underwater lab disaster

I think this dream was part of a longer dream, but unfortunately I can't remember the rest of it now.

There was some sort of underwater research facility. In an unusual twist, this wasn't on the bottom of the ocean or tethered to the bottom. Instead, there were two long parallel cables which seemed to be attached to something off in the distance at either end. Only you couldn't see the ends, thanks in part to how far off they went, how dark it was, and the usual murkiness of seawater. The scene, as set before me, seemed rather placid. If not for the eeriness of the darkness going off in all directions, this could have been one of those places to go to relax and meditate.

I had a sense of foreboding, as though there was some unfortunate change in water pressure, sort of like an underwater tidal wave. And it was due to arrive at any instant.

This research facility was connected to both cables, thus providing horizontal stability for the most part. There were various research samples hanging from nets or lines or whatever, and there was a very soft glow coming from them. It was as though these samples had been the result of considerable work, and it just made the most sense to keep them dangling from the underside of the research lab.

Now in the middle of this research lab where it was somewhat thinner in construction, there was a horizontally-oriented propeller with a surrounding hub. Ordinarily it wasn't turned on, but in cases where some minor maneuvering was called for, the scientists inside would use it. The use was fairly rudimentary: turn on the thrust in one direction to cause the lab to roll gently one way, and have the thrust go in the reverse direction to cause the lab to roll gently the other way.

The key issue was that what with this major underwater wave moving in, there was no telling whether the lab would be able to stay upright. Even with them using the propeller to adjust its orientation.

I don't really remember seeing any people, I just knew they were there. If anything, I was on the outside reviewing the entire scene, and feeling somewhat unsafe out there. Exposed. And yet, I knew that being inside the lab was no guarantee of safety. But I also realized I didn't have too many other options.

At this point, I somehow ended up inside, and the force majeure outside was starting to kick in. I could hear the propeller starting up, trying to fight the force which was trying to roll the lab one way. Then the lab started rolling the other way, and they were scrambling to try and keep up with the propeller. And so it went.

I don't recall how it turned out. I do recall thinking that perhaps all those research samples would have to be jettisoned in order to save the research vessel.

Creative Writing or Aikido? Maybe Alan Alda knows.

I wish I'd scribed this dream when I had it. The memory is a little fuzzy now.

I dreamt I was in a classroom, only not the sort of course I would have signed up for. It did seem to be back in my university days.

As is typical for my classroom-type dreams, the course was well into the semester, and that was the first time I had decided to attend.

The curious thing is that my Aikido Sensei was teaching the class. He noticed I was there, and rather than make a big deal out of me being there, he acted more... accommodating, but at the same time not relinquishing his authority.

During a moment when the class was working on something which didn't require him to stand at the front and talk, he had me come up and pick out a couple course books from a white plastic bag, such as you might get from a grocery store.

All the books appeared to be the same, about 1/4" thick and roughly novel-sized in height and width. They were all the same turquoise colour. He instructed me to get two; one for the class lessons, and one to take notes in. I pulled out an unblemished book, and the very next book I grabbed looked like someone had idly traced around the perimeter of the cover, with no effort at art or style, merely completing the circle, if you could call it that. I figured that one could be my notebook, given that I'd be writing throughout the inside.

I remember opening the inside front cover, and amid the existing doodles, signing just my first name. I then flipped through the book, noticing more doodles and markings at what seemed to be random locations throughout. I then remembered that I hadn't signed my last name, so I returned to the inside front cover and signed my last name next to my first. It was then that I noticed my signature looked quite a bit more like how I would have signed it when I was perhaps 10-12 years old, more with the school-accepted glyphs and less like the quick scratches I have now.

Of course I also had that nagging feeling that I was likely too far into the school year to catch up, but then again, if my course instructor was welcoming me (albeit quietly) and urging me to pick up the course books, then there was a sense that maybe I could pull it off.

Somewhere along the way I got the sense of what the course was really all about: creative writing.

Say what? Why would I ever want to take creative writing? I've never been interested in that before. Not for myself, at any rate.

Then there was some sort of snack break during the class. One woman opened a large brown paper bag in my general direction, offering to let me take one of whatever was in there. And I saw that she had Jos. Louis (Vachon) cakes. I helped myself to one.

I then heard my instructor call out to me from the hallway, telling me to meet him downstairs. He said to go down 3 levels, that I would need to do a right, then 2 more rights. "Okay, so 3 rights then. I wonder why he didn't just say that." And I headed off.

I got down to what appeared to be an underground parking garage. It was reasonably well-lit, the walls were painted in a pale white, and the pavement seemed to have a gentle downwards slope towards the middle.

I suddenly heard the hum of motors and the creaking of metal, and noticed some large doors starting to close. I hastened over to them, then through them. I had a sense that the time was just after 9pm, wherever I was.

About 50 feet beyond the metal doors which had closed behind me, I noticed what appeared to be some sort of security checkpoint. There was no kiosk, only one of those simple gate-arms which swings up out of the way when cars enter or leave. Given the time of day, the gate-arm was descending from the permanently-up position to the horizontal, to reflect the shift from daytime security policy to nighttime security policy. There was a lone security guard there, dressed in dark pants and a dull grey shirt. He appeared to be in his 50's, greyish white hair, maybe 5'8" and portly, probably around 200 lbs. He appeared to be of Italian background, and seemed somehow familiar, like I'd seen him in a movie at some point.

From a door on the far side of the garage, a tiny scrum of about 4 people came walking quickly, almost urgently, towards the security officer. They looked tired, pale and a bit haggard. There was a sense of them wanting to get home quickly, and on some level, they each seemed to want to be in front of the others.

The security guard slowly stood up, laughing obnoxiously at this sight. He'd seen it hundreds of times before, but for him it never got old. Probably the only entertainment he gets all day. He knew they would have to line up to get past him. He knew he'd have to lift the gate-arm for each one of them. He knew they would all perform the same ritual they did every day. Just the same-old same-old.

Then the dream shifted.

I felit like I was watching an episode of M*A*S*H. Or was it? It seemed to be the usual tent, and there was Alan Alda. Or Hawkeye, take your pick. I was the passive observer, and he was talking to some woman who sounded like Loretta Swit just off-camera.

Woman off-camera: "So you're the one they call Hawkeye?"

Alan Alda: "Yeah, that's one of the names I get called around here."

Woman: *giggles* "You're funny. And cute!"

Alan: "You're kinda cute yourself. So what's it take to get a date with you?"

Woman: *giggles*

Alan: "No, seriously. How about a date?"

Woman: *still giggling*

Alan: "Meet me at my tent tonight?"

Woman: *still giggling*

Alan: (starting to sound like he's losing his mojo) "C'mon, a date? How about it? Tonight?"

Woman: *still giggling, no hint of giving him an answer*

And, fade to black.

Good friends, travel abroad, and a roadtrip!

Through some strange setup I'd managed to get together with my good friend Rob in this dream.

Rob came by my place to pick me up, and he already had a couple other friends in his SUV. It was a snowy day, so the roads were a bit slick. Once inside his SUV, the inside seemed exceptionally roomy, like the inside of a large utility truck. The windshield, instead of sloping back like you'd expect, it sloped forward. And it was completely flat. It was also partitioned, suggesting like there was a way to roll down the center portion (similar to the back window of a 1964 Mercury Meteor, only facing forwards).

I discovered that we were doing a roadtrip. To South America. Whoa. I wasn't aware of any particular destination, other than somewhere in the northwest area of South America.

As we got somewhat close (but still a good day or so away), Rob pointed out that we could take a shortcut and save a day of travel. This particular shortcut meant that we would have to leave the SUV and swim underwater. For two hours! Riiiiight.

But you know how dreams go. Anything's possible, including holding your breath for a couple hours underwater. ;-)

So down we went. We found some underwater tunnel and started our swim. Before I knew it, we were there.

Once there, we hung out and had a great time. At one point I noticed something a bit peculiar about one of Rob's friends. Rob traced some comments with his finger on the side of a clear plastic drinking bottle, which basically said, "Hey, I know you're going to notice some strange things about my friend, but I expect everyone to behave like adults." Given that Rob is normally pretty easygoing, the tone of this note was quite serious.

I wanted to acknowledge to Rob that I completely understood, and wiped his note off the bottle, trying my hand at writing my own note back to him. Every attempt just looked illegible, so I ended up quickly writing a large word, "PARTY" and tossed the bottle back to him before his friend came over to see what was going on.

It was around that time that I noticed Rob's friend had a tiny hole in the back of his head. It looked like a birth defect. Then I noticed he had a much larger hole about an inch or so below the first hole, somewhat triangular in shape, about 2" across the base and 1" tall. Again, it looked like a natural growth. Well, perhaps an unnatural growth, but it appeared to be healthy otherwise.

The more we hung out together, the more peculiar things I discovered about Rob's friend. I suddenly noticed that instead of having a normal ribcage, it was like someone had grabbed the center of his chest and pulled. His ribs were poking forwards with a horizontal gap of about 8-12" between the left and right ribs. This is where he started looking a little less healthy. And yet, he seemed to manage well enough, despite this issue. It's not like he was bleeding all over the place. :-P

Then I noticed that Rob's friend had some bizarre sort of muscular/flesh atrophy in his legs. His right leg seemed to be on the scrawny side, at least from the knee down. And his left leg was completely absent of flesh from about the knee on down. At one point he even detached his left shin from his knee and stood on his right leg while resting against a short wall. It was like he was taking a short break. Then he reached down and popped it back into place and went about his business.

At some point he was nearby (in the water, I think) and I felt something scratching my leg. I realized that it felt like toenails. At first, anyway. I then realized that it was the tips of the toe-bones of Rob's friend's bony, fleshless foot. I felt a curious mix of creepy and annoyed, before he realized he had made an awkward faux pas before moving his foot.

Except for Rob's strange friend, the vacation spot seemed great. I definitely remember the water feeling comfortably warm.

Back at university again

I was passing through what was supposed to be my old university. I hadn't really planned on staying there, but was given a residence room to have for as long as I needed it. But it didn't have a bed.

Someone elsewhere in university offered me a bed for the taking, but that it was up to me to move it to my room. An acquaintance offered to help me do the move, so we grabbed a couple pieces and started the hike across campus.

We got the first pass done. I found a memo which explicitly invited me and a small handful of others to come visit a professor about something. I had no idea what this was about. Regardless, I showed up at the appointed time, feeling a little put out and a little confused.

The professor spent time chatting with each of the students, about 10-15 mins each. About what, I didn't know, but I was starting to get a sense as to what it might be.

By time time I was called, I was fairly irritated. I pointed out that I had no idea why I was there to begin with, only that I was meant to be there. The memo had no agenda specified, so I pointed out that in my many years of professional work where there was a formal meeting invitation, it had always specified the agenda. I didn't come right out and insult the professor, but I made it known that I was pretty upset at this oversight.

I even went so far as to say that I thought I had come up with what it might possibly be about, but that in order to avoid being embarrassingly wrong, that it would be best if he just told me. I then hastily added that I might in fact be embarrassingly right as to my guess.

My guess was that we were all there to talk briefly about what our plans were for our Masters' theses, and if provocative enough, he would give the nod. But I had no plans to be in the Masters programme, I had no desire to write a Masters thesis, and therefore I had no desire to partake in any such judgement as to my worth thereof. Which just added to my irritation, because it turned out I was right on the money.

From that point on, all I could think about was that I needed to get to class, what an appalling waste of time that meeting had been, and so on.

Australian trip: martial arts, job search

I ended up traveling with quite a few others to Australia (don't recall any specific city).

First on the agenda was that we were all preparing for a competition. I decided to do some sort of sword form. Thing is, I didn't know of any sword form. All I could think of was that I would wing it and come up with it when my turn came.

While passing the time before the tournament, I went looking for swords. I came across some curiously arcane-looking contraptions which were made from cast iron. I also found some sort of rack which I was supposed to mount my sword (whatever I decided on) into. The rack was horizontally mounted, and there were only so many slots. I decided on a particular cast iron sword, and it had a complementary piece; not a sheath or scabbard, just something which fit up against it like a puzzle piece. In fact, I found 2 matching sets, so I took them both.

I placed the first sword set into one of the available rack slots, then realized I could leave a space free if I also put the second sword set on top of the first one. Everything seemed to fit together beautifully, with room to spare. The sword sets had a sort of 'rest' at the one end which helped it stand edgewise.

The competition just seemed to become unimportant in the dream, which then changed focus to discuss work options.

I was checking with people in the area, and the decision-makers seemed to be saying there just wasn't any work available. Not much more detail than that, other than a feeling of disappointment.

Our new robot overlords

This dream was particularly crisp when I had it.

It takes place in the future, where high technology and robotics rules the world. Which of course sounds like many sci-fi movies we've all seen.

My perspective of the dream was like a camera following the protagonist around. He had decided to join a revolt against the new high-tech overlords by ceasing to do tech upgrades. The overlords, of course, didn't take kindly to this, but decided to order him back to work and then decide what to do with him.

My sense (as the audience/viewer) was that it wouldn't go well, that they would just use him to finish the task, then dispose of him.

The protagonist would do his upgrades by climbing these tall poles, which were likes the masts of large sailing ships, and would manage a controlled glide/slide downwards, all while pointing a blue laser light at the appropriate spots. The masts/riggings would glow faintly of blue as he worked.

At one point he ended up in this oddly shaped chamber with curved stainless steel walls. The room was more roundish than cubic; there wasn't one flat surface. And yet the walls weren't completely featureless, either. There were signs of pieces which had been engineered and fastened together with stainless steel screws, rubber seals and the like.

The protagonist was in this room for some reason, and quietly announced that he was finished with his work at last. Which is when the ominous feeling kicked up a few notches.

He stepped out of the room into a larger room, and as soon as he had done so, the doorway separating the two rooms closed immediately in a rather watertight fashion. Except that the protagonist was on the other side of the door, and the camera/audience/me was sealed inside this strangely shaped room.

Then I heard what sounded like an automated announcement, something like "Floodgates to southeast quadrant opening...", followed by the sound of metal creaking and moving.

Somehow I knew what was going to happen next.

A porthole in the room popped open, and the room started to fill with water. And as the water level quickly rose, I could see on the opposite side where what appeared to be the still-closed drain porthole was silently waiting for the next step.

The water level continued to rise, and the air gap grew smaller. And finally the supply of water shut off, followed immediately by the other porthole snapping open. The flood of water dragged me towards the hole.

I took a deep breath. Because for some reason, it was no longer the perspective of a camera, it was me. Or maybe it was me, as a breathing camera? The camera was floating and bobbing, but headed inexorably towards the drainhole.

As I held my breath, I seemed to stop moving through the outbound porthole. Things just seemed to stop moving. Which is when I awoke.

Mom's new home, and fondness for cats.

It was a crisp winter's evening, just getting dark out, and there was fresh-fallen snow on the ground, with more still falling.

I pulled up outside mom's house, one I wasn't familiar with, and parked inside one of the garage bays. I don't recall who else was inside the car, but they went inside.

I went to close the garage door, when I saw a few cats just beyond the garage doorway, sitting in a light dusting of snow, looking past me towards the doorway which led inside.

"C'mon you! Let's go!" I said to them, and other encouraging words. They glanced at me, then sprinted past me in a half-rush, half-uncertain canter. Once past me, I closed the garage door and followed them inside.

Passing from the garage and stepping into the house, I felt a warmth and gladness of family I always felt when visiting Mom.

I heard Mom say, "Come over here, you've got to check this out!" as me and the others gathered around. We saw a cluster of very cozy-looking cats of all kinds napping very comfortably atop one another. In the nearby fireplace, a fire quietly hissed and popped, adding to the warmth.

Mom added, "You know what's really interesting? Underneath them all is a pile of jackets. sweaters and fleeces belonging to all of you. It started out with some them getting cozy on those, and the others just joined in. I think they're attracted to the familiar scents."

While it was quite unusual for Mom to have had such a large contingent of cats, there was a different sense about her home. Like she could easily take care of them, that they'd never be too much trouble for her, that her home was overflowing with warmth and love. Like many cats were just passing through, in the neighbourhood, but couldn't pass up the opportunity to be pampered. Especially given the weather outside.

Mom doing what she enjoyed; taking care of others in need, even cute cats on a cold winter's night.

Flying in the stratosphere

I and many others were high above the highest clouds. I somehow knew we were at about 60,000 feet above ground.

The exercise of the moment was to scoot along in a "flying bathtub" at just the right speed and pitch to get the most enjoyment.

And that's where my dad came in. He told me how to pitch the nose up just right, and I would be able to glide the longest before losing altitude. And so I tried it that way, and he was right.

Eventually we all fell out of the sky. We ended up in the ocean, just sort of floating about, among the huge swells of water. And the only thing I could think of was to be careful, else we might attract the attention of sharks.

Med school mystery

I was at a med school somewhere. I think I may have been a student.

One student was getting more than desirable attentions from the school administration, because he wanted to become not just an intern, but an intern in plastics. For some reason, there was a sense that he was implying he could skip over stuff which all the others had to do. As such, he had to justify his position, else risk getting tossed out.

My dad got a hold of some man's chest X-ray. He then got out some oil paints and copied the X-ray to canvas, doing a pretty decent job of it in the process. Then he painted the chap's face at the top of the chest, as though his head weren't X-rayed. Then he pulled a bit of a Zaphod Beeblebrox, and painted his own face onto the subject's right shoulder.

The face of the man was smiling. One of his upper incisors had some sort of dark spot on it, suggesting the need for dental work to be done.

It was then that I realized these were all clues. Clues to what, I don't know. Why my dad was involved (dropping clues) was even more of a mystery. But it suggested that I (we?) needed to go look at this guy's medical records to find out when he had dental work done. In particular, if he had any work to fix up decay in an upper incisor, then we were onto something.

As part of whatever it was I was doing there, I was planning some long trip way up north somewhere. I felt I was reasonably dressed, warm coat, gloves, hat, boots, but then realized I was wearing dress socks. I decided I needed to swing by home and pick up some thick woolen socks to ensure that my feet end up nice and comfy on the trip.