some were about my writing. I was offering people the opportunity to use my services to tidy up their copy while the virus was keeping everyone at home. At one point in the dream it was after lunch and I was tweeting about the cricket match, which had just started again after a break that had been taken so that the players could eat food.

Then I was tweeting using a pencil to press the post button. I would manipulate the pencil so that the lead could be used to mark the post button – in much the same way that people use a highlighter – and what I had written in the tweet space would be tweeted out to my followers. As time went on I got lazy and started to tweet things others had tweeted (this is called retweeting in real life). Then I was retweeting, with the pencil, things I had earlier tweeted, sometimes tweets of several days prior. Among the things that I retweeted were images that were mildly erotic, such as photos of semi-naked women or women in bikinis. 

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