White House on the Cliff and Defending the Cheese

I'm driving at night through on what reminds me of Burlington Blvd.: Well lit streets, light reflecting off of wet asphalt. The road is new so the yellow and white lines on either side of me are bright. It feels like I'm just coming off of Northbound Riverside Dr. which runs parallel to I-5. The road comes to a slope as I come off the bridge. The new stores that are there now are not in my dream: the Best Buy, the Home Depot, the Sportsman's Den just to name a few, aren't there. It's just me, driving alone heading North.
 I feel serious anxiety. I feel like if I'm caught driving around in the middle of the night, my parents will get mad at me.
As I drive, surroundings become less well lit and more small town-ish. It reminds me of Ephrata, WA. There are one or two yellow streetlights that cast a dim glow over all of the vacant store-fronts. Large windows with nothing but emptiness behind them.
The sun starts to come up as I drive further away from civilization. The road which started in a damp Burlington and went through a ghostly Ephrata has taken me to a lonely stretch of dry pavement. Reminds me of I-90 East: wheat fields on either side of me.
Time Travel
I'm at a dead end. There is only one option and that is for me to turn right on to a dirt road. Dry dirt (like Eastern Washington) with rocky pot holes that are impossible to maneuver around.
Time Travel
I'm driving on grass, headed towards a cliff edge. The ground gradually slopes down and a few green blades  hang over the edge. I am seeing the cliff from the side now, briefly, with the shear drop to my left.
Time Travel
I'm standing facing the cliff again and I look down and there is a black, long sleeve wool (or angora, the kind that looks soft and whispy) sweater laying neatly on the ground. It's on a light blue plastic hanger and looks as though someone just took it out of a closet and gently laid it there.
The collar of the sweater with the hook is facing me, if I picked it up it would hang properly with the hanger hooking to the left.
I stare down at the sweater and notice there is a small piece of white cheese (I ate a cheese stick before bed). The piece is perfectly square: about 1" x 1" and 0.5" thick and sits in between the front and back collar (where the tag would be, but about an inch below that). The sunlight reflects just enough to give the skin a creamy sheen.
I want to eat it, but I hesitate. I think I have to save it for a special occasion.
Time Travel

I'm at a fruit stand (reminds me of the one on 99 across from O'Finnigan's near Lincoln Way by my house). With my back facing 99, I'm talking to a man wearing a white collared shirt and starched and pressed khaki slacks with square toed, milk chocolate colored shoes. (Basically like the man in my last dream, but in more neutral colors. He reminds me of the man in the picture I used as a visual aid in my recently posted "Skanky Housekeeping" dream entry).
I am facing him as though were talking, and maybe he is, I'm not sure. I'm preoccupied with the way the yellow canopy is casting a glow over the cantaloupes directly behind him. I steal quick glances to his left as I admire them.
Time Travel
I'm back on the cliff again. The man is with me. I can't see him but I can sense he's there. I'm facing North with the cliff to my right. The sweater and cheese are still there beside me. There is a beautiful white house in the distance: two story, with three windows with black shutters on each floor facing me. The roof is light brown and rounded near the edges (think cottage roofs).
I am a pretty good distance away: it remind me of the space between the dirt road and the Lamb's house (a really creepy large white house on Decatur Island with creepier people living inside).
I look away from the house and down at the sweater and the cheese looks very appetizing. I can imagine the way the shape would feel against my tongue and cheek, the way the temperature would be chilled but not cold, the slippery skin and gently 'pop' as my molars bite down on the right side of my mouth. I want to eat it so bad but I can't. It needs to be saved for a special occasion.
Time Travel
I'm standing in a town that reminds me of an old west movie. I'm facing an old general store front or a saloon: the grey-ish wooden swinging double doors are positioned over a weathered wood porch.

I feel like I'm on a mission. I have something I need to accomplish before I can return to the cliff and claim the house for my own.
Time Travel
I'm traveling back towards the house. Heading West. I'm in some sort of old west transport: either a steam train or a horse-drawn carriage. I'm moving fast, evident by which the amber wheat fields are moving past my window. The navy blue curtains with cream colored lace edges are shaking with movement.

All I can think about is hurrying back to the cliff to stop some girl from eating the cheese and taking the white house for herself.
Time Travel
I'm walking towards the cliff and I see the girl, a blond wearing a pink long sleeve shirt, reaching down towards the square of cheese. I run and slide (homerun style) into the sweater and knock the cheese out of her hand.
Then I wake up.