Who Is the Conjurer?

Who is the conjurer of my dreamscape?  The tales are too complex and too creative to be my own. 

All in one night:

1.  A girlfriend from my youth materializes in my bed.  In the darkness she embraces me from behind.  This brings me peace and comfort.  Only later do I realize that she has taken six long, thin vials of blood from my back as part of a prank or worse, as part of a sinister experiment.  The next day I search for clues to her whereabouts.  I find an empty pack of Parliament filters, her favorite brand, on my table.

2.  I am waiting for an elevator on a high floor of my office, with a friend.  Suddenly a very petite young Asian girl joins us.  She is beyond distraught, stricken.  When she approaches me, I ask her if her distress is "personal," as opposed to, say, a colleague having had a heart attack at his desk.  But it immediately occurs to me that any such level of distress is personal.

We are in the elevator now.  Her eyes roll into her head and she collapses into me, still alive but unconscious.

3.  I am running my very first marathon.  But a half mile in, I decide to lie down in the fetal position in the middle of the course.  I am just resting to build my strength for the remainder, if I can do it.  I try not to call too much attention to myself.

4.  A man calls out to me -- "Have you seen these modern sailboats, with their flimsy construction?"  He is at the center of a cavernous wheelhouse in what appears to be an enormous Spanish galleon.  I climb towards him on a staircase within it that, like everything else around, is made of heavy, dark, ornate wood.  I then notice that, radiating out from the center, there are what he calls "belaying pins," but they are not of the usual sort.  Each is bigger than I am, and in the shape of a woman's arm.  Each ends in a delicate looking hand whose fingers are poised to grab something.  I surmise that these "pins" can be used somehow in the handling of the cordage of the massive vessel.