Dreamlife

  I recall two dreams I dreamt this week. The first finds me in
the locker room of a gym. (There are baskets lined up on
shelves like the ones in the locker room outside Autrey
Court; in no other respect does it resemble any particular locker room
I remember from waking life.) There’s a red-faced, unkempt, stocky
middle aged man in another segment of this large locker room. I
discover, perhaps I am informed (although I don’t remember by who) that
he has wronged me in some way. I go over and remonstrate with him. He’s
quite unapologetic and rude. It is decided (I don’t remember how,
whether by ourselves or in consultation with anyone else) to settle the
matter through trial by combat–a plain locker room fistfight. The
terms are that the loser will be transformed into a dog. We trade blows
and I prevail very quickly and decisively. The lout is stretched out on
the floor when I exit the locker room. So far, so good.

  In due course, however, I return… somewhere. I’m not sure
if it’s to the locker room where the fistfight took place but, in any
case, in the dream it’s somewhere familiar where I am often. When I get
there, I find something unusual and unexpected: a black mastiff wearing
a rather abject expression. It lunges at me as soon as it catches sight
of me, sinking its fangs into my calf. Someone is at hand to lend
succor–it may be one or more members of my family. With some
difficulty, our combined efforts release me from the beast’s jaws. My
troubles don’t end there but I remember nothing specific about what
ensues.

  The second dream is far less distinct–only snippets by now.
I am at a get-together hosted by Fred, a studious fellow philosophy
major whom I saw often in college but seldom crossed word with. Perhaps
he is being f