Dream of: 23 December 1996 "X-Men"
Tall buildings rose all around me as I walked through a dark and dirty city canyon. I looked across the street to the building on the other side, the building in which I had my law office. I thought to myself how I had already been in the office for several years, and how quickly the time had passed. I didn't know why I had stayed in such a run-down and dangerous section of town. But then I remembered – just around the corner was the courthouse. I thought, "One block from the courthouse." And so it was. This somber and shabby section of town was just a few steps away from the bright white courthouse. Now I saw that this all had some kind of significance for me, and that I should try to remember what I was seeing. I looked at the street sign on the corner, and thought that perhaps I should remember the names of the streets at this intersection. I read the sign and repeat the names of both streets in my mind. One street was "Franklin," and the other street also was a name instead of a number. It seemed better to me to be associated with streets with names instead of numbers.
A young girl (12-13 years old) and I were trapped on top of a high building. We were being chased by some men who had ray guns. When the guns were fired, whatever was struck by the ray would slowly shrink in size. The men chasing us hadn't yet seen us, although they had already fired at least one shot from a ray gun, and had struck the building next to the one on which we were standing. As the girl and I stood on top of our building, I watched as the building next to our began to slowly shrink.
Suddenly I had an idea: maybe the girl and I could escape by jumping onto the shrinking building. I had no time to fully ponder the decision; I simply yelled at the girl to jump, and both of us jumped over to the roof of the neighboring building. One we were on the roof, I could feel the building going down, something like being on an open elevator. But I knew we couldn't simply stay right on top, out in the open. Both the girl and I climbed around to the side of the building and found places – probably in window wells – where we could hide ourselves. As the building continued to shrink and we moved closer to the ground, I pepped around to look back at the roof of the other building. Sure enough, I could see the men on the roof, peering over the edge looking down toward us. But they didn't see me, and I quickly pulled my head back. I hoped the girl was also in a safe position where she wouldn't be seen.
I had just descended to the city street, and jumped off, as if jumping off an elevator. Now I had to make a decision: should I go to the right or to the left? I now knew I needed to find a certain woman who had only passed by here a few moments before. But since the woman was nowhere in sight, I only had one sense which could help me: my sense of smell. Fortunately my sense of smell was extremely acute – so acute that it could actually be considered to be a super power. I raised my nose into the air, flared my nostrils and breathed in deep. It was odd, even for me, the sensation of trying to follow someone by smelling them. But suddenly, without even actually having the sensation of smell, I knew which way to go, and I turned in that direction.
I was lying on the floor of a room which seemed like the back bedroom of the Summerdale Drive House. The room, which I had previously used as a storage room, had now been cleaned out, with only a few pieces of furniture still in it. My mother as in the room, still cleaning, and she apparently was the one responsible for putting the room in order.
I however was occupied with something else. On the floor with me was a baby boy, not more than a year old. I knew the child belonged to my mother, and up until now, I hadn't paid much attention to it. But now, as it stood next to me, I realized the boy had reached the age where he was learning to walk, and also the age where it would be safe to play with him.
I reached out and took hold of him, and began rolling around and playing with him. He was smiling and obviously enjoying playing with me. I also was enjoying myself, and had never realized before that I could have so much fun playing with a baby. But I was. It was as if I was experiencing the same kind of fun and pleasure that the little boy was having. I continued playing for quite a while, rolling around, knocking him down, but always being careful not to hurt him.
But finally, as I was holding him on my lap and looking down at him, I noticed a pained look on his face. And then I saw that he was wearing some kind of plastic or glass bubble around his head, similar to what an astronaut might wear. I hadn't noticed the glass helmet before, and now I was concerned that I might have somehow damaged it, because it looked as if it had come loose at the bottom around the neck and nothing was holding it on the baby's head. Finally, when I saw that the baby appeared to be straining for air, I pulled the helmet completely off. I didn't know whether I should have done that, but the baby seemed relieved to have the helmet off, and he appeared to once again be ready to play.
I was looking at a toy rocket which I had recently bought somewhere. It was quite large, probably two feet high, and appeared to be made of white plastic. It was assembled and ready to go, and could actually be fired to shoot up into the air. After working with it for a little bit, I finally flipped the switch so that it could take off. But nothing happened. I flipped the switch several times, but still nothing. Finally I realized the rocket must be broken. I opened up the top and looked inside. I could see two silver metal connections, and realized the rocket had a small electric motor in it. Since I had bought the rocket used, I figured there was something wrong with the motor. I had several other toys which had similar problems, and I hoped to learn how to fix them. I knew it shouldn't be that difficult to fix a little motor on a toy, but I hadn't yet taken the time to learn to do it.
I was looking at a piece of bold writing, like the large title of a book. It said, "The X-Men ...." The rest of the title, like the title of a comic book, described some adventure that the X-Men had been on. I liked the sound of the title and I thought if I were to write down what I had just been doing, it would make a good title for what I had written.
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