Disjointed, strange dream on strange topics. I am invited to join a mixed-race man and an Asian woman who are escaping TO China. It’s a dangerous mission. I’m not sure there’s a huge benefit to my relocating to China, but I agree to go anyway. Maybe it will be fun. We discuss hair color. Blonde hair sticks out, so maybe I should dye it black. Then we decide red would be better. The woman is sitting to my left, at a desk perpendicular to the ones where the man and I are sitting side by side, in a school room with old wooden furniture. She’s the one organizing the trip, and she’s a bit arrogant. The man is quiet, and nervous about the trip. She is lit from behind from the light of the window and her split ends and flyaways appear white. She says she was at the salon yesterday, and they made her hair white, then they dyed it back to the dark color it is now. She’s pleased about this.
The room changes, and we are still preparing for the trip, but the people change. It’s always three of us going to China. Someone delivers a baby carriage. It’s a girl that will somehow help our trip because of her skin and hair (WTF, dream). There’s a little head at the top, and I unwrap layers and layers and layers of blankets under which she was packed by her mother, because it’s cold in NYC. The girl fidgets as I peel off more and more blankets. She’s definitely kind of high maintenance. I take her out of the carriage, and she is roughly the size of a business card. There is a backpack still attached. She also wants the backpack off. Ok, I guess I’ll remove that, also. She has very curly dark brown hair, and pale skin. She’s also very very difficult. We worry that she isn’t quite the right one. I don’t really like her too much.
Then the scene changes and I am changing into a bathing suit. Or out of. Or just washing one. Or something. I’m at a pool, in the washrooms, bright, cheerful ambient light, very pale blue tiles. It feels like the 50s. I am wearing a cute short summer dress with a big poofy skirt, and I pull on a sock, trying to decide whether I should wear them. The sock is thick boiled wool, mostly solid black, and knee-high, but with beautiful little chains of vines and little dainty flowers at the ankle, and little red figures around the top (I’ve dreamt of similar figures before). I can’t decide. Then I go meet the rest of whoever I am there to meet. I can’t remember the rest.