Doing lights for the biggest show of my life, I find that my eyes cannot open. Or rather, they won't open when I want them to. I am trying to keep things rolling, listening for audio clues that it might be time to do something with the lights and stumbling to find a submaster to move. Occasionally, my eyes will flash open and I will be given a hint of the gorgeous show this could be, if only my lights were a little better.
The whole stage is predominantly dark, with blue pools of light that whirl around when I touch buttons. If only I could find away to light the rest of the stage, I think, to find the general wash and get everyone lit. I reach to my left, feeling for the general wash, but every sub I touch seems to be as ineffective as the last.
Eventually, I decide that the blue-ish pools are just what the show needs, but I still can't see the stage when I want to. Plus, Caitlin is the one who wrote down all the cues, but she left me without a script. The booth, which is high up like Fridley's while being attached to the promotion booth like ours, has a window through which light shines.
I can see people in there so I run in, blind, yelling "I need a script!" No one does anything. I scrabble through piles of paper, desperate to find a page, to find the name of the show, anything that will give me a clue as to what the play is about.
I am desperate because I know the show is continuing and the lights are static. Finally, I find the script, a pamphlet-sized booklet of glossy paper. I try to open my eyes to look at it, but I only get a glimpse of the bright light in the booth before my eyes close again.
The lights booth is dark, with only the disco lights on, but the light spilling through the long window is illuminating everything and falling into the audience. I can feel people thinking about standing up to complain. I want to yell at whoever was dumb enough to turn the lights on or not close the window, but the lights are more pressing.

I had a nightmare that the portfolio review board from Coventry came to our school. It was during a huge art show, and they moved immediately to a section of uniformly sized square oil paintings. It turned out that the requirement for the portfolio was that you make an piece of art which represented you religiously.
I panicked. I wanted to go to their university so badly, and I had completely missed hearing anything about the requirements or the review. Everyone else at our school had been ready, why hadn't I?
I rushed home to see if I had any work that might qualify. "I must have made a clay chalice at some point," I thought, picturing the lumpy version I created in first or second grade. "Or maybe I made a painting, and just forgot about it."
When I arrived home, I ran through the door and up the stairs to my room. As I franticly made my way there, I noticed that the house was perfectly clean. My mother was holding an open house to try to sell our house, and I knew I had to be quiet and not disturb her. Everything was out of place, and I rushed from room to room trying to find something-- anything-- that I could show to the portfolio reviewers. I thought about asking my mom, but I knew that we needed to move and that if I disturbed her, I'd never hear the end of it.
Finally, I gave up.

I was sitting in biology class, and the teacher was teaching us English grammar and vocabulary. Suddenly Jacob took out a pair of blue pointe shoes and put them on.

I dreamed that as part of the graduation ceremony, the previous graduating class came back and did a little graduation initiation. Part of it was that everyone got their hair cut and dyed, and dressed up in costumes. I was sitting on the bleachers, watching the show. I saw all my friends come in, with their hair short or long or in mohawks and dressed up. They'd walk up, the name of their group would be announced ('vintage prom dress goths"), and they'd get their diploma. One group came in dressed as Harry Potter. I recognized my sister in the group. I was really sad that they'd thought she was a senior and had missed me.
Suddenly, someone began knocking on the bleachers beneath me. I looked down and saw Greg, and he motioned me to climb through this hole in the floor.
Sammy was with him (yeah, I know she hasn't graduated, but in my dream she had. I think it was the memory of thespian initiation that wove her in) and they brought me to this warehouse to find me a costume. We only had a couple of minutes, because no one had remembered about me until the ceremony had already begun.
There was basically nothing left in the warehouse, because everyone else had used the stuff that had been there. Greg started making me a triangle costume out of lath. I asked what group I was going to be in, and they said "the.... geometry group." I knew they were lying, and that I'd have to walk up after everyone else and someone would have to explain that I'd been forgotten.
I was crying because my sister was going into 8th grade, and she'd be put into a group, but I was going to graduate that day and no one had remembered me.

A nightmare:
I am walking past a lake with some of my friends as we notice that there are men standing in the shallows, which extended about 100 yards out. They have long poles, and they are pushing pairs of corpses around in the water. The path we're on moves closer to the edge of the water, and we see a man standing by the edge. He's using his pole to push two bodies lashed together with twine. We know that he is telling us they are men, but suddenly one person says "those are girls!" And they are. Beautiful gothic girls with dyed black hair and rotting flesh. The man agrees that they are, indeed, girls, and he had been ordered to stand where he was until someone noticed.
We know that we are going to see the bodies again. The man looks up, as he begins to move from his previous spot. "Yes," he says. "You will see them everywhere. All of them." He gestures to the lake, where we can see hundreds of men polling their dead around. "In every horror movie, in every street. They will haunt you." We walk on.

I am in a junk room in the back of a carnival. It is dark, and the room is huge. The main fixture is a round track that runs a few feet from the walls. It is made of wood, and it reminds me of a catwalk. Junk is piled on both sides and underneath the track. A few items dot the it. Everything is covered in dust.
I am outside. "Cars are dangerous," a man says. "You need to learn that."
I am back in the room. The track is clear. A sports car is driving around the track, very quickly. I am standing in the middle of it, and I am forced to jump aside when the car comes around. The track very narrow, and I almost topple off. Another car follows the first, and another. Then, a steam driven train. I realize the room is bigger than I thought it was. The train whizzes past me, and I step behind a support of the track to avoid being hit. I see a kitten trying to cross the track. A car comes past and almost hits it. I realize I have to save it. I rush out and pick it up. It doesn't like people, and tries to attack me. I run back to where I was standing, and the kitten latches onto my shirt.

Snippets from a very long dream:
I was climbing down a staircase using the handrails as steps of a ladder. I was completely suspended, maybe 5 stories up. A professional basketball team looked up from their game at the bottom and said "there's a watermark in the air."
I also talked to myself in a public restroom. I was completely aware of the fact that there were other people in the room and I didn't care. I continued to lecture to the air.
My locker was at a 45 degree angle, and I walked by and remarked to a friend "that's trippy!" but I never once thought I was dreaming. Then I opened my locker and it was full of pop cans, clothes, and paper. In real life my locker is empty. In my dream I couldn't fit anything else in.

"Pay attention to your dreams: when you go on a trip, in your dreams you will still be home. Then after you've come home you'll dream of where you were. It's a kind of jet lag of the conciousness."
(Animal Dreams, Barbara Kingsolver)

So I had a jetlag dream from London. It involved some terrifying Underground stations. All the escalators were hilly, and you had to hang on to keep from being bucked off. Plus, you had to go up to get to the Underground (which, as the name suggests, is usually underground). The station we started off in was a high school pool area. It housed a swimming pool several times Olympic size, or rather two large pools seperated only by a foot thick wall in the middle. To get to the underground station you had to cross this tiny bridge, and I was terrified.
We took the tube from there to a very underground station, which was carved out of the dirt. We got off at our stop, and my dad sprinted for another train that had just arrived on the opposite platform. Knowing how long trains usually wait, the rest of the group walked at a more leisurely pace. (By the way, I don't remember who else was with me, but I know they were friends of mine). Well, as soon as my dad reached the doors and got inside, they shut. We saw we were missing our chance and ran after the train. It stopped. We slowed down, releaved that the driver had seen us. But as I reached out to push the door open button, the train lurched forward again. Again, we ran, again the train stopped and again I tried to hit the button. This was repeated until I felt as if doing anything else would be futile. Then the train drove off entirely. It has been blocking the entrance to what we now saw was a tunnel, and light flooded in.
Through the light walked Greg, pushing a stroller (a "buggy"), and followed by the two small children he explained he was nannying.