Wednesday.
Nov. 7th, 2001 12:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
quislibetIn a dream last night, I caught the commuter train just in time by jumping aboard, and found the secret car on the train with complimentary snacks and beverages and desks and futons for busy or weary commuters. I think it was supposed to be the train from Providence, which I don't take anymore, of course, although being in dream-land it didn't look anything like any real train station I know.
On the train in the refreshment car I run into some Man Ray regulars I know slightly who happen to be camgirls. (One lives in Providence, which supports the fact that it's supposed to be that train, but logic really doesn't enter into this much.) I say hello but don't really interact with them at all. Then my friend George from the year I spent in Athens, Greece - a future Greek Orthodox priest - comes into the car as well. I greet him in bad Greek; in my dream I am not even as good at modern Greek as I actually am (often in dreams it's the reverse). He mocks me in a friendly way. I introduce him to the camgirls; they seem nervous. I realize they think we're there for the auditions for their online porn site, and don't want us to. George reminds me that that is in fact the plan: we were going to make fun of the whole thing by submitting pictures of ourselves in regular street clothes. His pictures have him doing archery. I don't remember mine.
Huh.
That plot doesn't resolve itself at all, much, as we move to a different car. George (who in real life is married, but not apparently in the dream) picks up a fellow passenger by complimenting her sweater, which she immediately strips off. I get uncomfortable and leave. I walk into "my office," apparently on the train no longer (unless it's a desk in the refreshment car), wherein someone has set up my Mom's (aside to snotgoths: My Mom) old dishwasher, which is an archaic sort of thing that had to be physically connected to the faucet in the kitchen sink by a long hose for its water supply. In the dream, this version isn't set up properly, has extra attachments that don't go anywhere, and is spraying dishwater all over my desk. I enlist the help of a secretary (another sign that we're in dreamland). Afterwards someone makes a comment about how she helped "hold my hose," and a laugh track cuts in.
And that's all I remember.
On the train in the refreshment car I run into some Man Ray regulars I know slightly who happen to be camgirls. (One lives in Providence, which supports the fact that it's supposed to be that train, but logic really doesn't enter into this much.) I say hello but don't really interact with them at all. Then my friend George from the year I spent in Athens, Greece - a future Greek Orthodox priest - comes into the car as well. I greet him in bad Greek; in my dream I am not even as good at modern Greek as I actually am (often in dreams it's the reverse). He mocks me in a friendly way. I introduce him to the camgirls; they seem nervous. I realize they think we're there for the auditions for their online porn site, and don't want us to. George reminds me that that is in fact the plan: we were going to make fun of the whole thing by submitting pictures of ourselves in regular street clothes. His pictures have him doing archery. I don't remember mine.
Huh.
That plot doesn't resolve itself at all, much, as we move to a different car. George (who in real life is married, but not apparently in the dream) picks up a fellow passenger by complimenting her sweater, which she immediately strips off. I get uncomfortable and leave. I walk into "my office," apparently on the train no longer (unless it's a desk in the refreshment car), wherein someone has set up my Mom's (aside to snotgoths: My Mom) old dishwasher, which is an archaic sort of thing that had to be physically connected to the faucet in the kitchen sink by a long hose for its water supply. In the dream, this version isn't set up properly, has extra attachments that don't go anywhere, and is spraying dishwater all over my desk. I enlist the help of a secretary (another sign that we're in dreamland). Afterwards someone makes a comment about how she helped "hold my hose," and a laugh track cuts in.
And that's all I remember.
