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Dec. 15th, 2010
The dream is always the same.
I go to my old Hebrew school to check out a choir practice. It was typically labyrinthine - you couldn't find anything; ramps led everywhere. (Perhaps influenced by the synagogue website I'd visited earlier.)
I was early for rehearsal so I dropped in at a service, filled with disapproving faces and Big Donors, of which I wasn't.
Wandering out I wound up in my meeting, which as it turned out wasn't for a choir but to recruit me into the FBI. I was honored, or kept saying so. They were very glad to have me, or kept saying so.
The senior agents and I walked part of the way home. When I got to my apartment building I ran into a friend of mine who lives in Shanghai. Apparently he lived at my building, though, because geography makes no sense in dreams. We accidentally got off at the 8th floor, and not the third, where I lived in the dream. The 8th was in a much nicer style: burnished mahogany walls instead of layers of paint over plaster and iron. This is because the 4th floor and up were the "additions" to the building.
I took the elevator back down to 4th. It opened onto a dance floor--or maybe ballroom--half-filled with Funky Twentysomethings, like something in the club district, but with huge glass pyramid-domed ceilings which let us look out at the other downtown buildings in the complex, of which, in my dream, my apartment building constituted a part.
It was getting later in the night and people were leaving the floor. The MC was trying
to get people out for one more dance.
Don't remember when I woke up or if I made it back to my apartment or not.
So, you know, the usual.
I go to my old Hebrew school to check out a choir practice. It was typically labyrinthine - you couldn't find anything; ramps led everywhere. (Perhaps influenced by the synagogue website I'd visited earlier.)
I was early for rehearsal so I dropped in at a service, filled with disapproving faces and Big Donors, of which I wasn't.
Wandering out I wound up in my meeting, which as it turned out wasn't for a choir but to recruit me into the FBI. I was honored, or kept saying so. They were very glad to have me, or kept saying so.
The senior agents and I walked part of the way home. When I got to my apartment building I ran into a friend of mine who lives in Shanghai. Apparently he lived at my building, though, because geography makes no sense in dreams. We accidentally got off at the 8th floor, and not the third, where I lived in the dream. The 8th was in a much nicer style: burnished mahogany walls instead of layers of paint over plaster and iron. This is because the 4th floor and up were the "additions" to the building.
I took the elevator back down to 4th. It opened onto a dance floor--or maybe ballroom--half-filled with Funky Twentysomethings, like something in the club district, but with huge glass pyramid-domed ceilings which let us look out at the other downtown buildings in the complex, of which, in my dream, my apartment building constituted a part.
It was getting later in the night and people were leaving the floor. The MC was trying
to get people out for one more dance.
Don't remember when I woke up or if I made it back to my apartment or not.
So, you know, the usual.