25 Apr 2011 A Woman with Freckles

05:00 am. Just had a dream about a woman with a beautiful dusting of freckles across he the bridge of her nose and cheeks. They small round dots, dark brown. She was a rather bosomy woman with a light yellow skirt and a white blouse. My son and I were in her place of business, and she was telling us about someone who made and sold clothes or fancy curios of some sort. She lived in the mountains, and the woman with the freckles was giving us directions. The woman with the freckles was quite beautiful, and when she reached up on a bulletin board to get the address, I noticed that she had on a wedding ring, which didn’t surprise me, and I thought of how her husband must be proud of her. She walked us to the door, and she stopped for a second because she had dropped her pacemaker. I said, “Yes, you certainly wouldn’t want to lose that.” She stood thinking about what I’d said but didn’t respond. Then she took the cord to her pacemaker and plugged it in back by the door of her refrigerator. Completely ridiculous now, but didn’t seem so at the time.

05:45 am. Another dream about a woman. This woman smaller, thinner, dark hair thin, very pretty. We were talking. She was single. She mentioned a symbol I had on my belt, a triangular shaped symbol. She said that I wore a lot of them and that she liked them. She talked softly. I could barely hear her. She leaned toward me and said it again. We liked each other. She was rather exotic but not foreign. Really nice.

I remember now that I’d had a dream before this last one. I had been sleeping with a woman in her home, but she had left she had left, but I was still there in bed or perhaps there on the couch when where we’d slept together. I was turned toward the wall, but I could tell that someone one else was in the house, or apartment. Her home was small. Then it seemed that the police were there. Perhaps I had called them because I was afraid. I went through a door off the living room and into her bedroom. A policeman went with me. The room was full of clothes and so were the closets, multitudes of soft delicate fabric. The policeman went to a curtain and pulled it back. See, he said, no one is here. I’m not sure that the other people were police. They seemed too informal and helpful. They wee there to support me. I was afraid the woman had a husband who was therein the house. I don’t know. She wasn’t married.

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