I had to teach a life drawing class, and it was completely out of control. There was someone painted entirely in red, an older man was preaching about Jesus in the classroom, and another middle-age guy sat in the left-most seat in the front row and pretended to be the teacher: “But seriously, let’s start this class. I’m your teacher.” I, of course, was quite scared and intimidated since I can’t draw, much less draw the human figure. So I left, and someone gave me a speech on how all students have a right to learn, especially these two guys who lived in Mason Hall (right above the classroom).

I was in some compartment (truck or tractor cab?) with Grandpa and two women. One woman (sort of Marlo Thomas-ish) opened the window and “let the air in like old times.” Somehow I ended up driving Grandpa and Matt in a pick-up, and we were at an intersection much like that of US-50 and Hutchinson’s airport road. Grandpa was talking about close calls, and I made it across the highway with one close call that wasn’t terribly close. Then Matt and I were in a room outside Puff Daddy’s courtroom. Matt was eating these slate blue caps (like you might use in a toy gun). “Does Puff know you’re eating his candy?” I asked Matt, then Matt told me that “what this really is about is state’s rights.”

Then I was in a lawyer’s office writing “Ahcroft” (I knew it was Ashcroft, but was purposely spelling it wrong–I don’t know why) painfully slow in D’nealian cursive. Every letter had to be just perfect, and I traced letters over and over. Then I went into the bathroom to take a shower. When I turned on the water, warm water came out initially. Luckily, I wasn’t in the bathtub when the excrement came out. It was like someone flushed and it went directly into my bathtub instead of the sewer. Somehow I knew Attorney General John Ashcroft was behind this attack. Rather than deal with it, I woke up.

Postmodern Village had two songs were nominated for Grammys (in two different years). I went over to Lael’s to talk about putting out a CD, and he lived in a smallish house surrounded by gates.

I had a lot of little fragmentary dreams about starting up fake diaries for the girlfriends of punk band members.

“We need more villages,” someone said in a Pizza Hut ad as I was digging in my closet for the right pair of pants. I looked up, and it was an ad featuring a small town. A sixty-something woman hopped into her Lexus and drove down the dirt road to her square dancing lesson. I was not impressed with the commercial and knew it wouldn’t do well.

There was some awards show (I have no idea what for) with a very long hallway. Jon K. and John J. were there. Kathleen and I rode up very long escalators and looked in empty rooms.

I followed Olga and Valeria into some house. We all then sat on the floor and talked about preschool faculty for next year.

Then I was at the Center, herding all these pissed-off seventh graders into a big group to do their African Masks Arts Partners project. They heard they had to make two masks each and got quite irritated. After that project got started, I left. Linden was in a room just watching the parking lot. It was dark out. A white car drove by, then I went out to mine. I spotted a blond girl, a lot like Rachael, sitting in a red car. I got in and asked her who she was. She wouldn’t tell me. Then Beck got in the car and asked for a refill on his drugs. He pulled out a small bottle of mouthwash-looking liquid and handed it to her. She drank it all; Beck was crushed. She told him to get off drugs and get a fuckin’ job because he was going to be a daddy soon. I told him I might be able to help him find a job. We were in motion now, and we drove by a Thai restaurant. Then I got out at the gas station (one of those ones with no attendants) and noticed it had caught fire (in a small area). I pulled out the fire hose and pulled the alarm, thinking I might be able to contain it until the fire department got there. An hour later, the fire was out and still no fire department. Then I noticed a storm coming (even though it was still dark), and suddenly I was in a Target or Wal-Mart. As the storm crept closer, the items on the shelves changed to home decor things. It looked like a Bed, Bath, and Beyond after the transformation.

I dreamt about metababy.com nearly all night long.

I watched some awful TV movie with Ricki Lake breaking down under the pressures of sexual harrassment and quitting her job to dedicate her life to exercise and the pursuit of thinness.

Mari took me to a parking lot to show me her broken-down abandoned car and to admire how somebody stole the engine. There were flies all around. Then Rebecca (preschool teacher) distracted me somehow, and I then went to TG&Y and bought some very nice art deco dumbbells. Two Vietnamese guys were buying swimsuits. Mom and Dad told me I should take a class on how to use my dumbbells, but I reminded them I had exercised before. Then I left them and went to McDonald’s. Two DJs were running the store and they gave me a big shopping bag full of candy. Then Brian H. came and ate the rest of my hamburger. Then Mom and Dad ate the rest of my fries.

Last night I traveled quite a bit, of course, only in my dream.

Mom, Dad, his coworkers, and I went to Boston. We had to ride the subway to Philly to catch our flight back. For some reason, once I reached Philly, I went back to Boston to have lunch with Mom. I don’t know why she didn’t come with us in the first place. Then I started to feel very guilty that I didn’t stay and help Dad carry the luggage.

Somehow, I ended up in London. I had toast and strawberry jam at a sidewalk cafe, and I just sat there thinking how delightful it was to have toast and strawberry jam in England. It was pretty cheap too, even given the conversion rate (which I estimated to one US dollar to 1.64 British pounds*).

Then I moved to downtown Wichita and took several walks around English, Main, Lewis, and Market. They had torn down most of the buildings.

* Actual exchange rate at the conclusion of Feb. 23, 2001: 1.456 British pounds to one US dollar.

Mom and I went to a sale hosted by Johnny Paycheck’s Estate Sales, and Mom found several things she wanted to buy. We had to go back a second time, and that’s when we noticed the boxes on the floor. I found three pieces of Arny’s pottery (they looked nothing like his real work; they were orange tiles instead of bowls), but they had no price on them. We asked the lady working the sale, and she had to call “Mr. Paycheck.” We never really heard back, so we just spent a lot of time waiting.

Someone and I had a discussion about whether Gary Coleman was technically a midget, dwarf, or little person.