First dream.
A mouse is making noise beneath our bed. I finally get up and poke around under there, finding a very large mouse hole in the wall. I can see the mouse inside, much larger than a nomral mouse, looking calmly back at me. Tiny black eyes. I want to find something to smush him with, so I leave the house. Somewhere I pick up a large plank, something like a 2"x10"x12' made of pine, and hurry back to the house. There I see various people running about in a state of emergency. Sharon is there, grinning. The house has become a different structure--a factory, maybe, or a ruin of one. The roof is missing in some rooms, and the windows are broken out. A sense of urgency prevails. I run through the building carrying the plank like a lance (I know, I know...). I get to the bedroom, which is now very large. In fact, the mouse hole has gotten larger and the mouse as well. I see it still stitting calmly inside the hole, but it is now a foot and a half tall. I gallop towards it, planning to impale it with the plank. As I do I hear the mouse say, or think, this sentence: "That Mr. Faust is a very bad man." I plunge the plank through the hole and smash the mouse on his left arm. He stares at it. I hold the plank in place for a moment, then approach the hole. The mouse lies dead or stunned on the floor. He is enormous. Enormouse.
Second dream.
Sandy, Jan, Zack, and I are touring Europe. We are in England, crossing a bridge on a tourist bus. We slowly enter an extremely dense cityscape. The buildings are elaborately, magnificently, decorated. Every window--and there are thousands--has its own frame, each a different color than the contrasting background. Everything is bright and sunny. The buildings are without number, every street and alleyway revealing another crowded cluster. We are delighted with the view.
Now we're in France. We go inside something--a museum?--and find ourselves in a mall-like area. We walk into a long hallway where Sandy and I are having a heated discussion--an argument?--and Sandy runs away down the hall. She says something about cancer. I go after her and we return. As we do we pass a dark-haired young woman drinking at a water fountain. She is crying. Apparently she speaks English, we realise, and has heard the conversation about cancer. Either she has cancer herself, or is distraught at hearing us discuss it. Sandy goes to her and comforts her.
