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Pizza slide, skunk & squirrel, fundraiser bricks, scummy private investigator

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posted on Dec, 18 2019 @ 08:09 AM
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I am at a pizza place in town that employs multiple acquaintances and friends. I have been hired as a delivery driver. "Charles" pours my coffee into a stainless steel insulated beverage vessel; afterward, we descend a slide to an alleyway behind the pizza place. This is the loading zone. Upon entering my vehicle I realize there is a skunk inside. I scramble from the vehicle (an 80s model Mazda pickup). There are many skunk now, inside and outside the vehicle. Additionally, there are several squirrel. One of the squirrel is flattened on the pavement. I paused to look at it, mesmerized. Throwing whatever objects I can find, I manage to chase the animals away without being sprayed or bitten.

I am down the street from where I grew up. The sidewalk is brick and the bricks bear names; they are fundraising bricks. I "know" that my classmates each had their names on a brick, placed there years before while still in elementary school. Many of the bricks are missing, and upon inspection, I don't recognize a single name.

I am at my house. There is a 90s model Plymouth Voyager minivan. I discern that the man inside the vehicle is conducting surveillance. I use my grandfather's binoculars to spy on him. He doesn't notice me, so I sneak up to the van before he can drive away. Up close I can tell that he is a shabby-looking, slovenly, fat man, bearing a slight resemblance to the actor who played Commissioner Gordon in Tim Burton's Batman picture. "Who sent you here?" I demand. He rolls his eyes, irritated to be discovered, and hands me a tri-folded orange piece of paper.

It is a form, a certificate one would receive as if for participating in something. It has blank lines where information is printed. (Like "This is to certify that ______ has completed the requirements for _______.") The person who has ordered surveillance on me is called "Opal", and at the bottom of the page are low-quality, copied images of various rifles accompanied by generic phrases such as "Protect Your Freedom." It has a distinctly amateurish look.
edit on 12/18/2019 by DictionaryOfExcuses because: (no reason given)




posted on Dec, 18 2019 @ 08:19 AM
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a reply to: DictionaryOfExcuses


Ummm…?


What have you been ingesting...?

Don't be a Bogart...sharing is caring...







YouSir



posted on Dec, 18 2019 @ 09:14 AM
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a reply to: DictionaryOfExcuses

I was expecting there to be flesh interfaces. Somewhat disappointed.

_9MOTHER9HORSE9EYES9



edit on 18-12-2019 by grey580 because: (no reason given)



posted on Dec, 18 2019 @ 12:00 PM
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a reply to: DictionaryOfExcuses

Great imagery !! Is this the beginning of a short story or a screen play?

I know some people....



posted on Dec, 18 2019 @ 12:40 PM
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the multi dream theme is keeping your self ready+able to adapt to any situation...


hone that ability to survive in the years ahead (probably as resources around you decrease)



posted on Dec, 18 2019 @ 02:42 PM
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Very unusual to be able to read while dreaming, since it apparently happens mostly in the vision centers and not in the symbolic interpretation centers of the brain. So good on you.



posted on Dec, 18 2019 @ 09:50 PM
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a reply to: DictionaryOfExcuses

...This is almost exactly how many of my dreams go, or at least flow, and have had almost all of these elements in dreams before, though not in that order. It kind of creeped me out reading it because it seemed so familiar.



posted on Dec, 20 2019 @ 09:46 PM
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a reply to: olaru12

Nah really just a weird dream I had. I woke up and wanted to record it but my usual dream journal was nowhere to be found. Got some stories coming down the line though.



posted on Dec, 20 2019 @ 10:34 PM
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Damn, and here I thought the one I had last night was oddball. You win.

For posterity, mine was me and the fam driving around rural MI, stumbling across an idyllic farm nowhere near anything (not exactly unusual, but this felt insanely isolated) but they were bustling with business in their barn-store. Hubs and I went nuts trying to find as much yummy fruits and veggies as possible (this place evidently grew every single thing under the proverbial sun) Hubs whipped out the debit to pay for the huge produce stash we'd amassed, only to have it declined twice. We step aside, and he called the bank, muttering about how he knew damn well there was more than enough in the account.

After a few minutes, I hear him yelling very loudly about how dare they demand that of citizens, who or what gives them that right, yada yada. He shoves the phone at me and tells me to handle it because he was too steaming pissed to argue coherently. Evidently, the government has insta-enacted requirements to access your own money, as a way to dissuade terrorism funding. I needed to provide everything form grandma's favorite color, to bra cup size (lmao) to hub's undies brand, who my pets' vet is, etc, etc. It was ridiculously detailed and invasive, and I understood instantly why hubby got so pissed off -- the bank clerk I was talking to wasn't apologetic at all, was was getting increasingly demanding for info. I told her whereto shove it, and hung up.

In the meantime, hubby had been digging through his apparently TARDIS wallet looking for spare cash he missed, because we weren't leaving without that produce. He found a wad of money, and handed it to me to pay while he rounded up the kids. I was annoyed when I realized it was a jumbled fistful and I had to pick through the disorganized bills. I also was annoyed that hubs had stuffed packets of ketchup and mayo between bills here and there, and these weren't the average packets -- the strips were never cut, so it was one long strip of connected packets folded up neatly between bills.

The whole damn dream didn't make much sense, and I woke up irritated at his wallet disorganization, and condiment storage practices, as well as still irate over the sudden authoritarian/dictatorship government blocking us from our money & needing to hand over all personal info and probably the firstborn for that one transaction.



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