Communicating With The Dead

Just for the record, I'm not a violent person. These are just dreams--they're not real.

So, my dream that took place in the late 1960s, didn't actually take place in the late 1960s. It took place as if it were today, but my specialty on the dead were people from the 1960s. I know, whatever right? My occupation was as a ghost interpreter. I somehow created this device out of a fax machine to speak to the dead. I would lug it around with me everywhere. I would sit in a room and wait until a message printed out of the machine.

Anyway, I was investigating this room where this woman was murdered. And, of course my good old fax machine wasn't working. So, I had to rely on my natural senses . . . ooooh scary--what does it mean? So I sat in this small, cold room and waited. I got this image of a wedding ring falling onto the ground onto the floorboard under a bed, but it was a man's wedding ring--not a woman's who I thought I was investigating. Turns out the ring belonged to a man who rode a Harley.

Also, the dream had another complication. I was trying to get pregnant, but all I could successfully do was interpret murders through my fax machine and steal. Yeah, steal. I was no cop apparently and I would roam the malls and steal from the booths and only the booths.