The Office. I was in my office, but went out of the building to watch them pour a concrete floor for the building under construction next door. The process was very interesting, but I needed to get back up work. I went up the elevator, into the suite, and to my own office. I looked in, but did not recognize the furniture or anything on the walls. I looked at the surrounding offices. One had two people in it whom I did not recognize; the other had its door closed, but I knew it was not mine. I was both perplexed and worried. I asked a (male) secretary where my office was. I was very embarrassed. He said: I have a chart here; let me look. He looked. I was nowhere on the chart.
The Performance. My wife and I had agreed to be in a short skit. I think it was part of a show for charity. There were a number of skits. We arrived for the rehearsal, which was to be held just before the actual performance. The building looked like an old, large parking garage, but I think I thought it was the back, working space of the theater. There were handmade signs on the wall, pointing in the direction of the precise rehearsal space for the various skits. Ours pointed up a steel vertical ladder which was affixed to a wall. It was a very tall ladder, was obstructed at the base, and did not seem to have a door at the top. To the right, maybe thirty feet away was a stairwell. I thought maybe this would get us at least to the right level. We went up the stairs and were in a cavernous room filled with actors (?) all dressed like they were members of the Washington Nationals. As we walked across this space in the general direction of where I thought the ladder might end up, all of a sudden a strong shock went through me as I realized that I had never looked at the script and had no idea what my lines were.
The Accident. I was driving with two friends. The car had been rented by one of them, but I was doing the driving. The car was stopped, facing a wall. It was dark. I said: why are we just stopped like this? We need to get back. They agreed, I backed up the car, and went on my way. Soon I saw we were driving next to a beautiful forest green Lamborghini. But it was coming very close, almost sideswiping us, staying close even as we turned corners. Then it hit us.
We were in the waiting room of the hospital, but not because we were hurt. We were there to see someone. I was reading a large pamphlet-like magazine. It had a full page picture of a Congressman, and talked about how he had accused his wife of infidelity, and left her. The woman from the Lamborghini appeared in the hospital waiting room. She was tall, in her 40s, fairly attractive, dressed very expensively, including a forest green cloth hat. She looked at me and said: I am so depressed; I am sorry I hit you; I know it was all my fault. A short young man got up to move her away into another room. I knew he was concerned about her confession. I also knew that she was the Congressman’s wife. She kept talking and looked at me and said: I know you are connected with the lawyer. I thought that she had some relationship with my ex-brother in law, although he is not a lawyer. She feinted. A crowd gathered around her; no one knew what to do. I said: this is a hospital; there must be a doctor around. Her friend said: But she is not a patient. A gray haired man in a doctor’s white coat said: To us, everyone is a patient, and he went to treat her. He smiled at me as he went out. I looked at the wall. There was a mural there advertising the hospital. The man in the white coat was in the mural, smiling the same smile.