May. 29th, 2017

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 Just woke from inclomplete dream in which I was somehow channelling a certain spider man. Not Peter Parker.
There was a lot of dream-plot that led up to this, and I can't recall it now. He liked gold makeup -- makeup generally-- and some particular perfume that in the manner of dreams happened to be to hand. I was wearing a skirt, but neither this nor the makeup appeared to make any difference in the subsequent series of events as to what gender (and I suspect, race) others perceived me as. I still don't know what the overall plan was, as I was just following along. I swaggered into a bar (we seemed to be near a university campus) where a young man asked me for a favour -- he was trying to catch the eye of a woman across the room. I sat down beside him as his slightly sleazy best friend wing man, and waved her over, saying someone had bought me a drink and it was now my obligation to keep the chain going. I introduced my man, asked her my name, didn't really give mine. She was on to me, or mostly, but it didn't matter as she was genuinely liking him, and they began chatting. Privately I knew I didn't have any cash on me, and briefly toyed with the idea of putting their drinks on the credit card another man further down the bar was being rather careless with; but I slipped out, figuring I'd done what he'd asked and he could cover the drinks himself. I continued walking, looking for a place to change. I fumbled the shades I'd been wearing and eventually put on a pair of my waking-life glasses, the serious squarish frames.  There's some sort of sloppy bit here where I was dodging in and out of stairwells trying to avoid someone I worried might recognize me, and then I was in some sort of hospital.
,Oh, are you the overnight attendant they sent for?" asked a woman behind a reception desk.  "The patient's just upstairs." 
"Third floor?"
"Yes, that's the one." As I got in the elevator I said to myself: "And now, I am going to steal a Kandinsky." I had no idea how, or why. In the elevator I felt my expression and stance turning dorky and sincere. My hair was short in the dream, but it was at this point I remembered I was in a skirt. I guessed no one in the bar had noticed because I was sitting down.The patient was a dying old man, of course. We talked. I forget about what. Then I went looking for a washroom and wandered into a sort of lounge, into which I was followed by a smiling man who said that this area was a sort of private club for staff and important donors only, so unless I was planning to join or give the hospital some money.... As I turned to exit I saw the Kandinsky on the wall. Except, this being a dream, it was a Grosz, or something very like. I left the private lounge and strutted around the corridors, getting quietly angry at the hospital. In the background I could hear the man and others beginning to phone their higher ups, worriedly confessing that they'd somehow insulted a member of the staff, a senior professor, by mistaking him for a dementia patient who'd wandered in. I was just wondering how, even as a miffed senior professor, I was going to parley this into being allowed to take home the Kandinsky/Grosz, when I woke up. I'm still not sure how the old man factored into this, although I'm beginning to suspect he, or his family, had once owned the painting. I'm still not sure if this was all still part of the scheme to get that guy and girl from the opening bar together. Anyway, I'm grateful and enough for what I can recall, and wary enough of my ability to still have even that in the morning, to get up and type this all down.

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