Dream of: 04 July 1999 "A Lot Of Problems"

I had murdered someone. After the deed, I had stuffed the body into a small colorful box, about 20 centimeters square, which looked as if it had originally contained some kind of electronic device such as a tape cassette recorder. I proceeded to bury the body in a safe place where I was sure it wouldn't be found. I then made a report to the police that the person had been murdered, thinking that nothing linked me to the person, and that by making the report, I would divert suspicion from myself.

However, at that point, my plan began to fall apart. I abruptly recalled that I had owned another box similar to the one in which I had buried the body. The two boxes were part of a matched set. If the police were to ever discover the body in the box, and if they were to find the box which I still had, I might be linked to the murder. Of course the evidence would only be circumstantial, but it could still cause me serious difficulties.

I knew I needed to dispose of the second box as quickly as possible. I searched for it and found it among a bunch of other boxes in which I had stored things. But before I left I left the house to dispose of the box, I decided I first needed to clean up the place. Several other people were living in the house with me, and it was quite a mess. I began cleaning in the bathroom where clothes were lying everywhere. I found quite a few coins on the floor as I cleaned.

As I proceeded, a woman (about 25 years old) who lived in the house walked into the bathroom and officiously began helping me. Still concerned that someone might find the box, I told her I didn't need any help and that I could clean up the bathroom by myself.

***

I was driving a large red pickup truck, heading for the new place where I was going to be living. I was having a terrible time driving. Something was wrong with the steering mechanism and I couldn't control where I was going. Finally, as I was attempting to go around a curve, I ran straight off the road into a field. I bounced over some large bumps, thinking I was going to crash and be seriously injured. Eventually I ground to a stop in front of a house which I at first didn't recognize, but which I finally realized was the very house into which I intended to move.

I stepped out of the truck and started walking toward the house. But suddenly I realized I had the same kind of problem as the truck – I couldn't seem to control my movement. I was dizzy and I couldn't walk straight. The feeling of being out of control was extremely unpleasant. Obviously I was injured and I thought I might have to go to the emergency room.

But something even worse confronted me. I looked down on the ground, and saw that Picasso, who had been in the truck with me, had a gash on his neck and was covered with blood. I knelt down beside him, began talking soothingly to him, and examined the wound. He didn't look as if he were going to die, but his injury did look serious enough to require a trip to the emergency room.

I had a lot of problems – my truck, my dog, and myself. I needed to get moving.

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