Thursday, June 23, 2011

More Dreams

I was at a new job having a meeting. It was one of those meetings in which each person gets to speak for a few minutes and relate a new idea, then the immediately is forgotten forever, unless it is a really good one. It gets implemented and the boss takes credit for such a swell idea.  So we were all at sitting at tables in a meeting.

I then hear a mans voice outside and he is vigorously complaining. I look out the window and see a white, convertible Cadillac. The angry voice belongs to the comedian Gallagher and he is now shouting.

We get escorted to another large room with some refreshments. Gallagher is seated on a couch and is half asleep. I walk over to him and say hello. I see some yellow stains on his blue jean shorts and a damp spot.

He awakes and looks awkwardly at me.  I say, "I'm Marc."  Gallagher angrily tells me he knew that. I start to walk away, but then turn around and ask him how he knew my name is Marc. He stares at me like I'm an idiot and then sarcastically says, "Because my name is Marc and you look like a Marc."  (I should have known this!)  I then walk back to a chair and sit down.

An assistant to Mr. Gallagher comes over and tells him that he needs to get ready. He shouts at her, but gets up and walks to a hallway.  A few minutes later, I see he has changed his clothes and is wearing a pressed striped long sleeve shirt with gray shark-skin slacks. 

I hear him screaming at the assistant, "I'm not doing this show. I swear I am not. They aren't paying me enough."

Another assistant walks over and announces, "You have a phone call from your real wife" and hands him a cell phone.

The next night, I was in a car with some other people we were entering a ramp to go on the expressway. The ramp was very steep. At the apex of the ramp, the road dropped almost straight downward. 

The expressway seemed to be like a roller coaster with hills and valleys and dips and curves. I was also driving at a high rate of speed.

Suddenly I find myself on a deserted cobblestone road in Cincinnati. The road is lined with deserted and shuttered up old buildings that once were factories and offices at the end is a bridge.

Now I find myself at a doctors office. It is actually the office of a surgeon. She has a man on the operating room table. He is laying in a prone position on his stomach, with his feet hanging over the end of the table and drapes covering his body.  I discover that I am her assistant. She is operating on his right heel to remove a cancerous tumor.

She has cut into his flesh to reveal a big yellow glomulous mass.  I reach up to adjust the light and see the patient is a doctor that I used to know.

He is a surgeon named Pescovitz.  I go to the front of the table and ask him if he is comfortable.  The lady surgeon then yells at me that the light is too bright.  She wants me to turn it off and says that I should have known better.

I then find myself in an area that resembles a campsite or a park.  It is woodsie and has rows of picnic tables under a shelter. 

I see Dr. Pescovitz in a large laundry tub. I am puzzled, so I walk over and inquire as to his status.  He says he is comfortable and this is part of his therapy.

Last night I find myself once again at a bridge. I am on the Kentucky side of the bridge, which reaches Cincinnati. The sky is dark and glooming as it is in the glowming. I walk up the sidewalk and spot an old friend. I ask him what he is doing. He tells me that he is running on the catwalk under the bridge. He then jumps down onto a walkway that is covered with safety wire. 

There is a tiny mesh footpath. He then slips through a hole in the wire to a steel walkway that is painted green. It is about 18 inches wide.  There is no safety wire. It just dangles below the bridge. He shouts up to me;

"Hey watch me. I'm going to run to Cincinnati and back." He then takes off at a brisk pace making giant strides.  He comes back and then turns and runs off toward Ohio once again.

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