Last night I had a fairly short dream involving a plane crash.  I was on the plane, which took off out of Seattle.  It had some sort of technical difficulty, so it turned back around to head back to the airport, but it never got there.  It kept going slower and slower and slower, until we were forced to land on a wide street.  Miraculously, we didn’t hit any cars, but we did slam into a mall.  (No, JBJ, it was nothing like a mini-mall.)

No one on the plane was hurt, but I don’t know about inside the mall.  Immediately after that, the pilot backed the plane up and taxied down the street.  I couldn’t believe he was trying to fly the thing after slamming it into a mall, but then I guess he knew best.

Then there was a scene in which I was walking down the street in Seattle the next day, and I saw a pair of little kids (ages two and four) who had been on the plane with me.  They were sitting on a bench next to their mother, who was reading the newspaper.  There was a story about the plane crash, and it included a picture that had been taken by someone on the plane.  The two kids were clearly visible.  They saw the picture and said, exactly in unison, ‘Who AM I?  I mean who ARE we?”

Weird.

OneYearAgo