I have volunteer work at the Korean Community Center East Bay today (www.KCCEB.ORG). I’m repairing their neglected computer network. So far, I’ve fixed six workstation and removed over 200 viruses. I feel needed there. I won’t be home till a little before 6:00 p.m. PST.
Dream # 2 (Sunday, Jan 12, 2004 10:52 p.m. PST)
I was in a chinese restaurant wearing tan wool slacks, white/w dark blue stripes oxford style button down pinpoint cotton shirt, dark blue blazer, penny loafers and brought reading material I had just printed on bi-polar personality disorder. The laser printer didn’t print the document very well; I could brush the text off just by slightly rubbing the paper This amused me and I smiled upon reflection. This printed medical opinion about bi-polar treatment couldn’t even hold up to a cursory hand held examination without falling apart. I knew the actual printing problem was mechanical and due to the laser printer’s drum not able to reach the critical toner fusing temperature.
There was no food on the table and I seemed to be waiting for service in a bustling noisy place. I became bored with the easily smudged print and unintentionally ease dropped on a conversation two women were having at a table next to me. These two women were young and Asian between 24 and 32 years old and they both had fairly short hair and dressed professionally, mostly silk and wool in conservative good taste. I couldn’t see their shoes, I would have had to look underneath the table for that and this would have been inappropriate.
I'm half-listening, one of the women makes a statement about how her entire workweek is gratefully moot because of her mandatory jury duty. She starts discussing the case and jury instruction received with her lunch companion. My ears perk up because I know she was specifically instructed not to discuss anything regarding the trial outside the Courtroom or Court House and this could constitute grounds for a mistrial if discovered and presented later to the Court. I try not to look too interested in their conversation. But, inappropriately I make a comment about something she says. And, the women ask me if I’m a lawyer. I don’t answer.
She talks and asks me about the bipolar personality papers I was reading. I answer with polite confidence addressing the question she asks.
Underneath the table, I reach out and touch her leg, fairly high up on the inner thigh. She’s surprised but does not pull back. She looks me in the eye.
She throws her leg up on mine. She wearing black silk panty hose and the tone of her legs led me to believe she worked out regularly. Upon seeing this, her friend smiles, politely stands up and makes an excuse to leave us.
She looks me in the eyes and says she wants me
I want her too. I am lonely. I’m not thinking about sexual swordsmanship. I just want to feel her naked body pressed against mine, her head resting upon my chest, breath in the smell of her hair and to feel the rhythm of her breathing, the warmth of her body.
I’m not sure about her psychological stability but get the feeling she may be a mental basket case but I still want her anyway. She looks good, smells good and has nice skin. It has been so long since I lay down in with a woman. My thirst for this companionship is overwhelming. I know this woman has questionable morals and could prove to be a professional embarrassment but I still want her anyways.
I’m desperate for companionship, almost any qualified female companionship. She's qualified: professional in appearance, not physically offensive, good personal hygiene, and reciprocal sexual attraction.
She says she lives near by and we can be at her place in a few minutes. She wants to have intercourse. I want to lay with her and talk about silly nothings. She wants to get it on and over in a few minutes so she can return to jury duty; I want hours or days of companionship.
As I get ready to leave my Uncle Clyde (from Vacaville, CA whom I don’t see very often) appears by the door shaking his head and says, “ Don’t do it Dave. Don’t do it.” (I think my Uncle represents some kind of symbolic morality). I disregard his pleading. Then my 71-year old mother appears (with all her moral turpitude in tow)and warns me not to leave with this whore. I respond by saying, "She is not a whore" . . . then wake up from the dream.
FOOD: Once again I had spicy food. Shrimp creole served on basmati rice with hand squeezed lemonade.