The Dream of the Octogon Office
In a dream last night, I had a really cool home office. The room was shaped like an octagon; the walls were all wood. On one side of the octagon was a pair of French doors leading to a little balcony.
I opened the doors and stepped outside. It was a windy night: chilly, with a bright moon. It was similar to the night described in one of last night's posts. Only colder. But it didn't feel cold to me; it felt invigorating. There were flower gardens below the balcony, leading off to a forest.
The wind blew into my office, blowing curtains by open windows, but not blowing any papers around. A big wind eventually came along that would have blown everything around. The doors and windows closed automatically, and I sat in my office listening to the wind outside.
It just felt cool!
In another dream, I woke up in a cubicle. In my underwear, of course. I spent the night at a job, working. Other co-workers had, too. I had a pair of jeans and attempted to pull them on before anybody saw me. The right leg of the jeans was folded weird, and I couldn't get my foot through the bottom. A couple people wandered down an aisle toward my cubicle.
I hurried, trying to get my jeans on, but I ended up tripping and fell into the aisle.
Then the office turned into a hotel.
I was near the front desk. My real life boss was near the front desk, too. He had a camera with him and was wanting to get out and take some photos. I looked out the windows, and there were a lot of beautiful trees around. I told my boss he better get outside; I told him the lighting was about to be spectacular.
He didn't rush outside like I suggested. He looked outside, instead, just in time to see the lighting change, flooding everything in a warm light similar to the lighting in the end of another dream.
I ended up wandering around the lobby until I found a side stairway leading down to the street. I stepped out onto a neat street in a small city.
Just outside the hotel was a stairway leading down to a basement shop of some sort. I went down to a locked door. I had the key to the door, opened it, and I was back in the octagon office.
I sat at my desk, noticing a pile of black and white photos somebody had placed there.
I thumbed through the photos; many of them were photos of an old friend I haven't seen in years. Others were photos from childhood. There were a couple other photos, but I don't remember what they were.