Last night I dreamed that I was on acid. (That had the effect of conveniently explaining any of the odd shifts that happen in dreams). Mostly, I felt very innocent and calm. I was at some sort of party of event, but I was alone. Most of my life I have not been alone (or left alone), so it's interesting to see myself dreaming from that perspective. I had a room in this wacky giant house/hotel thing, and my experience didn't depend on or necessarily relate to anyone else's who was there.
A pretty girl tried to seduce me briefly but I decided she was probably underage. "No," I said, "I'm sorry. How old are you? Do you know how old I am? And I just got divorced." She was very angry and protested but I felt like I had made myself clear without too many hurt feelings. She looked different then as she left; she had large discolored marks/welts on her body like measles or something. Tired, I snuggled into my sleeping bag alone feeling I'd done the right thing.
I was in the dining car of a train/bus (or a fast food restaurant), sitting at a booth table by myself, and an acquaintance of mine sat across from me with a Cheshire cat grin. I didn't want him there, particularly not when I was tripping. I decided to be blunt and make things clearer. I looked at him for a moment. "I don't like you," I explained calmly, cautiously. He looked hurt for a moment but then uncomprehending or uncaring and silly. (I think he must have been on pot brownies and alcohol.)
The place shifted a bit (train? bus?) and I noticed I was bleeding from my left hand where it was gripping the brightly colored fast-food restaurant table. I squeezed my hand shut and looked at it to see how bad the injury was. There was enough blood to start running off and dripping, and I excused myself and got up from the booth. I compressed my hand with my other hand to contain the bleeding. I let go for a moment to inspect the wound. I noticed it was in exactly the same spot where I had injured my hand when I was little; a puncture wound to the skin between thumb and forefinger. (I have a scar there in real life, which I did think about then in the dream. What are the odds of that, I thought.) Movement was very wavery since the place was moving, and I was altered (and bleeding!), but I got to the bathroom. There were a couple of people there. For an instant blood squirted from my hand Tarantino-style and I clamped it harder, getting a better grip on the injured area. "Could you get some help?" I asked them. "I think this will need stitches." They looked annoyed but they left to get help. I kept compression on the wound for a bit, and it had closed up and healed enough so that when help arrived, I told them it wasn't as bad as I had thought.
Looking at my hands right now, I see that I had the hands backward in the dream. The scar is actually on my right hand.
I was staying in my old room in the second story of the Pink Palace, and the house was swaying more than usual. I overheard conversation about it, and it felt like the house could sway just far enough, that it could fall down somehow without fully collapsing. And, it did. I left the room through the Second Door to Nowhere because now it went somewhere -- ground level, I guess.
There was a grassy courtyard between buildings, and I became lucid for a moment. Wow, I thought, not only am I dreaming, and successfully remaining asleep while lucid, I'm also dreaming that I'm on drugs! I did a check-in -- yep, the dream-drugs remained as well! Yay. Well, I thought, I ought to do something willful, right? Fly or something. Oh wait, I'm on drugs. No, I'm dreaming I'm on drugs. Whatever. Check-in: am I about to do something dangerous while on drugs? No, the embankment I'm on is only a few feet up. OK. I give it a shot. Now I know very well how to fly, dreaming or not, but all I could think about was the ground. Whump. No flying today.
There were lots and lots of people in this dream -- it was a swell party/event. Notably, most of the people in this dream were unfamiliar to me. It amuses me to think they are probably people I will meet in the future.
 nobodobodon calls them scintillations, a term I think I'll start using.
 A favorite phrase of mine.
 I often perceive in my dreams the chaos and reason that are the source material for the dreams and the choices I make in dreams often overlap with the source, but it's mostly pre-lucid.
 In real life, the Palace has two doors not on the ground floor that each open to a sheer drop. They are usually kept locked or secured.