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a midsummer night’s dream

  My first memories of tonight’s dreams are very indistinct–something about a man who cheats on his wife using hi-tech.
  Then I’m kissing … someone who sporadically reads this
dreamlog. She grows and shrinks before my eyes, rather like Dr. Hank
Pym, although not by as many orders of magnitude.
  Then I’m running through a public place that is crowded (but
obviously not enough to preclude running). At one point, I realize my
course will bring me within strinking distance of a tall, thin, dark
man. On a perverse impulse, without slowing at all, I reach out and
strike his jaw. Before I go too far, I look back and see him standing
still, nursing his jaw. I feel guilty and go over to him to apologise
and ask if I can do anything for him to make it up to him. He assures
me he is okay, flashing a smile that shows his teeth intact. But he
wants to take me up on my offer to do something for him: he asks me to
accompany him to Oslo immediately. I object that it would be
inconsiderate to leave without giving my parents any notice but he
insists it will be okay. I feel somewhat put upon but agree to go
along. Somehow we board a flight–I don’t recall any trip to the
airport. En route, my companion’s manner becomes unpleasant. He leaves
it unclear whether we are actually heading to Oslo or to Praga. After a
surprisingly short flight, we land at an unidentified destination. We
sit down at a small shop/caf

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