NafDaddy

I was with an old music teacher, a phenomenal character and wonderful director, and one of my better high school friends. Someone else was with us as well, and he was describing to me things I could work on, flaws of mine. One was, when you start to talk, you have interesting things to say, but you start out by being BORING. After a while, I went to leave, and my old director gave me a very understanding and penetrating look. I smiled back at him, but I felt fake and a little hurt.

I was back at my old school, a private Christian school. I was a new student, though it was more of a return than my first exposure. As I walked up, a friend's brother gave me a love note from a girl. I said, that's art. He agreed. I was assigned a locker, was given an American flag outfit, and puffed a cigarette an assistant manager of mine was finishing, as a couple people were smoking in the hall. I entered a social studies class, and as I went to choose a seat, I couldn't decide where I fit in. I usually sit in the back so I can see everything, but I wanted to be more focused and thought the middle would be better. I sat in the back anyway. The manager at work was my teacher. I realized I hadn't done the given assignment that everyone else had (man, really took me back to school days), so I slipped out of class. I didn't have my books, either, and decided to retrieve them.

I ended up getting on a bus and traveling down the block a ways with a whole group of other people. The only notable DC was a young, tiny red-headed, blue boy who became scared at one point. I comforted him with a hug. We proceeded to wreck several times, sometimes flipping in the air. Our bus became a semi truck at one point, caught fire, exploded, returned to a bus. I ended up running ahead of the group once we got out. I had lost one of my USA flag shoes, but I had a Vibram on instead. Everyone was fine, because my dreams like safe car wrecks like that. I re-entered my school, and a boy greeted me and said there was naught but a minute left in class, so no point in returning. I showed off my bicycle to him, and a couple friends of mine came in and got food and dishes from a stocked kitchen the school had. We talked about how nice the school had become, a scholastic paradise compared to what it had been.


Wake, sleep, dream. I was on vacation with my family, in town at the beach. We're sitting outside a building, my brother, sister and mother all go inside. I have a large piece of black paper, and I'm writing on it with my finger. It's a message to a woman on Mars. My whole family is going to a colony there, my sister longer than anyone, because it was stated she had been to the Dominican Republic (she does often travel). We return to the house, and I quickly go to the computer to email a woman, perhaps the same one. I wonder at why all I want to think or talk about is dreams (!!) and that it's good that she's my dream guide (!!). Great thing I became, lucid, or not. Missed freebie. Anyway, there's a strange segment of a hologram coming from the email that shows a couple people from school again.

Afterward, or maybe in the email, I'm in a series of music videos. In the one I remember, it was quite hilarious; I was in a flamboyant, red, pimp-like outfit with feather, a hat, the works. I have a gang, a gaggle, a skulk, a pride of people behind me, and we're all carrying drinks. We're facing off with another group. As the leader, I dramatically pour my drink, maybe a beer, on the ground. The rest of my group follows suit, but the drinks from the taller ones fill up the shorter people's cups again so they have to pour them out again. There's another segment I can't remember.

Next, I'm at home. There's a guy about my age with short, blond hair, who calls himself Patrick.. o'Leary, if I remember. He's mowing our lawn, though I end up finishing it. We make conversation, and at one point he says I might not even remember, it's not a big deal, but I had pranked him, or something of that nature. I can't remember and am confused. I ask, did I get you too drunk? He laughs and says never mind, and no. However, there's a strange vibe lingering in the air, like he's being outwardly fake but inwardly analytic. Next door, a cook at work is lying on a driveway looking in a mirror foppishly, sporting a mane of blonde hair that he doesn't have in real life. I say, hey, dude, to him. Patrick says, hey, Tony. We go inside and meet my mother on the way in. She gets a set of keys from Patrick, and is laughing and friendly but says she'll keep him accountable. I have covert plans to maybe offer Patrick some ganja now that my mother's leaving, even though (or due to how) I've quit smoking in recent days (hence the REM rebound). The strange vibe stays around, but we're quite friendly together. Before any more events transpire, I wake, disappointed to miss such a clear and present dream sign as the email.