The morning's dream

Somehow I was in a stranger's home, with a horde of little holiday daemons
of holiday torment.  This is not to say I was with benign creatures like
Santa elves or Tinkerbell knock-off sprites, even though my aversion to the
Christmas holiday is wel know.  These little buggers were like cheerful,
inventive grinch-in-miniature.  They wanted to ensure a poor nights sleep
followed in the morning by the very real household havoc for the 
unfortunates in that home.

The first one was the "midnight wrong number" ploy, the telephone being
answered by a middle aged, slightly muzzy woman.  Of course she was muzzy,
she'd been asleep and wasn't up to the heights of reasoning employed by the
anti-sprite.  The daemon would not allow the call to end, and embarrassed
and fearful of being caught I retreated to the basement.  Once there I sat
by a huge sliding glass door.  There was a man outside, in a white pickup
truck.  When he looked at me I just smiled.  The man then backed his pickup
truck right through the door, shattering the glass.  I walked out the doors
and found myself in a strange hybrid of neighborhood and paid parking
garage, with a little amusement park thrown in.

I walked toward the exit, had to talk my way *out*, it wasn't a thing about 
payment or tickets, just there was this woman who *looked* at me.

I went aboard a big wooden ship, a museum, but there was a chow line.  
Hundreds of people were milling about, getting edibles from the buffet.  
Then an announcement went out, the movie was starting up next door.  
Hundreds of plates, cups and hunks of potato salad were abaondoned as people 
streamed away, leaving me to get out of the way of the big construction 
machine heading my way.  I am not much for movies, but I'd wanted to explore 
the ship.  I had to go through the security gauntlet again, but it was clear 
that no alarm had been raised by the woman whose home was being savaged by 
the daemons.  I was not stopped, or perhaps they didn't associate me with 
uproar.

Nevertheless, thwarted on having the ship all to myself I made my way back
into the neighborhood.  Someone accosted me saying I should head down to
72nd and 11th, and pointed the way.  I found myself walking down 72nd, but
the sidewalk ended several blocks shy of my intended end point.  I was faced
with a water obstacle.  Little boat slips, but with pickup trucks parked in
them with the beds full of nasty looking black water.

I started to backtrack, but found myself closed in by fences and Llamas.  
Friendly ones, who wanted to get to know me better.  I wanted out, big time. 
Finally I found the Dream Llama equivalent of a stile - a steep ladder on 
either side of the 12 foot tall fence.  The fence and the ladder were both 
overhung by the roofs of the houses along the street.  I climbed the ladder 
and at the top I saw a fat woman in a pink flowery dress coming up from the 
outside.  I called to her, "may I use your ladder?"  Somewhat to my surprise 
since I was in her yard without permission, she gave assent.  I waited for 
her to get to the top of the ladder so I could descend.

I found myself in a big room with a real band, and with my local Irish band.  
My band was playing for a dance concert, and my friend who is a very fine 
ballet dancer was going to perform.  Much to my surprise he was dancing in a 
wheelchair duet with (another) fat woman, and my band was to provide the 
music.  I was horrified and yet amazed.  My friend had squeezed himself into 
a very tiny space, and only his torso was visible.  My band was trying to 
play something, badly.  I took a fiddle away from a woman who was scraping 
the stick side of the bow on the strings.  It was the band leader's 
instrument, I could tell because the neck felt like a baseball bad and the 
strings sounded asthmatic.  I heard his voice booming out at me. "Well," he 
said, "if this is what it takes to get you to practice!"  I tried to see the 
sheet music they had, but couldn't see the titles of the song.  I knew at 
least one piece, and the first was an easy polka.  I tried to puzzle it out 
anyway, thinking to myself "It'll be fine, you're dreaming, so even when you 
know you're doing the wrong thing the musice will sound right anyway."

That was when the Union guys started showing up with their badges and 
buttons, ordering everyone around.

Somewhere in this dream were a moon-based roller coaster.  It was really 
more of a slide, and the gravity was all wrong for the moon.  I complained 
about this to the rider behind me, but have no idea who that was.