Maze dream on a train. Lost, trying to get back to my car and finding many obstacles of a fun-house variety. In one car, people were playing a games. One involved enormous pieces of modular art. The object was to move "pieces" in an effort to test one's artistic sensibilities. I tried to participate but the facilitator refused to explain the rules. Soon after, the game had changed to monopoly. 

I was having an excellent time at a party. I had worn a lovely straw hat and was feeling very social, loved and accepted. I went for a walk and my hat blew off. Two people on a tall tractor rescued it. I smiled at them, gesturing that it was mine. They drove off laughing with my hat. Things went downhill after that. 

Post-apocalypse, communications severed.. I delivered an inspirational speech to a group of survivors.  Also, I'd written our story in a newspaper, leaving the remainder blank so that others could add stories. Eventually, I said,  it would find someone with access to a printing press. This gave them great hope. 

 I was worried about some termites that were living in an old mattress and I wanted to protect them. I asked a friend to help me move them, and he threw them into a canal. I pulled out the soaking mattress and the termites morphed into large transparent bees that attacked me. 

 I made the decision to commit suicide. The "institute" sent me to a warehouse and I was corralled in a stall. A garage-like door opened and a wave of water came at me. I woke up in "heaven", which took the form of a housing development with shiny hindu-like gods periodically crossing the sky. Later, whilst making the argument that this was, indeed, heaven, not a dream, I woke up. 

 I was lactating. They tested the milk in a factory by adding some red dye and rolling it around a table on a basketball. The result was inconclusive, so I was sent to a clinic where it was black animal  give away day. Black cats, black sheep, black snakes, black chickens...they were being tossed into their new owner's arms with a catapult. The doctor blew me off and went home. 

 A typical restaurant dream with all its standard chaoas. A lucid moment arrives with the thought, "Whatever I do doesn't matter." I test my hypothesis by mentally altering the sign on the Marqui. After, I slip deep into a smooth, tapered hole. "This is not what I should be doing," I conclude. Somehow, I escape and fly away. My flight brings me to a little girl's room.. She is about 6 or 7. I fly around and she follows me. I ask, "Are you real and I am a ghost?" A ghost!" she repeats playfully. I think to myself that it is my responsibility to give her some advice. I mutter some platitudes about compassion and take off through the window.