dream 6og (june 25, 2016) ------------------------- well, that was about the freakiest dream I've -ever- had, if anybody's out there with dream analysis skills, this one's a doozy. first a litttle background on me, I haven't had a locker at school since 1985, so that's a little weird off the bat. I haven't had any pot for a while, which I certainly am used to, and this wasn't one of those "you haven't had any pot for a while, VIVID!!" dreams. I haven't had any alcohol for a while, which also I enjoy, and is far easier to procure in Texas than weed. I've seen my sis alot lately as I sometimes tend her pets when she goes gallavanting, and she lives just a little over from where I'm at for the last two months, on a "$5 a month rent, just pay the utilities" kind of 2-month "watch the house" kind of dealio. paying the utilities, which was a bitch to set up, as the address ends in 1/2, which gave me near-endless troubles with Austin Electric, the gas man, and the internet folk. the fridge is touch-and-go, ruining my usual "make a big pot of beans or two, eat it all week" standard eating regimen, punctuated by cheeses, whole milk and cookies, ice cream and popsicles, most all requiring refrigeration unprovided by the dying/dead fridge. I've been quite the night owl, as that's the only time it's not in the nineties here since two weeks ago, and as I always like to say "I'm a delicate flower, I wilt in the sun." fell asleep at 2am or so, aided by diphenhydramine, whenever I got the dbb website reclaimed, woke up around 5 and watched a little This Old House. went back to sleep after that, is that when I got the dbb site back going? anyway, that should do, let's get to the dream while it's fresh, woke up at 1:15pm here from this... so, I'm in school, and thinking high school, but then it's in the middle school building, what with it's cool old wood-floors through the big brick building, and Mrs. Evans, who likes sketching eyeball pictures, and they're nice, is mentoring study hall I'm guessing, because I think she was sketching, and while I had her for English in that building, she seemed to be sketching, which she refrained from (seemed to) in English class. so, I get called up to the desk, very hush-hush, and am given the tiniest, 1-inch square (1-inch is being generous, it was very small, seemed to be ripped out of a bigger sheet) piece of paper, with illegible shit on both sides, and told, you have to go upstairs to your locker and open it up" for sadly, no reason given. (this is a dream) so I do (well, go upstairs at least), and I don't know where my locker is (how does that happen), but think oh, that "338" on one side of the scribbles must be it? the lockers are of the small, maybe 8"x24" 3-tall variety in that boring grey-green with the dual-riveted numbers on a plate in the top, with 2-sets of the rectangular holes near the top and bottom and the combo-spinner on the right, and not in any kind of discernible order. I'm the only one in the hall at this time, so there's nobody to ask to help find my locker, but while I try to make sense of the non-arrangement, I finally find where I think my locker should be, and just now realizing I don't know what my combination is, start fiddling with the "do it by feel, man" tumbler turning on those wretched knobs. somewhere in there, the hall gets filled with lots of other people, and lots of official teacher/principal looking folks who seem to be "helping" everybody else while I helplessly flail. I had a top row locker, which was nice, of course, but damned if I knew the combination. (I never had any kind of nasty in my locker, nor a locker that size and shape, oh wait, now I remeber, in the locker room they were like that! we bought our weed after school so never had to have it in school, well, the customers at least) somewhere in there I notice that my locker is numbered "0" and comment to the girl next to me (the whole hall is full now, it looks like between classes density of people at lockers) "maybe that's why I have to open it, it's number 0" and we chuckle a bit, but I still can't open it. turning my tiny scrap of paper over I see some scribbles that might be the combo, and try in vain to make any sense, and there's a lot of knob-twisting going on but no opening of it. other people are opening their lockers, emptying them out onto the floor, and having the official-looking folks pick through them. (we never had our lockers searched for contraband pre-1985, but may have heard about it at other schools in the area?) I'm tiring of trying and failing, and thinking, damn, you guys are stressing me out so much I can't remember where my locker is or what my combination is, and aren't I actually 48 or something? (well, not in the dream) wasn't that 30-some years ago? and finally come to my senses and wake up. additional background that may be relevant: there's big construction operation across the street (and IN [under and above it] and around it) where the foreman (or whoever's name gets called a lot) is apparetly named Adam, so there's a lot of "Adam!" attention-getting yelling outside. many of the guys like to come over right outside my bedroom window and use the water on the side of the house whenevs, which while irksome, what can I do? I've made a joke about "you guys need a swimming pool!" but that behavior continues unabated. I had no luck contacting Josh yesterday after pulling my bike over 3 times on the way to the supermarket (who's a construction guy) to check the phone. so, I dunno. I was talking about "just smoke some more pot, it'll be OK" on the fb yesterday, and how "all those synapses in my old brain" are closely connected. the dream was not stressful at all, like the SUPER VIVID off the pot ones can sometimes be, but just really effing weird. the world's pretty fucked lately, but then, for everybody. anybody offer some insight? I know, you read 140 characters and quit reading...