Last night’s dream —
I’m part of a family of four in a small space station we made ourselves. Not my real life family. My role alternates between father and sibling.
The fifth person in our group goes mad, damages the top of our space station that keeps us aloft by tearing a giant seam in the hull. I spot the tear, grip it closed enough with my hands while radioing the other people in the space station that we’ve been sabotaged, who did it, and that we’re slowly descending back to earth.
We land in a desolate area in California. I’m with one family member and we get picked up and transported to San Francisco. The other family/crew members disappear at this point. I’m not sure which family member I’m traveling with.
We check into an elaborate, fancy hotel in San Francisco. Like all fancy hotels, it is adjoined to a fancy shopping mall via an outdoor escalator to the mezzanine level. How fancy is this shopping mall? Why, one of its anchor stores is the San Francisco Metropolitan Opera House!
We go inside the San Francisco Met and attend a massive variety show staged on three sides about a floor above where the audience sits on couches and chaise longues, looking up. Large pageantry, pastel costumes.
I find a remote underneath my seat, press a button, the lights flicker and the whole audience and the performers are all “WTF?” then I hit the button again. Lights return to normal and the performance resumes.
Intermittently I’m trying to text a friend who lives in San Francisco: “Hey, I’m in San Francisco! Let’s hang!” but there’s a problem with sending a text – a breach of protocol in the opera, for one, although I’m wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Unable to text, I’m trying to check in via Facebook Places to catch the friend’s notice and coming to realize that there may not even BE a San Francisco Metropolitan Opera. Frustration sets in. Dream ends.
[UPDATE: San Francisco has city opera, but it is not named the Met]
