Learning to fly

Oh it has been so long. Last nights was the craziest in some time. It started out that two men came to my condo (that I no longer live in) to try to sell me something. While one was working the sales pitch on Linda, the other grabbed my hand. As it happened, I had a gun and pointed it at the man, just as he went to draw a gun. Seeing this, the other man drew a weapon and aimed it at me. I grabbed the weapon from the first, and aimed it at the second man and said, "you won't shoot, but I will, so drop the gun."

He lowered the weapon, and I commanded Linda to grab it and aim it at him while I tie them up. I happened to have tie wraps handy, and as I tied them up, they were no longer men, but women. And Linda took to questioning the one, while I told the other I was going to violate her in the bathroom. Linda looked over and told the woman "that's what you get." But then, something happened, and the tie wraps ended up being flimsy and unable to restrain the women.

Next thing I know, I am being pursued. A group of police in riot gear are trying to force their way into the building. I barrackaded the door, and went up the stairs to the flat, where there were hundreds of wood chairs. I started hurling the chairs down the stairwell to block any possible entry. Suddenly, I realized that there was also a second floor entrance, which the police were then using. I recall boggling at this, thinking, "what's the point of the first floor entry!"

We ran out to the back to the garage, which was huge. It had all sorts of vehicles, like Bruce Waynes garage, only different. I considered making use of the sports car as an escape vehicle, when I spied the plane. It was a jet of sorts, which seated three. All the seats were lined up one behind the other, with a glass cockpit, similar to a fighter plane. We quickly boarded the plane (there were three of us now, and I don't recall who the other two people were) and taxied out to the runway.

I had never flown a plane before, but was certain I could figure it out. At the end of the runway, I noticed it was about 50 yards long, on a downward slope, that had trees and a powerline at the end of it. "That's it!?!?" I thought. But rationalized that if this runway was here, and this plane was here, the plane must be capable of achieving altitude before the end of the runway. So I throttled up the engines to a thundering roar and began my liftoff. Only the plane didn't move.

I fiddled with the throttle, tried working the sticks (there were two, similar to a helicoptor, rather than a single yoke of an airplane). I looked for some button or lever or brake or something that might be restricting this plane. Nothing. I considered just taxing away, knowing the police would be there soon. I recall thinking, "I should have gone for the helicoptor!" And then I woke up.

Like a movie

A mix of old and new dreams. I don't recall what was the reason for it, but I was in the woods of nothern Michigan with Anita. I don't have so many dreams with Anita anymore, but usually they involve her being really mad at me. This one was different. It was as if the world had ended, or was ending. And we had reconciled and found peace. Almost like it was all just a bad dream, or that in the end, none of the bad stuff really mattered.

We were hiding in the woods, surviving. It was snowy. We had been there for a good month, living off berries and improvising shelter. Then, we came upon some heavy earth moving equipment, or it came upon us. Along with it was a group of armed people. Really a mish mash of people. Not soldiers, just people.

I could not tell if they were looking for us, or subversives in general. All I knew is that they were going to cause us, and our retreat, harm. They left for the evening, with the machines unattended. Anita and I entered a huge Volvo dump truck - the kind you only see in giant strip mines. I figured our best chance for escape was to steal an unstoppable vehicle. Just as we were inside trying to get it started, two men and a woman happened upon us.

They nervously aimed their weapons at us, insisting that they were going to kill us. And by insisting, it was as if this was their directive, but that is what they were instructed to do. They had little conviction on this point, so I explained what we were doing there, and that we just wanted to leave. They lowered the weapons and I grabbed one.

I realized it was a .22 and pointed out that it was a terrible weapon to use for shoting a person. It would unlikely kill someone, but would cause them great agony if a round entered a persons abdominal cavity and ricochet around inside. Further if they wanted to be humane, they should use a .38 or a 9mm at the very least.

Just then, a fourth male arrived, pointing another .22 rifel at me. I asked jokingly, "oh, you to? Are you going to try to kill me with a .22 as well?

"Yes," and he fired.

Marijuana

It's been awhile since I've had a dream of any detail or significance. It must be all the traveling I'm doing and the change in diet. But last night was very detailed and interesting. It was about my office and how the department has taken to growing marajuana.

The entire office area was set up as a giant hydroponics garden. Large stands and tanks suspending the plants up about 4 or 5 feet with hoses and pumps running everywhere. Plants were in different stages of growth, even though the garden was only just being completed. And everyone was involved, and they all had specific roles in the garden. Software was responsible for the pumps and water tanks.

One of the software guys was stating that if we had implemented the current watering system sooner, the plants would be mature by now and we would be harvesting clones. He lifted up a tray of plants to show the clones beneath it, neatly arranged in the rooting tray.

The money made would be divided up amongst the staff equally, and I began to calculate how much that would be based off random estimates of what it would be worth. They then realized that none of them knew how to sell it in such great quantities. I volunteered to handle that, as I was certain I would be able to move it all.

The next dream was really interesting, but it has faded. Something about a family reunion up at the cottage we summered at when I was a child. We were all going to go into town for something, and we were taking my vw bus. Linda determined there was not enough room, so we set about looking for another vw bus. I suggested we could take the suburban - the one I owned years ago. It easily seated 11, and we had 12. It would just be a matter of squeezing someone in. But she balked at the idea.

When we arrived at the destination, it was somewhere in the UP. In Hancock. I was parking the vw inside the building. It becomes a dance club in the evening, and an employee was helping me find a safe spot for the bus. Somewhere it would not get vandalized. We moved it to a hallway where she assured me it should be safe. There had been a big fight there last weekend, but it was unusual as people do not normally congrigate there.

Then there was something about swimming and softball back at Elk Lake...

On a farm again

It's all very fragmented, but I was with Brad, my roommate, and we were checking out of a hotel, which was also an airport. It had a circular drive with a conveyer system that ran the length of it's curb. It was crazy busy with people pulling their cars up and checking in / receiving bags. I pulled in driving Brad's large white SUV and went inside to collect my large suitcase. I figured we could come back for our golf clubs. I remember jumping into the back of the SUV and I was amazed at how big it was back there! Behind the back seats, where the storage area is, it was at least six feet long! I considered how great it would be to have this for driving back and forth to Michigan.

Then I met with Brad and we had to go retrieve our clubs. He was driving agressively into the receiving area. I was getting nervous. I told him I just parked and walked in. He said that was silly, and that we only had to pull up to an open slot at the conveyour and hand them our ticket. Which is what we did. It seemed to work okay, but it was frustrating none the less.

Next we were at our 'house'. Which was on a farm somewhere in rural Indiana or Michigan. I recall thinking we were only a couple hours from my dad's house. Brad was morphing with my old roommate Gary, from college. We were sitting in the old farm house, somewhat settled in, Brad was watching TV. There was an older woman there as well. She was kind of like an assistant. She was there to help us settle in and get to know the house and the town. A local woman.

Just then, I heard something from upstairs. A distinct sound. I check on Brad, asked if he heard it. He did, but had no interest or concern. I became furious about the fact that someone or something was upstairs. I grabbed a flash light and yelled up something to the effect of, "I am going to count to 10, if you don't come down, I am going to come up and kill you!"

I started counting. "10! 9! 8! 7!" I did not have a gun, so it was really a false threat. I really did not know what I was going to do.

"6! 5! 4!" Nothing yet. Then I did have a gun. A shotgun. It seemed old, and I had no idea if it would work at all.

"3! 2!" Then someone started comming down the stairs. He had a ski mask on, or a nylon sock, or something. Maybe a bag. Right away, I could tell he had a simple mind. But that did not make him any less of a threat. Right away he pulled a gun on me, which I quickly took away. I started to club him and then pistol whip him with his own gun. The woman pleaded with me to show him mercy.

I wrestled with that idea, knowing as long as he was alive that I could be in danger. Just then, he managed another gun from his boot. I hit him again and took the gun. It was a small Derringer styled gun. It did not even look like it would really work. The woman pleaded again. I yelled at the man. I told him it was his lucky day.

He was a local man. She knew him. Not personally, but she knew who he was. He had some mental disorder and led a troubled life. I took mercy on him. Well, until he then went for a knife he pulled from his boot and he started flailing at me. It was barely a knife. More like a long rusted piece of metal. She insisted and pleaded for me to still let him go. I think I did, but I can not fully recollect.

Then Brad and I got to discussing living out here. I said I might buy a motorcycle. An enduro bike. It gets awfully muddy and it would be good for getting around quickly. Brad decided he would look for an old ford mustang. He said he wanted a 389 or a 440 (or some other size I knew ford never made). Then he added that the displacement represted the modifications he would like to see. I suggested he focus on just the year and body condition, then he might have better luck finding one. He shrugged. I noted that I could head to my dad's over the next weekend. My tools were there.

Almost forgot!

I really need to do this first thing in the morning while the memory is fresh. Last nights dream was really interesting (and somewhat disturbing). It was midterms at MTU, and we were getting our grades back. It was a sociology class where we had to present some papers. The grades came in three parts, and it was like content, technical, and overall. On my papers, I received an A for the content but a D for technical and my overall midterm grade was A- (apparently the grades were weighted).

I was a little dismayed with the D, despite having an A- overall. Class concluded for a break (the class was in two parts) and I was sure I would end up missing the second half. This is where things got a bit unsettling. I reviewed my research for the paper which had something to do with a disgusting bathroom!

There was a bucket overflowing with feces, and the toilet as well was near full. It had spilled over onto the floor. I tried to take the bucket to the sink to try to get rid of it, but then realized the toilet was a better choice. It needed to be flushed first, and when I did that, it started to overflow. I thought I might get sick, and then proceded to do so. As luck would have it, two people showed up and said they would clean it up. Whew!

I can't recall if this was at my house, or at a bathroom elsewhere, but next thing I knew, I was heading to where I lived. Or was I already there? It was a tiny little house with a tiny little fenced yard. The lot was 30' across at max, and about 3x as deep. the house was probably 25X15 with one bedroom, a tiny kitchen and a living room. It was great. Half of the front yard was used for a vegtable garden, and the other half was grass.

I went out to the yard and noticed that the garden was severly wilting! In a near panic, I turned the water on. I remember distinctly it only took a quarter of a turn of the faucet to have full pressure at the sprinkler. It had been two weeks since it was last watered, and I hoped it was not too late for the young plants.

Across the street was a large corn field. Not far from the house a small car was backed into the field with someone sitting inside it. It seemed they lived in a house further in the field. I thought it was an odd place for them to park.

War again

I seem to be having more dreams about war. The battle was taking place in my old neighbor's back yard, between the Neboichecks and the McAree's. Except there was a bridge that had about a 100 yard span between them with a good arch to it's shape that you couldn't actually see the enemy. I instructed the soldiers to loft grenades over the crest of the bridge, noting they would roll to the other soldiers.

I took a grenade from one soldiers vests to demonstrate. I took the grenade and pulled the pin. I released the handle, and waited, to use up some of the time. Then I realized I had never thrown a grenade before, and had no idea how long the timer was, so I threw it. It wasn't much of a throw, more like an over hand long toss. Not enough to make it to the top. And it started rolling backwards.

I was tempted to run at it and kick it off the bridge, but thought better about it. Luckily, it detonated before it rolled too far back towards us. This agrivated me, so I took another, pulled the pin, advanced on the bridge and gave it a good throw over. Shortly after, the enemy took to the same tactic, but instead of grenades, they threw over a suitcase shaped explosive that was smooth and had small lights blinking on it. I ran to it and threw it back up the bridge.

It then became obvious to me that we were running low on amunition. Night had fallen and I noted that there was an unspoken cease fire at this hour of the day. Soldiers on both sides took this time to tend to the wounded, reload, mend weapons, regroup. It was oddly quiet.

I produced our ammo supplies and started issuing clips to the soldiers, noting the weapons they had and the ammo they needed. In the bag, there were clips with rounds. In some of the clips, the rounds had been hastily loaded and they were illseated. In some cases, it was as if the spring mechanism had been defeated and the rounds were just scooped inside. I took to the task of reloading the clips, when I noticed the extra ammunition. The rounds were stored in zip lock freezer bags. And in some cases, they were not even complete rounds but the actual bullets.

I pointed out that whomever supplied us with this ammo clearly was not thinking. While I understood ammo supplies were running low, there was no way we could reload rounds in the field. We were not in a suitable environment, nor did we have a reloading press. It was sheer nonsense.

Lots of fragments.

One very common theme involves a houseboat. Last night, it was about a houseboat that we neglected to return to the marina. We had forgotten that we had it for years, and now we were discussing what to do with the boat. We talked about keeping it and using, but there was concern that we would not be able to get a new registration sticker and that the police might be looking for the numbers. We then talked about returning the boat, thinking we might get our deposit back.

It was pretty much just Jason and I, but some of the other people from the past trips were there briefly. Finally, deciding to take the boat back, it came down to getting it back into Lake Powell. This required taking it over a waterfall. For what ever reason, whenever I dream about boats or ships, there is always the need to take it over a waterfall. I took control of the boat, aimed for the falls and went at it full speed (this is the same strategy every time).

The next thing I know, we are at the dock, and the boat is secure. Jason has gone to find someone to talk to about the boat. Meanwhile, I happen upon the rental dogs the marina has. Apparently, you can rent one of their dogs for you houseboat trip. They were all yellow labs and very friendly. I played and rolled around the dock with them. Two of the three wandered off, and the third, the smallest of the three, I wrapped in a blanket to keep him warm.

Now, these dreams are out of order, but the first dream I had took place at Westland Mall. It is kind of hazy, but I was there with Jeff Booms, and someone else. And we had his motorcycle. It was late and we were doing something illegal. In the end, I am not sure if it was his motorcycle or a stolen one. But when we went to leave, the motorcycle was out of gas.

Trying to keep everyone calm, I pointed out there was a gas station just across the parking lot. But there wasn't. Then I noticed one was across the street. But again, there wasn't. I was then CERTAIN I had seen one across the street and it was there. We walked the bike over and it was very dark, but open. It was an odd store, similar to one I have seen in other dreams. It was like a party store that also sold porn. It had very few windows, and the people working there looked very rough.

While fueling up the bike, I walked around the lot and noticed the wiring at the back had been vandalized. Just as I noticed, a big biker looking guy stormed out and accused me of doing the damage. I tried to point out that it had been there for some time and he was just trying to take advantange of us. At that, a rough looking woman came out. I told her to call the police because this was bullshit. She said she already had called them.

This, I realized, was bad. When the police showed up, the were quick to take the side of the biker and were ready to arrest us. I wanted to insist that they get Scott Hall down there (as he was a Westland police officer) and he could vouch for me, but I remembered he was retired. I tried to get them to bring in a superior officer but they refused.

The police car was big, like a limo. And things kind of became distracted then. Somehow, I managed to get behind the biker and I did something that snapped his neck. I thought I had killed him, so I took his zippo lighter that had skulls on it. Leaving his wallet and his other, bigger torch lighter. Just then, he came to, and accused me of robbing him as well. I pointed out I was just fascinated with the lighter and that if I was going to rob him, I would have taken his wallet. This logic dumbfounded him, despite being a complete lie.