I am at my school's annual seminar in May. The mood is comfortable. First I see my roommates, Anne and Pam. After greeting one another, Anne shows us to her office, which is located in a structure in the forest on the mountain where we spend our week. The outside of the structure is what you'd expect from the surroundings -- small, rustic. But inside it is a multi-media smorgasbord, with at least two dozen TV monitors all over. Groups of them show the same image, some display a camera trained on the room, others old newsreel footage. I try to understand why Anne, a practicing herbalist, would have such a set-up but get the impression that she's doing some serious research and it might involve uncovering some conspiracy theories. Strangely I seem to remember seeing footage of Dwight Eisenhower getting into a car.
Then the action changes a bit and Michael appears. He leads me/us down a sunlit path through the trees. It feels like a positive reunion; the energy is easy and affectionate. He leads me into some other structure on the compound. About three or four young men whom I have never seen before are sitting in some kind of conference room. Michael leaves me in the room and goes into an adjoining room, his own office. HIs office has windows around it but the blinds are drawn.
I observe while the men discuss something for awhile. I feel simultaneously out of place but also like I belong. I am standing while they are all seated. I look down at my legs -- I am wearing a long velvet black skirt with a floral cut-out pattern lined in sheer taffeta. The pattern is mostly around the bottom of the skirt but it extends in a wide block up my hips. The cut-out pattern shows nothing but my hips, but since it is sheer it shows that I am not wearing any underwear! (I myself feel surprised to see myself wearing this skirt which is at once conservative and sexy, and also feel surprised to not be wearing panties.) I figure it's all right as long as it doesn't show anything else.
The guys are probably younger than I am -- just out of college maybe. Smart but goofy and immature, wearing t-shirts with bubble-letters on them. I have a wave of uncomfortability. At some point I excuse myself and go into Michael's office. He's eating something -- ice cream? He says something reassuring and I go back out into the conference room.
The guys are smoking. One of them gives me a cigarette and lights it for me. My lucid editor perks up and says "You don't smoke!" I start to become aware that I am dreaming but try to stay in it, taking a long drag on the cigarette and blowing smoke rings into the air above our heads. I think, "This is a crappy cigarette," and look at the filter: Marlboro.
