Dream journal entry #8
03/28/2014 06:35 p.m.
So many strange and vivid dreams, but I feel confused thinking about them and only remember fragments. As I write, they'll probably flesh themselves out, but I know the details will be weird and disjointed.

I'm in a large room, like a basement, but it has a theatrical feel to it--long red curtains in some parts, colorful (and messy) wardrobes throughout, and iron-framed staircases leading up to dressing rooms at random intervals. My wife Nancy is here as well. I'm not sure what's going on, but we're looking around this colorful mess, wondering what it's all about. Suddenly, we're confronted by some kind of tall, mutant bear with blond fur, partially wrapped in a curtain or some kind of vibrant fabric. The bear has a deformed face; it's eyes are lopsided and out of focus. It's standing on its rear legs, showing teeth and snarling--very fierce and unworldly. Nancy immediately runs up the nearest staircase and locks herself into the room at the top. I stay behind and block the bear's path, not knowing what I should do. Then the bear chases me around the room several times before I finally run up to the room where Nancy is safely hiding; the door, of course, is locked, and the bear is standing at the bottom of the stairs, ready to charge. I feel cornered, so I pound on the door and holler at Nancy to open it. Just as the bear begins to charge up the stairs, Nancy lets me in and we slam the door shut. The bear's heavy body pounds into the door and it begins to claw at the wood. I look around the room; its larger than I expected. There's a window and a cluttered desk at one end; light is streaming through the window. Nancy is happy the bear didn't kill me, as am I. We then pause and reflect on the strange appearance of the bear, not at all worried that it might break through the door of this room. Until it does ...

We're on a camping trip with a bunch of friends and neighbors. The place where we're camping seems to be an enclosed space containing an artificial environment similar to a wilderness campground. It's a bright sunny day outside, except it's nowhere near as bright as it should be and the sun is not the sun. Among the people camping with us are our neighbors, Lyn, Dan, and Adam Yates. When we go to their tent to pay a visit, they're sitting around a table inside the dark tent eating and drinking. Lyn is extremely jovial and they all seem to be having a good time. But Dan and Adam aren't saying much. Most of the conversation around the table comes from faceless people whom I do not know. Lyn invites Nancy and me to join them. I don't remember if we do or don't, but later Dan and Adam are outside the tent discussing Dan's car, which isn't running. They're mixing up a batch of synthetic oil in a large plastic vat. It's a tried and true recipe that Dan developed himself and has been using for years. This is what will make the car run again. I'm paying close attention to the different liquids that he stirs into the mix. The syrupy swirl of his stirring, along with the different shades of brown and grey mixing together, is mesmerizing. I forget where I'm at and what I'm doing ...

We're at the airport, or maybe it's an amusement park funhouse. Or maybe it's a very colorful video game full of secret corridors, rooms, and unusual challenges. I'm with Nancy, but she's not quite Nancy. She does, however, need to board her plane, and I've come along to help her find it. But it's not easy because once we go inside the building, everything is in a state of flux--the rooms and corridors are continuously changing into different rooms and corridors; colors swirl brightly and mix themselves into vibrant new colors; space and time has become interchangeable and thoroughly confused. We marvel at this for a moment, then enter the maelstrom. It's difficult to recall what happens next, but eventually we find ourselves wandering through a narrow, dimly lit subterranean hallway made from concrete. The absolute grayness of this environment feels like a relief but we seem to be walking in endless square circles, and we need to get Nancy to her plane before she misses it. After a confused swirl of foggy images, we finally escape our subterranean labyrinth and find ourselves back inside the heart of the brightly colored, time-and-space-shifting maelstrom. We're on a conveyor belt; it's an assembly line and we're supposed to be reassembled here by giant clownlike figures who peer down at us through the brightly colored fog that fills our peripheral vision. I look at Nancy and her eyes look like fried eggs in need of pupils; I know that mine do too. We manage to avoid being reassembled at the various assembly stations along the conveyor, but we're now approaching the final station where pupils will be painted onto our eyes. We need to avoid this more than anything else. I feel time and space finally begin to move in the same coherant direction; we can see clearly again. Because of this, we are able to roll aside just as the pupil painting machine is about to attach itself to our faces. And then I woke up.