In the first dream, I was following a governmental debate on appropriation of funds. There was a faction that wanted to give a decent amount to solving the homeless animal problem. In particular, there was a colony of cats that lived by the beach (no idea where said beach was, geographically speaking). I went out to see them, and take them some food. I sat down on the sun-warmed rocks, and soon had three kitties curled up near me.
In that tricky dream way, I found myself talking to someone who had already been there (only he wasn't when I arrived). Yes, Clive Owen* and I spent a good while chatting about homeless animals and giving the kitties catnip mice that he'd brought.
(*is there a pattern developing here? First, I turn down Ewan McGregor. Then, I get to hang out with Clive Owen and all we do is talk. What does this say about me?)
New dream: I was walking in NYC on a warm, sunny day. Looking back, I should have known it was a dream because the exterior of Port Authority was beautiful. As I waited to cross 10th ave, movement in the sky caught my eye: a police helicopter had lost control (though it seemed to be fighting to regain it). The crowd scattered as the chopper crashed into the base of Port Authority building. It was then I noticed that other aircraft were plummeting as well. Since it was a dream, I knew: it was the Goa'uld. In the first phase of attack, they'd crippled all aircraft. Of course, all I could think was How am I going to get to Cheyenne Mountain?
[~woke up to feed the kitties, then back into bed~]
Yet another dream: I was cold. I could not stop shivering. After a time, I began to grow warmer. I came back into a fuzzy sort of consciousness, as if sleep-groggy, to find that I was lying there with Jonas Quinn's arms around me**. "I'm just trying to warm you up," he said. "You were shivering so badly." So I relaxed, and he continued to hold me and warm me up as he told me stories from Kelownan mythology. There was one story of fire between the stones, and another of how the moon and stars were born of a woman's grief.
(** okay - this is progress, however slight)
Woke from that last one to have to shovel snow. Curse you, cold and harsh reality!