TheDreamstersUnion

(Memorial Day, 2026) waxing gibbous moon Virgo

I walk through a double glass door into a high-rise building’s entryway. The space is large, with a multi-story ceiling, like the hotel we stayed at in downtown Chicago. People are joining together in the lobby, hundreds. We are all part of various medical studies. I belong to the PPA study.

A guide gathers the PPA participants together, and we begin slowly walking toward the upper level of the building. There are no elevators, at least that I can see. The wide floor gently inclines like it does in a parking garage. We circle up the giant turret.

Our guide actively interacts with us, as a group and sometimes from person to person. After walking up a few stories, she tells us to take a rest and nap. I notice a rectangular marking on the floor and wonder if that is the sleep-spot, but I continue walking. Somehow I end up at the back of a group that has a different health issue, not PPA.

A small, thin, dark-haired man is rushing and hopping around, promoting a tiny book he has written about PPA. A trickster, for sure. Our guide warns me against his writing, and she helps me return to our aphasia participants. I prepare to sleep, yet I decide at some point I will read the odd tale, despite the author’s lack of truthfulness. He reminds me of the personality change that can occur with frontal lobe disease.

The dream transitions back to the lower lobby. We are shaking hands and hugging, getting ready to move on to the outdoors.

Day notes:

Cullan and I returned home from the Northwestern PPA study on Friday night. It took place in beautiful downtown Chicago. We had a blast. It was a great experience for both of us. The PPA study guide’s name is Michelle, and we hugged each other at the end of our time together.

(Monday, May 18, 2026) waxing crescent moon Gemini

Every morning I wake up sensing long dreams, but in the last few weeks they have immediately disappeared. Loss of my private bedroom is really affecting my sleep. Chris wakes me up with a snore. Snowball wakes me up between 3 and 4 every morning. Sometimes Cullan and Amanda are up and about in the middle of the night. Maybe it is my diagnosed memory loss. Sigh.

Fragment: There is a tremendously high hill, like those in Duluth or even in mountain towns. I park my car on the steep street, facing upward. I open the door and walk out for a minute. A beautiful, dark and foresty park is next to my car. People are walking along the sidewalk across the street. I look down the hill, toward the busy city. I worry about being parked on such a big climb, so I go back inside my car and drive away.