Dream of: 13 February 2012 "Wearing A Blanket"

I was in a place which seemed like a nightclub in Portsmouth, Ohio. The place was packed full of young people probably in their late teens and early twenties. Outside was yet another throng of people trying to get in. I was sitting completely naked at a bar except for a cover wrapped around me. I felt somewhat incommoded by my attire because I did not think I could simply stand up and walk around with just a cover around me. Nevertheless, I wanted to leave. I did not want to pass through the crowd, however, because I was afraid my cover might be pulled off. I did not know what I would do if that happened. I envisioned myself running down the street completely naked, hiding in bushes, then dashing off from one place to the next in an attempt to escape.

I finally managed to leave without penetrating the crowd. Once outside, still wearing the cover, I went to neighboring Sciotoville to a house on the corner of Harding and Wilson Streets. I knew the house was supposed to be sold at auction in the next few days. I was surprised to discover other people at the house. I was able to go inside the house and I discovered pictures of the house as well as little postcards which described the condition of the house. I was disheartened to see other people looking over the house because I knew I would now have more competition if I tried to buy the house, so it probably wouldn't be a good buy. I did not know if I was going to have enough money to buy the house anyway.

Still wearing the cover, I walked out of the house. I had to descend a long set of stairs in front of the house, and on the way down, I encountered my father whom I did not recognize at first. I stopped and he looked at me. He seemed to be having some trouble climbing the steps. He began chastising me for having come to the house without him. I had thought about asking him, but I did not want to him to accompany me when I was only wearing a cover. Obviously angry, he continued up the steps. I stood and watched him.

As my father and I had been talking, Clint Eastwood (around 50 years old) had walked up. Eastwood knew my father and he had wanted to talk with him. He stood there waiting for my father to return. I did not say anything. Finally I told Eastwood I had to leave. I turned and continued on down the stairs.

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