I was me in the dream, except I was dark-haired. Briefly I played a game of pick-up soccer playing as a central defender, tall and composed and certain. I played well. Coming off the ground we were all smiles – it was just fun. We worked together I think, and headed back towards the office. I inhabited the me in the dream. There was a sense of simple contentment in me. I was the man I wanted to be. I had what I wanted, and anything more I felt I could strive towards acquiring. I was happy.
We worked in a tall building. In the foyer we approached the lifts. Abruptly I was grabbed from behind by another person. He was much shorter than me, a plain faced man with strong arms. He pinned my arms to my side so that no matter how hard I strained I could not free myself. I felt a sense of powerlessness, and at the same time outrage that a man like this could do this to me. He seemed delighted.
The scene changed, as it does. We are in the lift now, happy again. There are girls in the lift already, workmates I believe. They all smile at me, one in particular. I know that I am desired. It is a general desire – I am tall, good-looking, popular. I am kind and generous, and have the charm that comes from an easy life. I smile back at the girls, and make them laugh with something I say. I engage with the girl beaming at me. I feel her desire and am made buoyant by it. She is cute.
Once more the scene changes. I am in the office. There is the same girl flirting with me. I consider her. I want and desire her, but in much the same way I might desire the taste of chocolate. I look at her knowing that she is too conservative for me. It seems of little account. I am enjoying these moments. I am enjoying my life. I am happy.
That’s the dream. I don’t know what to make of it.