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Dream Journal: 11/27/09

I wake up from another odd dream again, but not as mixed up as my usual ones. This one started with me walking down a street I recall from looking outside my grandparents front window. As I turn a left corner, I look up and see a huge apartment complex. I don't know how, but I know who it belongs to, even though I'd never seen it before: My first father, Harry...
My dream memory (as usual) slips me past the walk to the apartment AND my trek up the stairs and through the entryway, but I'm led to an outside hallway, and before me, running to the right side, are several, several doors. I race through my memory to remember which random number my dream would offer so I might find Harry's room. I hit one, luckily, though I know it's not true in real life, but it feels so in the dream: 65A......
I reach the room and notice it's locked. I know I should stay and wait for him to return from whereever it is he's gone to, or at least to wake up, but I dig through my pockets to find a red key card. Without any hesitation, for some odd reason, I slide the card into the lock, and it opens with a *click*. This seemed to be more like a hotel than an actual apartment. But as I enter the room, everything seems to fit my memory of what his house looks like. I find the room openning out to my right, and through a doorway straight ahead, I walk through to see an almost identical room, only darker, and with a large black bed. No one is in it, and I can't hear any sounds from within, so he must be out, somewhere...
After waking up, I realize the room was just a fictional creation, apparently based on my aunt's bedroom, only with shelves filled with the usual Star Wars brick-a-brack as I remember from Harry's house. The next sound I hear is the doorbell ringing. I try to pass the doorside window without being noticed, but it's wide open (glass still shut, but blinds pulled up some). I see two strangers, both seemingly old, around my grandparents' age. I know they see me, but I shouldn't be in here, so I attempt to hide. Yet again, though, the rules of this universe change my natural behavior, and I open the door to confront the strangers. They don't seem upset in the least; infact, they don't show much of any emotion, really. They just stand there stupidly, smiliing at me then turning their heads to what's behind them. Curious, I look too, and what do I find but Harry himself, rushing out to us like he'd just robbed a bank. My head turns to my right, unconsciously, and I also see another figure. A woman (around 45 or so, I guess) rushing down a flight of outdoor stairs, all the way down to the ground, where a soccer field seems to be made. My memory breaks again, and the next place I see us all is in the huge lobby of the hotel/apartment.

We're all dressed in white shirts, except for me (I don't recall if I was or not, I never looked). To either side of me, besides the people going in and out like us, were, what I struggle to remember, giant aquarium fish tanks. I can't remember any fish, but I assume there weren't any, judging from how little else of this dream made sense. We (Harry's mom and dad, my mother, the woman going down the stairs earlier, Harry and myself) reached the bright exit where the doors were open wide, but I couldn't see outside, like the entrance to the next level of some sort of platforming game. Waiting there for us is an elderly man, dressed like a bell boy, and he asks us the strangest question. In a soft, kind voice, he asks, "What's your problem in yourself?" I stand there puzzled, wondering why someone would even ask that. Was this some kind of gimic this place used, like the walmart greeter people, to make us feel more special and welcome? Whatever the case, my troupe goes through and answers him quickly, naming bluntly what their issues are, in a vauge sense. Some say they're depressed, or have money issues, or wish for what they don't have too often. As they do this, I see something I hadn't noticed before....
On the back of their white shirts, written in bold, black letters it, each says something that sounds like a personal issue like what they said. I don't recall if they said the same thing as what was written there, like "Lonely Grandma," or such (that's all I can remember), but they say about what's on their backs. The only people who can't think of anything to say are myself and my mother. I don't think her white shirt had any words on it, and I doubted I had any either. When the old man asks me my problem, several issues came to mind...lonliness, depression, low self-esteem, stress, etc. But all I am willing to say is "I don't know." Mom says the same thing.
We pass through, as if using our heartfelt struggles was like the password we needed to leave this confounded place, and walk into the light. The last thing I remember before the dream ended was getting in a red, classic-looking elevator with my family, and then waking up....