The following is an actual dream included in my dream journal, and does not describe actual facts
Dream of: 12 October 1998 "Too Much, Too Fast"
In Portsmouth, about a block from my old high school, was a small grocery store called "Schoonover's", the kind of store which usually displayed baskets of fruit and vegetables stacked on the front sidewalk. I was sitting in a chair in front of the store, nonchalantly facing the street. I wasn't paying any attention to several black people who were gathered about a meter from me, until one finally spoke to me. When I looked at the fellow, I realized I knew him. I hadn't recognized him at first because he was dressed up like a woman. He was probably in his late 20s and gave the impression he hung out there a lot.
He asked me if I had come there to buy some dope. The thought hadn't occurred to me, but now that I recalled that I had smoked some marijuana with this fellow long ago, I thought perhaps I might like to smoke some now. When I asked him if he could get any pot for me, he told me he just happened to have some "red" for $25 a joint. As he extolled the strength of the pot, a spindly black girl standing nearby said she could get high with just one hit of the pot. But $25 a joint seemed completely outrageous to me, and I told him I was used to paying $2 a joint.
He continued talking and finally pulled out a joint and showed it to me. I could see the red pot, about the color of tobacco, sticking out both ends. The joint was definitely tempting, but I still wasn't prepared to pay that price for it. Finally the fellow caved in and told me he would sell the joint to me for $2, but he didn't want to conduct the transaction right there on the street, and he directed me to a building which looked like a barn on the other side of the street. I recalled that I had been in the barn-like building before and that part of the building had been filled with hay. I thought I might be able to find a safe place somewhere in the hay to smoke the joint.
When I reached the building, however, I discovered that the part of building which had contained hay was no longer there - only a bleak warehouse-like structure remained, empty and desolate. I walked inside, climbed up to the second floor and waited. In short order, a black woman showed up, approached me, and quickly told me that she would need to see some identification to make sure I wasn't a nark. Even though this procedure seemed a little ridiculous to me, I pulled out my billfold. When I opened my billfold to a section containing pictures, I was surprised that the first picture was of the black fellow who was selling me the pot. His wife and child were also in the picture. I handed the picture to the woman and told her I had kept the picture all these years, since the time when I had met the fellow. I then handed her other pictures to prove who I was.
As I did so, she mentioned that the fellow was willing to sell me two joints for $5. That sounded reasonable enough to me, and I told her I would take two. I saw some bills sticking out of my wallet, among which was a five. I thought I would give the five to her, but I didn't want to give her the money until I actually had the joints - I was unsure I could trust her. Feeling a bit apprehensive about being alone in this barren building with my wallet open, I suddenly noticed two or three other black men standing nearby. Since I hadn't seen them before, I thought they must have walked in with the woman. Thinking I might be in danger, I quickly closed my billfold and before anyone could do anything, I slipped back downstairs.
The woman followed me and when we reached the street, she told me I could wait in a bar which was right next door. I stepped into the bar and saw it was filled with black clientele. But that didn't bother me much and I stepped up to the counter to order a drink. At first I was just going to order one drink, but when I saw the prices, I decided to order a whole fifth of whiskey. I was handed a green-bottled fifth of something called "Crown Seven". After I was given a glass, I poured myself a drink.
I wasn't in the mood for drinking. I wanted the pot, but since I now had the fifth, I began slugging down one drink after another. The liquor wasn't difficult to drink, even though it was rather strong. It didn't take me long to finish off about a third of the bottle. I began feeling more at ease, but not intoxicated, and I thought about how well I seemed to be able to handle my liquor. But suddenly I began feeling a little light-headed, as if I weren't completely sure what I was doing, and I thought to myself, "Too much, too fast."
The black woman was also in the bar, waiting with me. She mentioned that I might want to order a pizza. She said the pizzas were only $5 apiece and she suggested that I buy two. At that point I didn't really care. I handed her the money and she left for the pizza.
By the time she returned, I was sitting at a table with a half dozen or so black men who seemed to be playing cards, although I wasn't paying close attention. I was more preoccupied with trying to figure out whether I was drunk. I couldn't seem to decide. I had drunk a lot of the fifth, from which I was now drinking straight from the bottle, but I still felt as if I were sober.
The woman set the pizzas on the table, but the toppings weren't yet on the pizzas. All the toppings were in a separate bowl and still had to be put on the pizzas. Some toppings looked like vegetables. Some sliced cucumbers looked good. There were also some delicate-looking pieces of meat of which I took a few bites.
I hadn't intended to share the pizzas with everyone at the table, but now I didn't see how I could refuse. Before I knew what happened, however, the other men at the table scooped up all the food, without even asking, and gobbled it down. I didn't even get one piece of the pizza for myself. Now the atmosphere seemed to have changed. Now that they had eaten all the pizza, the others didn't seem so friendly.
I was feeling confused and uncertain what to do. I just wanted to get my two joints and get out of there. The place was looking less and less safe by the minute.
Dream Journal Home Page
Copyright 2011 by firstname.lastname@example.org