2007-11-09-1508Z


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I remember some of last night's dreams. One was in a recurring dreamscape, but for the first time I remember some of the street names. Actually, I remembered a lot more when I first got up, but now it's down to one: Broadway. The name of the city is hyphenated, and it's either in Virginia or NC; I think it's Winston-Salem. In these dreams I'm always going somewhere along the coast, and for some reason head South instead of North; traveling (not sure how) along a coastal road sparsely dotted with hotels and restaurants. By the time I reach Broadway -- just the name of the cross street, not obviously part of any town -- I begin to think I'm going in the wrong direction. A few miles farther down the road there's a small town where I've been in other dreams. But I always seem to have a hard time getting back to the city, and in last night's dream I figured out that the city was farther inland than I had thought. Whatever that means. In dreams these disconnected thoughts all seem to make so much sense, but when trying to get them down on (virtual) paper, they are complete gibberish.

In another dream, I was just an observer, watching as if it were a movie. It took place in the 1950's, when recreational boating and (brain freeze -- what's it called when a motorboat is pulling someone behind on skis?... well, let me continue while I wait for my internet connection to come back up and I'll google it) were becoming popular in the US. I watch as this guy is being pulled, on skis, the length of the deck of an ocean liner, and makes a clean landing, a hundred feet away or more, on the ocean. Soon the pulling boat (which I never see) and he are in a canal, still going full throttle. Two guys, side-by-side on what appear to be surfboards, are cruising along slowly, fishing as they go. I can't see what propels them. Anyway, the water-skier (Google came back about the same time as my brain did) tries to go around them on the side opposite from the boat; though the skier and the people on the boat both manage to flip the line above the fishermen, it eventually catches their fishing lines. The bigger of the two guys keeps his balance, and eventually throws his pole away, but the skinny one bounces around on the water a while before the pole is pulled away from him. Suddenly sharks appear. The big guy manages to steer the first one away from his buddy with one foot, but eventually more come, and the skinny guy is history. For some reason there are now a bunch of dead sharks, and the big guy somehow kills the one shark he had been steering with his foot, and throws it on the pile with his dead buddy. Then I woke up again.

The other dream is so disconnected, there's no point relating it, except that there was a scene on a large marble staircase with a tall, dark, muscular guy pumping a petite blonde with his huge cock. She was gasping on every stroke. The rest of the dream isn't so memorable; I was trying to do some scientific experiments with a lab assistant and some broken plastic cups.

Back in the real world: I've been trying to talk myself into taking a backpack on this trip, but for some reason I really don't like it. I'll probably stick with my shoulder bags.

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