Shifting bedtimes and being randomly awakened by an elderly cat having hissy fits is evidently stretching my brain in strange direction. I’ve been adding figurative square miles to my inner dream geography every night.
The latest? Cross-continental plane flight with Spouseman.
The plane was impossibly large and split into three levels: I think my mind based it on an public aquarium crossed with a train station lobby — the lowest level was for walking around during the flight and for passengers who bought sleeper mattress spaces. It had these big wrap around windows that were showing landscape scenes but not the actual sky outside. The top section I never saw because that was for “first class passengers.”
The middle section ahd windows like a train, big and wide, and the clouds were amazing. We were flying east into the night on our way to Australia. (Why Australia? Why NOT?!)
Spouseman and I had tickets for seats on a row packed with people, and there was a big school group of elementary-age kids in the row behind us and in our row except for these two snooty young women who were sitting in our seats when we got to them. (The flight was late and took off before everyone got seated.)
Much of the dream narrative revolved around dealing with them and getting them kicked out of our seats (so we could play ball toss with the kids) and the snobs being all indignant and lying — they’d made fake tickets with better seats than the ones in their own names. They lost their actual seats and got exiled to the worst seats next to the bathroom because they annoyed the flight attendants by lying and being insulting.
Oh, and the seats were absurdly big for airplane seats, and the food was delicious– I had beef stew and bread and a big mug of wine (why in a mug? I dunno. Ask my subconscious?) — and the meal was served with silverware and cloth napkins.
So it was obviously a dream. Ha!