I dreamt last night that I was snowboarding on a manmade mountain of pine dust. I walked home through these mountains with some friends. There were several fine homes embedded in the bottom of these mountains. One was robbed as we walked by (unfortunatley we were in some kind of tunnel at the time and could not stop the burgulars, but we called the police). I turned into a guy who had a beautiful girlfriend with long dark hair. We were trying to get to our hotel room with another couple but one had to transverse these really narrow ledges to get to the elevators. I became myself again in an old house with lots of trinkets that belonged to my family. There was one specific trinket I wanted (I think perhaps someone passed away and it was headed for estate sale) but I could not find it, even though I had it moments before. I would not accept another piece; instead I pouted and looked futilely for my treasure. I was in a art class where we were making prints but for some reason we were not able to tell what the image was before we rolled it through the press. Our teacher was this small, dark ferocious but oddly attractive German woman who taught drawing at my undergrad. She encouraged us to have faith that the notes would turn out beautifully, even if we could not tell at that point. Later she showed us that they were the block print pictures of beautiful old travel posters (F.J.C. Broome Harrogate) and that she had bound them into a calendar (I had a calendar like this a few years ago).
I haven't the faintest idea of what any of this means.