Before you go getting ideas, I slept with the television off last night. Part of the reason for this is Cartoon Network’s horrible decision to air the animated “Dennis the Menace” in the morning.

We were having a going-away dinner for Caryn. Steph had just distributed a memo about different interpretations of Genesis and the Center’s official stand. Then she started telling Jake how to do his job, and Jake asked, “How many times does it say ‘judge not lest ye be judged?”. Caryn explained how her daughter (who is actually entering first grade this fall) volunteered to memorize a large passage from the Bible. At this time, I noticed we were eating outside in a gazebo along a major highway. Within a span of thirty seconds, four fire engines had raced past and turned down a road that was directly across the highway from us. There was a row of trees blocking our view, and it was night, but I could see some faint source of night through the branches. At first it looked just like dawn, but then the explosion hit. Along we were at least a quarter of a mile away, a spark from the blast blew and hit my arm. I had a burn mark the size of a grain of sand. While it did hurt, I also felt a sense of wonderment and specialness, as if I had participated in some great event.

I called Zach’s mom and asked for updated address and phone information. We had a decent chat. She said that she saw me talking on the news about arts education. I told her that when I was working with the preschoolers, I was always quite spry and got compliments on my gymnastic abilities: that was all thanks to her. I mentioned something about how long it had been since we talked, and she suggested that I never mention how much time had passed again. It left a negative tarnish on the whole thing and just would make me feel bad. She was, of course, right.

I was in a large auditorium: basically I was in the Center’s theatre, but the aisles were a little wider. (All of this action takes place in Rows N and O). There were a lot of old high school people there watching some film. All I remember about the film is that Tom Jones sang the opening theme, “War (What is It Good For?)” I spotted Zach and knew I wanted to sit as near to him as possible. There wasn’t anywhere free, so I continued down the row. I found Wyant and plopped down next to him. “Is this seat taken?” I asked. “Well . . .” he stammered, knowing that he wanted me to sit there, but that he also had someone else who planned to sit there. So I just got up. He was somewhat perplexed. This time I walked behind Zach instead of the row directly in front of him. I thought about going into the projection booth, but there were a bunch of people standing around. I had to duck quickly to avoid getting in the way of the projected image, and I’m not sure that I was entirely successful. Zach now had a fancy-schmancy telephoto lens that he was playing with instead of watching the movie. I found an empty seat about ten seats away and spent the whole time trying to make eye contact. He never truly noticed me, but I did notice how much he reminded me (favorably) of someone else.

Zach, Jon, and I were in bumper cars. I was in the orange Robert E. Lee from The Dukes of Hazzard. Zach and Jon were in some Star Wars things. Zach told me, “You know, you can join the Force if you want.” I was tempted, but I kind of had settled into the Robert E. Lee. Ah yes, the decision between The Dukes of Hazzard and Star Wars: isn’t that difficult decision?

I was with a girl (Mari? Erika?) who really wanted to go to a Sisqo concert. We saw Katie Eroh there and that was quite amusing.

In some smallish room, Mom was half-asleep in a chair. Linden came in and went to another room to sleep. An woman in her mid-forties came in and went to Linden’s room to sleep, gushing that he could “recite Shakespeare, no, Chaucer, even in his sleep.” Some guy from NPR came in: he was about eighteen, with a mohawk, piercing, and Black Flag t-shirt (it wasn’t Jeff). He settled on a fainting couch. I didn’t leave because of him, but I knew I had to leave right then. I had been on the phone with Mari, although I called her Zorak, and just left the phone dangling when her mom started screaming at her dad.

I went downstairs, which was a high-dollar department store. I walked past the four people in the basement and went straight to the fancy porcelain dolls and tin movie posters. One of the dolls was a 8.5″ fashion doll with slots cut in her so she could identify clothing. She would say, “I want my flip-flops” and you’d put her flip-flops on, then she’d say “thank you.” She randomly barked orders about pieces of clothing to put on or take off. Not wanting to be bossed around, I glanced at one of the movie posters. When I found one that I “recognized,” I saw the opening scenes of a movie starring “Beulah” or “Bertha” or “Beatrice”–I can’t remember which. It was a woman who looked quite a bit like my aunt Marie screaming as the camera zooms in closer. Her face is lit by rotating police lights (red-blue-white). The film is in black and white except for the colored lights.

When I look away, I’m surrounded by a lot of high school people. Jon was twirling around. Someone said to me, “he’s always been much too skinny.” I said, “Would you believe there was a time when I was that thin?” Then I spotted Josh, and I ran towards him to give him a hug. “I love you for eighth grade,” the last time we were in a class together. He started crying and said, “I don’t know why I’m crying, but I am.” I walked through the crowds of people, chanting, “I have three secrets. I know what Olga is getting her husband for his birthday . . .” and I can’t remember the other two.

I found a set of photo albums and started browsing through them. There were several of a carnival. Dawn and someone else babysat needy Asian children for National Honors Society community service hours: it had a very Dorthea Lange quality to it. Charlie was shown wearing a full cowboy outfit; the backdrop was a map of New Mexico, Colorado, Oklahoma, and Texas. The name “Lamar, New Mexico” was bolder than any other word.

Sitting with Karrie, Erika, and Olivia, they pulled out a Diet Dr Pepper can with which I had won a decorating contest. Since my design was chosen, they had printed it up on several cans. I had done this in middle school (c. 1990) and had based my words on the theme “Louisiana Democrats for John McCain.”

Two quick nightmares (probably induced by Lortab):

I call the Center and either Rebecca or Katie answer. They murmur into the phone the typical greeting, then add “or whatever.” I want to talk to Matt, but my mouth is unable to open.

I am asleep on the marble dining room table. Mom is throwing a dinner party, but I’m too near unconsciousness to move. I hear the doorbell and know that people will soon be staring at me as if I’m some buffet item. I hear footsteps on the linoleum. I want to tell them I’ll move, but I’m unable to speak.

Before going to bed, I watched a rather amusing and creepy movie on AMC called 13 Ghosts. Essentially, Dr. Plato Zorba, the esteemed scientist of the occult, dies and leaves his haunted house to a heavily-mortaged family–his nephew’s. Plato is not the only odd name. The daughter’s name was Medea (which I didn’t catch until after they asked the Ouija board if Medea was in love–the spirits thought it was a stupid question and so did I), yet her love interest’s name was not Jason. The son’s name was Buck. Medea and Buck–what an odd combination of names for siblings, until you consider that they were named by Cyrus and Hilda Zorba. I think it was one of the first movies to master the art of depicting ghosts–in their transparent and ethereal way–on screen. The most disturbing image for me was not Mario the ghost with his meat cleaver, but the headless liontamer who kept “looking” for his head in the lion’s mouth. I then fell asleep watching Scooby Doo. There’s a certain carry-over of the creepy ghost story, but surprising little. It was more the aura of poverty which forced the Zorba family to endure the ghosts of their dead uncle’s home. The spiders, floating fork, and windstorm are also likely related to the influence of 13 Ghosts.

In a dream last night, I watched a Partridge Family Biography special. Towards the end of their career, they collaborated with Richard Rodgers (of Rodgers and Hammerstein). After performing on stage together with another singing family (I don’t know where they came from, but this family was attempting to escape the rural poverty which was so apparently a major factor in their lives), Keith Partridge (David Cassidy) threw up his fringed arms and said, “This isn’t working.” Then he left the stage.

I went into a dressing room and attempted to check the door to see if it would lock. It didn’t seem like it would as I was trying to lock it from the outside, but it made a much more secure closure once I got in the stall. The room was a strange combination of dressing room/bathroom: long white cabinets (wooden, with obvious neglect, but not in that decorator “weathered” sort of way) used to have sinks, but didn’t anymore.

There was a fierce windstorm. I was in the old house, looking out the master bedroom window at the cul-de-sac. Nearly all the cars nearby had been disturbed by the wind. There were two vans in the middle of the circle that had crashed into each other: they were white vans with blue logos and I intially thought they were Center vans. About three or four other cars littered the circle. I felt completely awful: my stomach ached, my head pounded, and I was slightly dizzy. I told Mom, who was lying in the bed, that I simply couldn’t do anything today. We actually were in the middle of a move, as I discovered in a panning camera move that allowed me to see outside without being outside, and the two vans were full of our belongings. The logo, which I previously believed to be a column, was actually a white roadway with a blue background. We were moving into the Peters’ house. My car was in Nicole’s driveway and had not gotten blown by the wind. After seeing this, I went to my room. I had at least six plastic stacking tables all on top of each other. I was looking for my four-CD poetry collection. I moved the stack of tables and saw a murder of brown spiders (I don’t know what the special name for a grouping of spiders is, so I’ll just use “murder”). They had woven a web around two dirty forks, continually feeding off the residue. I put the tables back and tried to pretend I had never noticed the spiders. I put in the new 5-DVD Biography series on French existentialists that I had bought for $40. I was not happy to learn that I had bought the French version, so I had essentially wasted my money. I only comforted myself by thinking about how well I would sleep with French in the background. (I have a tendency to doze off during French movies–I’ve only stayed awake through Weekend, Breathless, Jules and Jim, and, after about five attempts, The 400 Blows. I fell asleep at least five times during Last Year at Marienbad.) I was quite amused to see that all music was provided by Pere Ubu; there was an interview with them which was the only part in English.

I dreamt something about Karrie and Olivia, but I don’t remember anything except their presence.

Again, I’m writing from notes scribbled in the middle of the night. This time, instead of filling up the back of a receipt, I nearly filled up a spiral notebook page.

Mom and I were going to my old high school. In the parking lot, there was an ice skater darting between cars. Mom said, “She’s talented; you should ask her–” She skated in front of our car and nearly killed all of us. We saw a parked cop car. Mom said, “I hate to ask an off-duty policeman,” but he left before she could complain. We headed towards the building. The power had gone out and as we walked in, it came back on. The library was locked, so, since we couldn’t get in there, we walked around the commons area. We kept bumping into people I knew from then. No one else’s mom was there. Zach said, “Hey, Jen,” and Mom whispered, “Follow through,” code for continue the conversation with him. I told her, “Ease,” meaning for her to stop nagging. Most people were eating. I found Amber’s credit card (Amber was a girl I went to high school with, but the Amber whose credit card I found is really the mother of one of our preschool students) and said I would return it to her, as I would see her later. I picked up two keychains. Then we walked outside. Mom said, “I forgot I had to buy you strawberries.” I told her that “I would have asked for them if I really wanted them.” Then she bought me two prescriptions, four CDs, and lunch. In the parking lot now were two white Corvettes and Howard’s car. I woke up to one of the Scooby Doo Mysteries, sleeping as always with Cartoon Network on, as they were talking about racecars.

I dreamt Grandpa had two new calves, both bulls, one had the beginnings of horns on his snout. I could the bone beginning to form under the skin like new teeth. The calf was trying to bite me. Grandpa told me that he had traded that “yappy dog” (perhaps a bleedthrough from the Scooby Doo meets Courage the Cowardly Dog commercial on Cartoon Network), one of the calves, and his “son” on a treadmill for cash. The “son,” a transient Grandpa had picked up somewhere for odd ranching jobs, said, “Oh, you’ve found another son?”

I had some rare disease that caused me to ooze blood. I didn’t throw it up, but I just turned my head and blood would drip out of my mouth. I went to the bathtub because it was flowing so heavily out of my mouth. When I got into the shower, I turned my head a little too quickly and blood got all over the shower stall. The tiles were covered with blood. The blood was a bit thinner than molasses, but just about as dark: the consistency was about the same as motor oil.

After that, I had to go to a Scholar’s Bowl thing outside. Jesse was surprised to see me as I was driven to the meet. I got out of the car, very weakly, and I could see his jaw drop. I tried to play it off by making fun of myself: “Jesus, Jesse. It’s just a skirt. I’ve worn one before.” We all knew that wasn’t it. He whispered to someone else, and I knew he had hoped I would die so someone more together and healthier would be on the team.

I was getting dressed to go to some formal event, and I wanted to wear a hot pink silk shirt over my outfit. It wasn’t working out well: it wasn’t too small or too big, but just wrong. It had shoulder pads (which didn’t help) that didn’t fit on my shoulders. I thought about ironing it, which I was going to do in the kitchen (at the old house). I held my hand in front of the iron, feeling the heat from it, and decided I should turn the shirt inside out in case I burnt it. Then I decided that nothing would help it and unplugged the iron. I then flipped over, or maybe the alarm clock sang its awful tune, and I immediately went back to the twilight stage, wondering “what happens if you forget to turn the iron off in a dream?”

I was invited to view mammoth works out of art outside. An artist had created huge painted murals and sculpture. I crawled under “Cranium” and looked up to see the bars and support beams. There was a house made out of blocks of pressed flowers in resin and a massive clock with symbols for the numbers. I was invited back anytime, and I wouldn’t have to pay the $5 admission.