957 The Dream

If I can remember a dream, it is usually so fractured it is not worth repeating. The dream that woke me up this morning was a doozy, worth recording in my diary.

I was walking in a park in the dark when I saw what looked like an old 19th century bottle on a ledge, so I stepped off the path to retrieve it. When I picked it up I realized I couldn't get back up to the path, very wet and slippery, and besides the bottle half full of water looked like a fake. After some struggling and wiggling in the mud, I got back on the path and went into a restaurant which became a Bob Evans. I realized sitting in Bob Evans that I was in the wrong restaurant to meet my friend Adrienne. I left and got in my car and drove south on Olentangy (should've gone north). Realizing my mistake, I got on Lane Avenue heading west but ended up in a grassy field with no road. I looked at the houses lining Lane, and they didn't look at all familiar.

I saw what looked like a construction site, so I got out of the car. I walked around some large equipment and buildings and encountered some men talking about photographing the president. There were 2 doors in the main building and I saw a woman in a nice brown tweed pantsuit go upstairs through the one door. I figured she might be the secretary and wondered why she was so nicely dressed to work in such a shabby building. I went in the other door to ask for directions and a phone. A man, white-haired, about 50, was talking to someone, so I went outside to look for my car, but it was gone, and I also realized I didn't have my purse with the keys. I went back into the office and the man was leaning on the window taking photos with the most elaborate camera I'd ever seen. He was photographing the bubbles made by the rain on the window.

Finally, I get to tell him I'm lost. He explains that I'm not lost, I'm in the wrong century. That the president they were talking about is in the 22nd century (he called it the third century) and that people make this mistake all the time. They will either send me back to the 21st century, or they can bring my husband forward in time to join me.

The woman staffer (in brown tweed) then comes in the room with a small spiral bound book of photos of food (I was apparently to select something for dinner). I saw cole slaw and ham salad and remarked that things hadn't changed much in the third century and then I woke up. (I've never cared for science fiction.) I was on the couch; it was 5:20 a.m.

C-SPAN was broadcasting a meeting of photographers of the president. A noisy rain was hitting the windows. Beside me was a book about a 19th century ship that goes down in a hurricane and the recovery process of the ship and all the passengers' personal items. I'd had clam chowder and crackers for supper last night with various spreads including ham salad, and a very spicy creamcheese mix with salsa. It was Monday and I was supposed to meet Adrienne at the coffee shop (not Bob Evans) in an hour.