Three dreams, today, I'll try to remember. First, I was in the hospital. I had opened the front door to the house where I'd grown up and a dark haired white man slit my throat. While in the hospital I had visitors, male and female, but the only one I know in real life is my childhood friend, Keith. Then, they were trying to get me out of the hospital: escape! We were running down white, well lit, halls, being chased by nurses with syringes.
In the second dream I was working at a clothing shop. The place was pretty big and dark. There were a lot of employees, and it must've been Christmas, or something, because the owner called a meeting. Then, a blonde woman employee stood up. She was back from the hospital. She had recovered from getting her throat slit. People were after her, and she needed protection. Then, I recall passing a book seller, it must've been a mall. Now, Ron was with me. I opened a journal, and there was a psychedelic painting in pinks and blue. It looked like a book rising out of whirling puffs of smoke and fog. Out of the book there was a one eyed fetus type of creature with a tiny tuft of hair on its head. I told Ron that I already had this journal.
In the final dream I went into a convenience store. I looked like I just rolled out of bed, or worse. There was a cd player on a counter by coffee makers and a window. I put in my cd which was something like a combination of the original Twin Peaks soundtrack, Radiohead's In Rainbows, and Tori Amos. Then, I went into the restroom to get dressed. While I was doing that, my cd was playing. Tom Petty owned the store. A tall young black girl came into the shop, and Tom was complaining about the music to her. She, however, was a fan. I came out of the restroom with a cap on, wearing red. I went to collect my cd only instead there were two other opened ones, with black and white cover art by the same artists. The girl gave me back my cd. She was trying to tell me something, only I could not hear her over Tom and another man, spreaking in the background. She repeated herself. As I was trying to make out what she was saying, I saw a black and white book in my head, behind my eyes, the cover read, R. Brown. Somehow, telepathically, I knew this to be her dead boyfriend. I told her she had to speak up as the men were too loud, and she was speaking too softly. I also said that I had seen the band, many times, in Philadelphia, that Ron was the real fan, I had to be in the mood. She was pretty, probably a half breed, very tall and slim. When I put my ear up to her mouth to hear I noticed she had a slight mustache. She told me to call her next time we went to see them.
Ron just asked me if I was having a nightmare last night as I was screaming. I have been known to talk in my sleep, but my brother was the walker.
