Posted by: normanlgreen | December 18, 2011

Dream, December 18, 2011 scale & grand mal

Dream, Home 9:00 am

Working in the shop close to the end of a day. The space, normally crowded with equipment, has been in-filled with extra stuff from people’s garages.

An engineer has problems with drawings that will not print to scale. I wish to check the first batch to see how much degree of error has occurred. I cannot find the ivory scale as the desk in which it normally is stored has been shifted to another part of the room. I decide to print the cover sheet to check it for scale, but cannot get access to any of the large format printers. Someone has dropped off an arcade style basketball game which takes up many square yards of floor. The engineer is as frustrated as I am, but I must interrupt my efforts to type something for a woman in a hurry. She watches as I use an IBM Selectric from the 1970s. The closer she watches, the more mistakes I make. I give up, telling her that I will have to help her in the morning.

Returning to the engineer, I recall that I have another printer setup in the space next door. He and I leave through the back exit and enter the next shop through its back door. A group of people gather in the front lobby – they have a scheduled after-hours meeting. I ask the engineer for his usb drive so I can copy the files he has brought to replace the poorly scaled drawings. He hands me a flat gray wafer with two wires dangling from it. The wires have been stripped of their connection, leaving a wad of woven copper wire exposed at the end of each. This pushes me over the edge of frustration.

I drop to the floor, believing that I am pretending to faint, instead I find I am having a Grand Mal seizure. My vision closes in one corner of the fluorescent light fixture mounted to the ceiling above me. I hear the voice of a young woman who is part of the group that has gathered for a new age healing meeting. “Are you OK? Or are you kidding.” I cannot answer her as I hyperventilate in short sharp breaths. This goes on for some time, with no one doing anything to help me. At last my muscles release me and I sit up to find that the engineer has left.

I exit through the front door and walk south a few steps to the front door of my business. I see through the glass door that there are still customers milling in the lobby. I use one key to open a key safe that is recessed in the cinder-block wall. I remove the key to lock up the front door with a fist sized padlock. I open the door to ask everyone to leave. Just inside, two hobos have helped themselves to cold beers from a cooler that someone has stored in my lobby. As they pass me I hear them speak with english accents, one from south london and the other from Manchester. These two are the only ones who leave by the front door, which I padlock for the night. These visitors want me to join them in their beater car which is idling across the street, with its headlights lit. I josh them with a lot of “what’s all this then” & “I say, I say, I say” blather. The red-bearded man from London suggest that if the three of us could only find a Music Hall located in the 1930s, we could have a successful act. He sings “standing on the corner, watching all the girls…” but I decline to join in. I wonder how that song fits in with the Music Hall tradition.

I do not want to go with these two, as I suspect they will rob me as soon as they get me into their car. Instead, I push my way through a snow bank that has formed at the south end of the building, parallel to the sidewalk. I want to get to my own car and to get away from these two, but they follow me into the snowy field.


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