Trouble

It is night, and I am at a party for writers--a very casual affair, everyone in jeans. The lighting is dim, there's booze going around, there are groups of people huddled in corners, others alone reading on couches. The phone rings and a blonde woman retrieves it. It is a neighbor complaining about how loud the party is. Strange, I think to myself: As far as I've been able to tell, the music's been pretty mellow, pretty low. Nonetheless, the music is turned off entirely, immediately.

I make my way up the stairs to a carpetted attic room where some of my students (from the after school program) are looking out a window: Janita, Johnny, a couple of others as well. Janita turns to me and says, "Look outside, it's the police!" She is laughing.

"Don't play me, Janita," I warn her.

I look out the window, and there really is one lone policeman standing at the entrance, aiming a rifle at the house. It is now day. I look back towards the kids to see if they're okay, and they are laughing and horsing around. I look out the window once again to see 50 or 60 policemen, seven or eight squad cars, and all of the officers are aiming rifles at the house.

There's more that happens now, I'm sure, but I must have lost it in transition from sleep to full consciousness.

Next scene: I have just entered Super Stop and Shop (Natick, MA) to spend some money simply because I'm bored, but as soon as I arrive, I realize that I've walked twenty minutes for no reason because I've forgotten my wallet. But it's no big deal, because I see Natalie standing in line at the bakery. We chat for a bit, and eventually leave in her minivan. As we're driving on the highway, destination unknown, she tells me that she is looking into an afternoon job because she's only got a morning job. "I think I'll work in the history office at HWS," she tells me.

I don't question her, even though I know that's a job for work study students currently attending the Colleges. I do, however, inquire, "Wouldn't it make more sense to find a job in Rochester, you know, where you live?"

"Not really," she responds. "I don't want Paul using the car."

 

Survey says: Steer clear

A few nights ago, I dreamed that Jenna was teaching me how to drive. This is amusing (and startling) for a number of reasons, but I'll just skip right over that for now.

So I was driving, and she was in the passenger's seat. I was going along just fine along this semi-busy road, when all of a sudden, the car stopped. So I let go of the gas pedal and pushed on it again, and the car went merrily along its way--that is, until it stopped again. It took me a minute to understand that the car was coming to a sudden stop at every single road sign. Jenna was like, "You incompetent fool, you can't drive for crap!"

And I was like, "No, I swear, the car is like possessed or something! It keeps stopping at every road sign. Look, my foot is still on the gas!"

The last time the car stopped, it skidded to the point where the driver's side was now in (formerly) the right shoulder, and a sherriff came up to me because he happened to be there investigating a pile-up a couple hundred feet ahead. I don't remember whether he believed me or not. I imagine not.

Renee told me this afternoon, if only Freud were there. Hmph.

Gotta go--Jenna's yelling at the TV again. Something about guys throwing firecrackers at polar bears. I laughed when she told me. Thank goodness I'm in the other room.

 

Grilled macaroni and cheese sandwich, anyone?

Last night, I was in a building that I think might have been a frat house. In my dream, of course. Just assume that whatever I write about in this particular journal solely pertains to dreams.

So, I was in bed with this other woman. Not in **that** sense necessarily, because I entered the dream under the assumption that there were lots of us in the house, all sharing beds, or something like that. Anyway, I had been sleeping, and was startled awake by these two guys who came into the room saying, "What the hell are you two doing in here? This is our room!" But they didn't say it in a mean way--it was more of a confused tone.

So I started to get out of bed, but slowly, because I was so self-conscious since I was wearing this short black satin slip thingy (I was saying...?) I left the room and went downstairs, where everyone--about 20 or 30 people--was eating hors d'oeuvres. Dean DeMeis was at the kitchen counter with a grilling device and asked me, "Melissa, how would you like a grilled macaroni and cheese sandwich?" And you know what? It sounded really good at the time, so I said yes.

I then left the kitchen in search of a videotape that I heard someone had brought. It was a movie that was critically acclaimed for like a decade, and all the professors made students watch it in their classes, but I had never seen it. So I found the tape, and went back to those guys' room to pop it in the VCR. Well, the movie started playing, and suddenly I was in it. I then realized that this movie was about the 1980's; it was sort of like "Forrest Gump," except it covered a much shorter time span, more sophisticated, more hip. Sort of like contemporary German cinema. I was supposed to guess what each historical event was as it was unfolding.

The first thing I saw was this invisible thing going up in the sky at night, and this thing moved all the stars to make the shape of what it was: A rocket. I shouted to no one in particular: "That's the Challenger!" There was an explosion, and the Sears Tower then sort of sprouted from the ground right in front of me. I thought to myself, if this is supposed to be an interactive movie based on the 80's, well...wasn't the Tower built in the 60's? (I just looked it up: 1973.)

A bunch of things happened after that, but I don't remember what. So suddenly, I was back downstairs, having remembered my grilled sandwich, but Debra had given it away to someone else because I'd taken so long to get it, and I thought she might be mad, but she wasn't. Instead, she was all Donna Reed like, and made me another sandwich. I started to eat it, but I don't think there was any more to the dream.

What is this with my dreams ending while I'm in the middle of eating???

Shut up. Just shut up.