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Dream Diary Entry recorded July 23, 2018
Jul. 23rd, 2018 08:46 amEvery time I dream about returning to the headquarters building of my old workplace, time seems to have changed the parking garage and the lobby interior from how it appeared in the previous dream. That certainly happened this time. And as for the parking garage, that building has never had one. But in my dream such a garage not only wraps around the building, but it somehow does not obscure the view. Now that I remember it better, a structure is fairly consistent: A single- or two-level wraparound parking area - not terribly different in shape from what is really there, but quite different in actual appearance and access, though being the most consistent element from dream to dream - and an eight or nine story parking garage building in the corner where one of the newer real-life operations buildings would be. In last night's dream that building's lower floors housed some sort of dormitory facility for male college students.
As in past dreams, I am out in the parking lot at first, trying to find the car, which this time appears to be one owned by either my sister or my daughter or some strange dream combination of the two people. (Is it a dream metaphor of how we blend together as the SongSmiths?) After some minutes, I change my focus and am alone, if indeed I was accompanied before, simply trying to get into the building in the best way possible, as more people seem to be arriving. I am there, apparently, for a big agency event, possibly related to their real-life large-scale reorganization, but also a celebration of any and all personnel, past and present, who have graduated an advancement or certification program there. Still walking back and forth between the parking lot and the entrance gates, I notice that there are additional gate houses that have been added to the existing north, south, east, and west ones, at the northeast and northwest points and possibly others. Now that the event time is getting really close and the crowds are really starting to line up at all the gate houses, I pick one of these newer ones, where the line seems to be shorter, and go in. Almost everyone has community access badges of the standard colors, but mine, on a metal beaded chain such as I was first issued in real life to hold the badge, is a two-part off-white visitor's badge that, though definitely authorized and getting me through the gate with only a little worry, is not one I see anybody else wearing.
Inside the building, through the access turnstiles and past the guards without incident, I maneuver myself through crowds and look at the ornate lobby, all decked out in new displays for the reorganization and decorations for the current big celebration. The time for gathering to start is drawing near, and I am trying with very little success to find the "muster point" for my particular career field's group. I know better than to ask anybody, because my impression in the dream is only slightly exaggerated from my impression from the last few years of my real life there: that many or most members of the career field into which I cross-trained held me in disdain, probably for my outspokenness in internal social media. I am even having trouble finding any familiar faces at all, so that I barely know whom to ask. Eventually, I find a corner with four-level riser seats and just barely vacant enough for me to find one, and it seems to be my group. There is someone there who looks slightly, but nowhere near totally, like a co-worker in the program whom I knew, and who in real life actually did give me an e-mail comment that inspired me to seek professional jobs in acting because she did not understand how I could have missed my calling so badly.
At this point, the dream ended.
As in past dreams, I am out in the parking lot at first, trying to find the car, which this time appears to be one owned by either my sister or my daughter or some strange dream combination of the two people. (Is it a dream metaphor of how we blend together as the SongSmiths?) After some minutes, I change my focus and am alone, if indeed I was accompanied before, simply trying to get into the building in the best way possible, as more people seem to be arriving. I am there, apparently, for a big agency event, possibly related to their real-life large-scale reorganization, but also a celebration of any and all personnel, past and present, who have graduated an advancement or certification program there. Still walking back and forth between the parking lot and the entrance gates, I notice that there are additional gate houses that have been added to the existing north, south, east, and west ones, at the northeast and northwest points and possibly others. Now that the event time is getting really close and the crowds are really starting to line up at all the gate houses, I pick one of these newer ones, where the line seems to be shorter, and go in. Almost everyone has community access badges of the standard colors, but mine, on a metal beaded chain such as I was first issued in real life to hold the badge, is a two-part off-white visitor's badge that, though definitely authorized and getting me through the gate with only a little worry, is not one I see anybody else wearing.
Inside the building, through the access turnstiles and past the guards without incident, I maneuver myself through crowds and look at the ornate lobby, all decked out in new displays for the reorganization and decorations for the current big celebration. The time for gathering to start is drawing near, and I am trying with very little success to find the "muster point" for my particular career field's group. I know better than to ask anybody, because my impression in the dream is only slightly exaggerated from my impression from the last few years of my real life there: that many or most members of the career field into which I cross-trained held me in disdain, probably for my outspokenness in internal social media. I am even having trouble finding any familiar faces at all, so that I barely know whom to ask. Eventually, I find a corner with four-level riser seats and just barely vacant enough for me to find one, and it seems to be my group. There is someone there who looks slightly, but nowhere near totally, like a co-worker in the program whom I knew, and who in real life actually did give me an e-mail comment that inspired me to seek professional jobs in acting because she did not understand how I could have missed my calling so badly.
At this point, the dream ended.
