There was an airplane flying. People, one by one, were being pushed out with no parachute. Falling down to the ground, each one was trying to think of a way out of the predicament. Some tried to clutch on to each other. My turn was coming up, but I thought that I would be able to avoid being pushed out.
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I keep dreaming I am dictating articles to an R.A. or someone like that, although he's just a little above the typical graduate student age. It's not a person I have ever seen in life. I wonder if he's a personification of the computer, if I think my computer's personality is one that would correspond to a person looking like this. He's thin, medium height, sandy-haired, brown corduroy pants and light blue shirt, I don't see his feet, with a sharp yet good-humored face green-hazel eyes and large round glasses, a fast typer and apparently very interested in my article (this is the second article he has appeared in dreams to type). His chair is slightly lower than mine and the laptop is on his knees, so I look down at him, which is also odd.
P.S. Your dream is very odd indeed. I wonder if it's like my old dream where I am driving refugees through a war zone and constantly being stopped by hostile police, and having to pass these people off as persons whose (lack of) papers should not be investigated. In the dream, I always succeed, am the last car to make it across the border into a safe zone.
As we go across this border, the guard waves my offer of a sheaf of papers, car documents, my document, my copilot's document, away. "I can see you're all citizens here," he says, which he obviously can't, we also have foreign plates, and what he's really saying is that he's decided to put our safety ahead of bureaucracy.
The car is always and old Citroën and I guess I think this is the car of work, of being undercover, and of adventure.
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