What am I possibly saying.

The last couple nights I've been having dreams of discord and distance, of waiting and servitude, dreams where there is the threat of something worse, but the anticipation is all that materializes.
Last night I dreamt: I was back home, though it was still here in the Pacific NW, and I was going from one engagement to another to another. First I am having dinner at this Moroccan restaurant with one part of my family. I have arrived mid meal and I leave before they are finished. Now I am off to be with my friends, who are also celebrating Julie's wedding. They are at a bar along a river, and to get there I have to get on this bridge, but get off it before I go over to Canada. At this point in the dream I can tell that I am dreaming and I feel like I am driving lying down, but I can see the bridge. It is so gigantic that I can not see the other side, and at night it is all lit up, and I almost go over it, but there is a hint of fear in me, and at the last minute I turn off at the exit to the bar. I finally get there and the night is almost over; the bar is clearing out and my friends are mostly tired or drunk. I order one drink and listen to people talk. Then it's time to leave; I walk out with Heath, but then realize that the car is parked a few blocks away. I ask him to wait for me there and I go off to get it, but I have a hard time navigating the streets to get back to him.

Friday night I dreamt that I was with Linda and we were driving somewhere in the country, and we ended up at this fat, white man's house, and the man may have been from another country. He lives in this old farm house and while his actual domicile is rather run of the mill, the barn and stables on the farm are these beautiful structures, and although they have been left to run down, they are in magnificent shape and just need a little TLC. At this point in the dream it is no longer Linda nor myself who are at this farm, but two women whom I do not know, and the dream becomes much like a movie that I am watching. The women are obliged to stay there and work for their room and board, both of which are meager. One of the women takes to cleaning up the stables and barn and during daylight hours she finds peace doing her work, but there is always this looming threat of assault by the landowner's son, fat and white like his father, but much more arrogant.

A couple nights ago I dreamt: I was standing in a very long line at work, waiting for coffee. There is just one barista and a very little work space, about the size of a portable popcorn machine, you know those old timey one's. Although I am not frustrated (I am pretty close to the front of the line) I am aware of the barista's anxiety. There are a couple hundred, impatient and uncaffinated addicts all antsily demanding their fix, with the arrogance of those who have never served before.