Dream Archive 32: A Complicated World of Meaningful Objects

A lantern, a bell, a manor house that I(?) inherited(?). In the dream I was writing down the dream. In one of the shared rooms we were all sitting on the floor. It was a mess. Someone’s pet turtle was crawling around. He opened his mouth and fifteen little foam balls of different sizes rolled out. We realized we needed to clean the place, because he’d been eating them for a while. This was maybe a shared house at a college(?) because people started discussing the legal ramifications of cleaning up other people’s stuff. 

There was some kind of story that kept repeating. It was a story of intrigue that involved riding motorcycles through a complicated world of meaningful objects, perhaps in a museum(?). In order to be on the motorcycle team, you had to log in and create a character. My login was “japan5”. 

There was a street that looked like it might’ve been in Cork or Edinburgh. It was bustling with activity, and there were shops and restaurants everywhere, but it was apparently still part of the college(?). I was supposed to be doing work, but I kept looking around. My father was there, and he lifted me up and swung me around so I could get a better view. There was a window set into the floor directly above me about six floors up. Someone, a student, was looking down through it as though they were sitting in front of a regular window. I got the feeling this was maybe the school library(?). I started to feel self-conscious and told my father to put me down, because being on your dad’s shoulders is only for little kids. 

I knew I should check my email and see what work I needed to do, but I was hungry. I asked my dad if he wanted to go to a cafe(?) called Savannah. He froze up, trying to think of what to say, an I realized he was supposed to be undercover. I was blowing his cover story. My brother and I looked at each other, trying to figure out what to do. A woman came over and asked if she could help. She clearly thought my dad was having trouble remembering things. 

I said, “No, it’s okay, he...” 

“Yes,” said my dad. “It’s okay. I’m Savannah.”

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