First, I was hanging around in the parking lot of a fairly large, ratty apartment complex. A Spetsnaz trooper in full cammie who looked an awful lot like Danielle Myers Gembala came slithering up out of a creek bed carrying a bolt action rifle (Mauser, maybe) and asked me if I'd seen her opal ring. She then handed me the rifle and disappeared. I looked in the creek bed, but didn't see the ring.
In the next part of the dream, I was in a modest, 1920s style bungalow (much like the one I used to own in Austin, TX) that had been converted to the offices of a small press publishing company. I kept trying to find a place to put Danielle's rifle. Finally I located the corporate gun rack. All the other weapons there were locked down, but the locking clips were broken on the vacant slots in the rack.
The publisher then took me and
In the final episode of the dream, I was in another house, hiding from the Spetsnaz troopers who were looking for their rifle. There was a 1970s era Sony Trinitron television which I kept trying to change the channel on, but it would only bring in FOX News. In my panic, I decided the thing to do was refill the pepper mill I found in the kitchen. I had to do this from those little paper pepper packets you get at fast food restaurants. Unfortunately, every packet I opened dumped out pepper, then salt, then a small gush of water. The pepper mill was getting pretty borked by the time I woke up from all this inanity.
Pretty clearly anxiety dreams. Though my health never entered into this in any reasonably obvious metaphor, my intuition is that this dream is about me looking for solutions to the new cancer problem.
Or possibly it's about my previously undiscovered dread fear of Danielle Gembala. Sometimes a cigar is just a phallic object one inserts in one's mouth, after all.