Glieuaeiel's DJ

Frags:

• My class is taking a tour, but because of a schedule change, we have to wait in a church for two hours while there's a service going on.

Homework Stress

Today is July 1st. One of the first things my [old] chemistry teacher does in class is ask for the homework. It was our choice exactly which assignment to do, but we were supposed to do 50 points' worth of homework. I haven't done it, because I forgot to check the syllabus.

Frags:

• "alien invasion" [??]

Cat Surgery

I walk into the basement to find an unfamiliar young man sitting with some of my parents. He's holding one of our pet cats, while my dad holds the other. [IRL: The other cat died, actually, about a year ago.] The other cat (a white one) gets away from dad, so I go after it. Evidently something is being done to the cats which they don't like, but which is good for them. Eventually I find the white cat and bring it back downstairs.

Now the stranger is sawing off the cat's front paw with a hacksaw. My parents assure me that this is a necessary surgery, since the cats' paws never healed right from that time they fell from a great height. I remember that event; it was somehow my fault. [IRL: No such thing has ever happened.] Despite my parents' assurances, I still think that this operation will probably kill the cats. Which is a real shame, because I think this first cat in particular had a long, eventful life ahead of him, in spite of his limp. The man finishes with the first cat, and we give him the second one.

Later, the first cat jumps up onto the couch next to me. I'm shocked to see that he has both front paws back already, and they don't seem to be paining him at all. Do cats have some kind of regenerative ability?

Manual Roller Coaster

Right up ahead, my sisters and I see the entrance of a big covered slide. We dive right in; I'm last. It's a sort of man-powered roller coaster: the idea is to crawl through as quickly as possible. Visibility isn't so good, so sometimes a sharp curve will take you off guard. Then suddenly I reach a long downward segment that I can just slide straight down. This is a blast! A bit later, I accidentally run into my sisters, who apparently just ran into each other. The youngest one apparently tripped because of an unusually long, sharp turn (something like 720 degrees), and then we all crashed right into her. Still, we extricate ourselves in moments and continue the ride.

At the end of the ride, there are a bunch of computers. You can type in your identification and it will tell you how long it took you to go through the ride, and how you compare to that day's other participants. I got 611th, which I think isn't too bad. Then I talk to my sisters, and it turns out the youngest one got 609th. I hadn't expected her to do better than I did! I'm a bit put out, but good for her anyway.

Exclusive Buffet

I'm eating dinner with some classmates at a big restaurant. We're having an important conversation, when suddenly someone comes out on the stage at one side of the room. The person talking to me has his back to the stage, so I try to shush him so I can hear what the woman on stage has to say. I realize I seem a bit rude, but surely he'll understand. A few other actors come onstage, and they start performing a play.

I have only a moment to feel surprised before a bulky, intimidating man comes up to our table and starts taking away our plates, whether or not we're done with them.

"I'm sorry," he says firmly, "we're closing now unless you're part of the club." He has a bit of an accent.

I remember that this place serves a buffet until 8:00, when the actual fancy dinner starts. You have to pay extra to be part of that, or something. And now it's 8:00, so we have to go. On the way out, some of my classmates snag something from the dessert station at the buffet. That's a little rude of them, since technically we're not allowed to eat anything from here anymore. Good thing I got my dessert earlier. Outside on the sidewalk, I hear some other classmates complaining about not having eaten a full dinner because there was nothing good at the buffet. I'm glad I avoided that problem by eating plenty, even if the food was pretty unremarkable.

First Day of Classes (LUCID)

I get up later than usual and hurry to find breakfast. I pass one of the dormitory suites, where apparently someone has set up a small continental breakfast. Interesting, to see such a business here. I get some food there. Then it's time to find my first class.

A lot of time has passed, so when I go back into the hallway, I see a gigantic line of people coming out of the suite's main entrance. It goes all the way down the hallway and down a staircase. I'm glad I missed the line, but suddenly I realize that so many people in line means these are probably the people who get breakfast immediately before heading to class. So I have very little time to collect my things and find my class. I hurry down the staircase, trying not to jostle the line of people too much.

[about 6 classes later . . .]

My next class is titled something like "Practice Session." My guess would be that that refers to a free slot for me to practice my instrument, but that doesn't make much sense, since I'm not a music major and this is not a conservatory. But in any case, I have to find the classroom, which is called the MUSIC room, appropriately enough. But the name "MUSIC" is actually some kind of alphabetical index of where to find the class. Like, I need to find floor M, then hallway U, etc. I suppose the music department thought they were very clever when they designed this room numbering scheme.

I'm hurrying down a surprisingly dark corridor, feeling rather lost. I think I'm on the right floor, but I can't find "U" anywhere. Suddenly, I come upon a library, where my orchestra conductor is talking to some of her students. Well, it's good to find other live people here, but I don't really want to talk to her right now, so I avoid them. Consulting my class schedule again, I realize that my next class isn't even in the MUSIC room. I've had about three other classes in there today, but this one is somewhere else. That's a relief, until I realize that the room shouldn't just disappear if I don't happen to have a class in it right now. But I don't have time to worry about that; I have to find this other place.

It strikes me that today has been an inauspicious first day of classes. I had been hoping that after last quarter (which was very stressful) I would have learned something about avoiding stress and staying calm--but alas, it seems like I have not. Especially since I seem to remember that I skipped most of one of my classes this morning because I had to finish an essay that was technically due last quarter.

My map has a sort of sticker on it, labeled with the name of the place I'm looking for, but it's way out in the middle of nowhere, and the map doesn't show any route to get there. I'm not convinced that's the right place, so I wander around some more. Then I realize I'm just pretending that it's not the place because it's much farther away than I expected. I should just suck it up and go there, even if it will take a while. Looking at the syllabus for this class (which is a small, staple-bound book with a brown cover), I notice that there's even some advice printed on the back cover: the professor says we should leave for his class within ten seconds of the end of the previous class if we want to make it to his class within ten minutes of the alleged start time. I start walking, but then I realize I'm not carrying a backpack or any school supplies at all. And I have only fifteen minutes until class starts. I might make it on time if I keep walking there, but I'll definitely be late if I go back to my room first. I wish I could just "Accio" my school supplies so they catch up to me while I'm walking. Of course, that's just wishful thinking--

--but then I realize that I'm dreaming! Sweet! Okay, I can fly back to my room, get my stuff, and fly to class, and still be there with time to spare. So I set out to do just that. [On my way to class, I lose lucidity.]

The route to class turns into a dirt hiking trail. I try going straight to the classroom, but the path leads under a giant boulder, and I discover that there's not enough clearance for me to squeeze through. Backing out, I make my way around the boulder instead. There are two young boys jumping around on the rocks, shooting at each other with what I identify as laser guns. One shouts at the other, "Mister, show me your ID card!" Clearly, they're imitating the adults from around here, the security guards that watch the entrance to the secure facility in which my class takes place. Okay, I should try to find the guardhouse so I can gain entrance to the facility. There's a small wooden cabin across the road that looks promising.

Inside the cabin, I find the teacher for my class. In order to pass the gatehouse, every student has to sign a contract. All of the contracts are hand-written (by the professor), and I can't read mine at all--it's totally illegible. But one by one, all of the other students are leaving the gatehouse to go to class, and in desperation I finally just sign the contract.

The classroom seems rather like an art studio. There are a lot of heavy-duty tables spread around the room; some of them are pushed against the wall like booth seats at restaurants. It is at one of these latter tables that the professor is sitting, and he invites the class to gather 'round his table while he explains what we'll do in today's class.

Have to Study

I suddenly realize that I have only a few hours left to study for my Formal Languages final at 1:30. [Interestingly, that /is/ the actual time of the final, though at the time of dreaming I still had an entire day left to study. I woke from this dream feeling definitely anxious.]

Frags:

• "professor story"
• "psychological [illegible]"
• "borrow car, teleport?, materialize car"
• "machine gun"

Teacher Comments

Over SSH, I open up the log file of my grading hours to find that the professor has edited it to leave me a message. I thought only I had permission to modify it. Hmmm. Oh well.

Enough

During a break in the lecture, I've been talking with a classmate about how to prove the next major proposition. He thinks he has an idea, so he tells the professor. The professor (who's only about 30 and has a carefree attitude) tells him he should go up to the board and present the proof to the class. My classmate is somewhat taken aback at this unusual request, but he obeys. Of course, he doesn't completely understand his proof (he only knew the general outlines), so a minute later he runs into a problem and his presentation stumbles to a halt. The professor steps in to say that it's a good start, and also, "That's probably enough for today. We'll finish the proof next time." I'm confused again, because we still have a few minutes left in class--plus it's weird that he ended the lecture with a rough student presentation. It seems to me that his carefree attitude doesn't lend itself well to being a good teacher.

Feral Fox

I get out of the car to see a mangy fox running around our driveway. I expect it to run away from me, but it charges! I kick at it in an attempt to avoid getting bitten. Who knows what diseases it might have. It dodges my foot and runs a few yards away, but I'm not sure if I've scared it off for good yet.

Clock Lag

I wake up and roll over in bed to check the time. I scribble some short notes in my dream journal, then check the time again to record when I woke up. To my surprise, the time seems to have jumped forward by five minutes. I check my cell phone's other two clocks. [My phone has three alarms, which in the dream I must have confused with separate timekeeping devices.] First one, then the other, ticks over from one minute to another minute five minutes later. It must be a kind of lag induced by having been in idle mode all night. Soon I wake up for real. [The actual time was about a half-hour earlier than the time in the dream.]

Frags:

• "faster way home"

Camera Project (7:06)

My sister needs to borrow my camera ASAP for a class project which I assume is due this morning. I give it to her somehow and head to my own class, Discrete Math. On the way I get a text from Mom saying that my sister has gotten really depressed about this project, since now she can't get the pictures off of the camera. I feel stupid for not realizing that she would need the CD to install the camera's driver onto her computer. I'm not even sure where that CD is, nowadays. I might have packed it in one of those boxes I've been meaning to send home. It'll take a while to find it for her. But that's actually okay, I suddenly realize, because I don't have class this morning--it's Monday, and Discrete Math is on Tuesdays. Today I don't have class until the afternoon. Only, maybe the project was already due, in which case I can do nothing to help. On the off chance it will do some good, I head back towards my dorm.

By means of a cutscene [or something], I see that Dad's given my sister a call, to say in no uncertain terms that he is totally unsympathetic to her plight. I also see that my sister is standing in a grassy lawn, crying, waiting for her boyfriend to come with roses and make her feel better. I think that's a bit of an immature thing to use a boyfriend for.

Old Folk's Home

I'm about to walk away from the building when I decide, regretfully, that I might as well go back there to practice viola. I don't like that building. That one weird professor lives in it, and it's basically an old folk's home. I turn around and walk back, noticing that there are a lot of string quartets and small bands rehearsing on the sidewalk, all in a row. Huh.

Inside, I wander around the building for a while. There is a shallow spiral staircase to the second floor. I feel old myself as I climb them, since my recent sickness has left me lethargic enough that I have to put both feet on each step. This frustrates me, so I decide to challenge myself and try the other staircase: a much steeper one going up the middle of the spiral staircase, with golden steps that are individually suspended on ropes from the ceiling. It turns out to be very hard, since there's nothing to stop the steps from swinging back and forth like so many swings. I have to grab a rope to prevent myself from falling off. One of the women working at desks on the second floor notices my plight and demonstrates proper use of the staircase. She has no trouble walking all the way down. But there's not really a trick to it; you just have to be very coordinated. I can't believe anyone thought that this staircase was a good idea. It seems dangerous. In describing this staircase, later, I call it a "Margo Walk."

Back on the first floor, I meet a nice old woman and her friend. As a test, the woman has us alternate numbers, counting to ten in German. It gets off to a slow start, because I was confused by her accent and I expected she was going to ask for Korean. Then I ask her how to say "forty" in German, because I only know twenty and thirty. [IRL: I didn't even know "thirty"; I was confusing it with "thirteen."] She seems confused, thinking that I should have asked how to say "forty-four," I guess because it's more fun to say. It's an interesting approach to linguistics, I suppose. She has to think a long time about "forty." Has she been speaking English for so long that she forgot her native language?

Then it's time for lunch, and as a group we set off for the dining room. I wonder if the'll want me to sit next to them. I decide not to risk being unwelcome, and I sit at the end of the table instead. Then I notice that somehow my place doesn't have a plate with food, while almost everyone else's does. I decide I'll just be patient, but in the meantime I'm worried that some of the people here will start fussing over me, thinking that my not having a plate is a dreadful tragedy, or something. I look around the table at the old faces around me, trying to reconcile myself to the idea of old age. I guess for the most part they're good-looking, in their own ways.

[I think I came back to this lunchroom on various other occasions. I began to feel a bit like a freeloader for eating lunch here almost every day, but on the other hand I would feel rude abandoning everyone just before the meal. And the food was pretty good.]

Are We Watching Porn?

Spoiler for sexual content:

I'm in the basement with a group of kids my age. There are about a dozen TVs down here, all showing similar videos. At first, the content is pretty innocuous. But there's this one video with two women. Somehow their clothes start disappearing, and somehow what they're doing is stimulating to one of the women. After a minute she gasps and says, "That was SO GOOD!" At this point, I'm a little confused and uncomfortable (and aroused); I thought these videos were about something else. Everyone else seems confused too; another guy asks, "Are we watching porn?" In response, a few people laugh. By now, everyone in all of the videos is naked.

Lucid?

[I remember that I was lucid at some point in the night. I was looking at a natural landscape and appreciating the detail. Then I tried to look upwards, and the lights dimmed and I lost all visuals.]

Stamitz Viola Concerto (9:23)

I'm talking to someone in the entrance hall of an old-ish building. I hear a viola behind me, and suddenly I recognize the music as the theme from the first movement of the Stamitz viola concerto. Sweet! I look around at the player, who turns out to be a forty-odd, balding man. I notice that he's playing the accompaniment parts as well, using double stops. For that reason, he's playing well under tempo. Also, sometimes he has to break a long solo note into repeated shorter notes, since the accompaniment underneath is changing. Wow, this guy's good. I feel very inept in comparison.

Ritual of the Children

I'm sitting in a common room when a girl comes in from outside. She starts talking to some friends of hers, telling them about a meeting she just attended with a famous person, who actually just sent out a tweet about the meeting that involved a play on words on the girl's name. She's pretty happy about this.

Later, I come back into the common room. The girl's already there. I sit next to her and try to start up a conversation. We talk about her name. Turns out her name is Sadie Hawkins, which is also the name of a type of school dance. I'm surprised I didn't make this connection the first time I heard it. I suppose that must be because I heard it in the context of a play on words. I try to explain this to her, but my explanation is something along the lines of, "Oh, I guess that makes sense, because . . . you know, it was . . . right?" Immediately afterward, I feel embarrassed for being so terribly awful at communication. I think I was afraid to explain it directly, because that would mean admitting that I eavesdropped on her conversation.

Then a bunch of ten-year-old kids come into the room and start doing a ritual. Then it's time for lunch, but we have time to shower first, if we want. I do want to, so I try to head down the hallway to the bathroom. But the entrance is like two feet too short for my head. I suppose this hallway must be reserved for the ten-year-olds. They have their own hallway? This is weird. Whatever. I go down the hallway to the left, which takes me to the bathroom.

It's dark in here, and crowded. I open the first door that I come to, but it's a toilet stall, not a shower. I keep looking for a shower, but instead I come upon a row of turnstiles in the right wall. The kids are lined up behind them, entering one at a time. If this is their entrance, then I probably went past the showers. And I'd better find one soon, because it will be even more crowded here before long.

Tropical Island

[I am awake at the beginning of this dream.]

I know that it is almost time to wake up, but I decide to see if I can fall asleep into a dream landscape of my choosing. [Sort of like a WILD, I guess, but I didn't use that terminology at the time.] I decide that I will attempt to enter the dream quickly by visualizing myself falling from a great height. I picture a field of rolling plains, and in the distance there is a tall group of rocks with almost vertical sides. I am at the top of those rocks, I decide. The view starts to zoom in on the rocks. I still feel like I'm just picturing this in my head, not dreaming it, which frustrates me. Eventually I zoom in on myself, and then I fall backwards off of the cliff. [I can't remember the details of the event.]

I've landed on a beach, in the surf, though it takes a few moments for me to get my bearings. Somehow this is not what I wanted to happen, but a voice tells me that I should be feeling very comfortable right now (seeing as how this is a tropical island), so I should try to enjoy myself. I wade into the water, but almost immediately I notice something floating in the water near me that looks like dog poop. Eww. I try to wade away from it, but a trick of the current seems to make it follow me. Once, I think I've gotten away from it, only to look again a moment later and find that it's back. Then I notice that there's a current under the surface that's making a lot of stuff collide with my legs on its way past me. Seaweed, perhaps. In any case, it's gross. This is not fun.

Improv Singing

I'm in a music class. As a warm up exercise to break the ice at the first class, the instructor has us walk around an outdoor path one at a time, improvising a song. Topics of the song can be stuff about ourselves, expectations for the class, or other similar things, and we should try to make the words rhyme. The path is about a quarter mile long, but it only takes about a minute to stroll around it. I'm one of the first people to go. I'm pretty proud of how my song turned out. The tune was interesting and I managed a few good rhymes, although I'm not sure I got any particular point across with the words--the organization suffered somewhat from the rhyming.

Meanwhile, in High School (6:59)

I'm sitting at a table in a room filled with tables, working on an assignment, when I see someone out of the corner of my eye. It's my mom, sitting at another table, trying to catch my attention by waving something. Exasperated, I acknowledge her, but she wants to start a full blown conversation. I pack up my things and say, apologetically, that "I just can't right now." Predictably, Mom gets furious. I walk over to her table (Dad's there too) and try to explain that I'm old enough now that she can't expect me to share every detail of my life with her. My voice sounds like maybe I'm about to start crying. Nothing doing, though. Looks like I'll have to pack my own lunch and find my own way to school, today.

I go back downstairs and check the time. It's later than I thought! Forget packing a lunch, I'll barely have time to shower and get dressed. I also think I should do my laundry, but when I look into the basket, I realize that I have more clean clothes than I thought. No need to bother, then. But later, when I actually go to choose an outfit, I have trouble finding clean shorts. I'll have to do my laundry tomorrow, which will be harder since it's a weekday and I'll be busy.

Dad drives me to school. I'm sitting all the way in the back of the car, and I'm surprised to see some orange traffic cones passing by my window. Some road work near the left turn just before the high school's parking lot. Looks like Dad's doing what he's supposed to be doing.

I take a seat in the classroom. I've decided that while I'm back home, I may as well sit in on some Spanish classes at my old high school to get in some extra practice. The teacher, a dark-haired man, begins the class by introducing himself and explaining about the course textbooks. Apparently he wrote one of them--part of a series of textbooks on a variety of subjects, all published in the same format but written by various guest authors. At one point, the teacher switches to English for a bit. His accent is kind of cute. Then we go around the class and introduce ourselves. I don't know anyone there, obviously. When it comes to be my turn, I explain that I'm actually a college student. There's something of a commotion from another student in the class, and I wonder if maybe he's doing the same thing as I am and I should have recognized him? That would be embarrassing.

At one point, the teacher's been talking about something, and he asks the class which of us consider ourselves to be "a member of that crowd?" I'm one of the few who raises a hand. A few minutes later, I realize that he might have been asking which of us have had sex, but with so much circumlocution that I didn't realize it at the time. Oops. Well, if so, I'm sorry for misrepresenting myself, but there's not much I can do about it now. Besides, I'm in college, they'll have expected it of me, anyway.

The teacher starts a presentation, and everyone puts away their drinks. Except one is still on the table, and one of the students accidentally knocks it over, spilling soda pop everywhere. The teacher interrupts his lecture to go find cleaning supplies, and I try to help out by mopping up some with a napkin. I hope that my helpfulness is a mark of being more mature than the majority of students in the classroom. But the teacher holds out his hand to throw away the napkin for me, and I let him take it, even though it sort of undermines what I was doing. Anyway, the napkin wasn't very absorbent, so now there's pop on my hands. I need to find a sink. I find one in the hall only a few feet away from the classroom.

A lot of the students are handing out out here until the presentation starts again. I look around and see an office whose name plaque carries a very strange title. I wonder if high schools can hire people to do things as strange as that because they're government-funded. Someone walks past me and into the office, and I wonder. I also talk to one of the students outside. They tell me they wanted to go to the big concert today, because it featured a big presentation about Mormonism. I had heard about the concert, but I didn't know it was about Mormonism, and now I'm kind of sad I missed it, too. [IRL: The concert is this afternoon, and it has nothing to do with Mormonism.]

When we go back into the classroom, there's a stage at one end, complete with curtains and a podium. A man at the podium tells us that as a surprise, Mitt Romney has come with his campaign team to give a presentation. After this introduction, a few people walk out on stage. I'm not sure which one is Romney [although IRL obvs I know what he looks like], and the introduction kind of trailed off, so it's not surprising that the applause is slow to start. It's also very quiet, and peters out quickly. One of the campaign people says "Wow," loudly and sarcastically. Well, I'm not sure what Romney expected. We're mostly Democrats here at my university.

They launch into the presentation, which is an animated, rhetorical speech delivered while the campaigners circle and crisscross the room, making sure to invite each audience member personally to agree with what they're saying. It makes me feel a bit uncomfortable. Somewhere, I've found a pillow, and I clutch it to my stomach like it's some kind of security blanket. I stare at the floor, only half listening. I feel like I've read this argument before, somewhere, anyway. Something about how the Democrats are trying to convince you not to vote Republican because of what the Republicans /won't/ do, but when election day comes, you need to vote based on what /will/ happen. And so on. One of the campaigners notices my aloofness, so he gets up in my face and tries to engage me by giving me a manly punch on the shoulder. I look at him expressionlessly and say in a carefully controlled voice, "Please don't do that again." The man puts on a mock-surprised face and looks around at people nearby as if to invite them to start bullying me, but in the end he just leaves.

From behind, a woman crooks an elbow around my neck and good-naturedly shakes me a bit. Addressing herself to someone I can't see, she asks, "Is this called 'egging?'" (as in, "egging someone on"). Ah, so she's playfully imitating the campaigner. The person says yes, it is, so she laughs and releases her hold on my neck. Pressing herself against my side, she murmurs, "There's someone touching you right now, and you don't seem to mind." Bemused, I try to think of a socially proper way to respond that it's okay because she's a woman. But before I can, she lets go of me, and I can finally turn to get a good look at her. To my delight, I definitely recognize her from somewhere. While I'm snapping my fingers and trying to place where that was, she just introduces herself again as [XXXX]. Surprised, I tell her I remember her as a campaign assistant for [XXXX]. She laughs and says no, then dances off to the other side of the room with another girl. I'm reminded of the friendship between Meekakitty and Nanalew. Suddenly, the dream ends, and I wake up. For a moment, I think that it's only been about two and a half hours since I fell asleep. But that must have been a FA, because it was more like six and a half.

Supermarket (8:15) (LUCID)

I'm in a supermarket, and at some level I'm aware that this is a dream. As I walk through the crowded checkout lanes, I look closely at all of the faces that I pass. Each one is unique and distinctive and interesting, and I wonder whether they all come from people I passed on the street in waking life. I read somewhere on a forum that that's where they come from. The dream seems pretty stable, but I feel compelled to keep moving, or else it will fall apart. I walk up to a cashier and ask her for the credit card that a customer just gave to her. "Sure, one moment," she says, and then she hands me something, but it's not a credit card. I leave the checkout lanes and continue through the store. It crosses my mind that this counts as a lucid dream. Cool; I haven't had one of those in a while.

I decide to call Mom on my cell phone. I worry that maybe I'm actually sleep-calling her in waking life, too, so I try to think of conversation topics that wouldn't sound too bizarre. Meanwhile, I'm still walking quickly down one side of the store, looking around at everything. The store's wide entrance is coming up on my left. I can't think of anything else to talk about, and Mom seems more confused than anything, so I just say goodbye to her and hang up. I leave the store.

Somebody's angry at me for turning out into the road in front of him, but I'm sure I wouldn't have done it close enough that you would actually call it "cutting him off." I decide to play out the scenario to see what actually happened. I get in the car and start driving toward the hilltop road that passes near the supermarket's parking lot. Indeed, there's almost a solid line of cars coming that direction, with one little space in the middle that perhaps I could grab if I timed it right. But there's something strange about the road configuration that makes me think I wouldn't be able to accelerate quickly enough to avoid pissing someone off. Okay, better to avoid that.

I stop the car and get out. There's a mid-sized lake to the right of the road with a big yacht anchored near the shore. A bunch of sailors are walking around over there, presumably on shore leave. I start walking along the narrow path between the lake and the side of the supermarket, going over to see what's going on. But then one of the sailors starts walking along the path toward me, shouting something about me not being allowed to come this way. An irritating fellow, but only doing his job, I suppose.

I keep walking, but suddenly I need to poop. I remember how in the past this has always made me panic and wake up, only to find that I didn't have to use the bathroom at all. Well, I know better, now, so I'll just go to the bathroom in the dream. I squat in the middle of a grassy lawn and start doing my business. The sailor is still walking towards me and shouting, so I interrupt him to warn him that even though I've avoided behaving "beaverishly," if he keeps it up, I may have to. (Apparently, in this situation, "behaving beaverishly" means that I'll strip totally naked just to annoy him even more.) Going to the bathroom is taking a long time. Some of the sailors are running close nearby. I hope for their sake that they don't accidentally step in any of the poop. The sailor still won't leave me alone, so I carry out my threat by pulling my T-shirt over my head. This makes my vision go completely black. Oh, darn.

I wake up to a confusion of covers. After a moment, I figure out that somehow I've come into a squatting position. Uh oh. Looking down, I see that my worst fears have come true--there's quite a bit of poop on my covers. Despairingly, I try to wrap up some of it using the sheets, but it's not enough. This will be hard to deal with. Then it occurs to me that there's something distinctly nightmarish about this situation, and I tell myself exasperatedly, "Come on, wake up for real." And I do. [No, I never did have to go to the bathroom. Why my dreams always do this to me, I don't know.]

Pop Quiz (9:42) (LUCID)

A smart math major I know is pacing the front of a classroom. He's quizzing me about details from my previous dreams tonight. I know I definitely missed a few when I wrote them in my dream journal, so this will be a perfect opportunity to recover them--my unconscious itself is telling me what they were! He mentions something about a homework assignment, and a few different people named Erik. [Ironically, I can't remember the details of these details.] It occurs to me to wonder if he's even telling the truth. I have no recollection of the events of which he speaks, so he could easily be inventing them, and I'd never know. Still, I wake up and write them in my dream journal. Only, it was a FA, and when I actually wake up, I can't really remember them any more.

Math Battle

I forgot to bring my sword when I entered this dungeon. Swords haven't been allowed in the previous dungeons, so I've gotten in the habit of not bringing them. But now I'm worried that the creatures in this dungeon will be too difficult to kill without one. And a humanoid creature just appeared out of the darkness to attack me. It looks familiar, like the Draugr from Skyrim, but the name that identifies it is unfamiliar to me, so I'm guessing it must be a higher-level version of what I've fought before. Uh oh!

We exchange a few blows. It's not an easy battle, but I think I'll be able to defeat it. I must have gotten used to hand-to-hand combat while going through those other dungeons.

I know that there's a girl somewhere in the dungeon, an adversary of mine, who was somehow responsible for designing the dungeon. Eventually I catch up to her, near a wall with three thick, knotted ropes hanging from the ceiling in front of it. It's the final round of the math competition. I, the girl, and another guy who won the competition last year are the only three contestants remaining. We stand around for a bit while the rules are explained. There are three different math problems to chose from, one at the top of each rope. The first person to climb a rope and solve a problem wins.

Without warning, last year's winner says, "Well, let's go," and starts the stopwatch. It takes a couple of seconds for me to realize what happened. When I finally do, I feel like that was unfair of him, but I don't say anything--I just grab a rope and start climbing. It also seems strange that one of the competitors is in charge of the clock. The girl is behind both of us, somehow out of the running.

The problem at the top of my rope has many diagrams of pyramids constructed by stacking lots of spheres, only sometimes a group of spheres will be missing from the pyramid. As I'm struggling to understand what the problem is asking, the other guy says, "Why are you working on that problem? This one's much easier." Startled, I decide without thinking to switch to the other problem. The other problem has a diagram of a lot of dominoes arranged in a complicated pattern. You're looking at the pattern from off to the side at an angle (rather than top-down). I have trouble understanding what this problem is asking, too.

A bit later, I learn that only a few seconds remain. My answer sheet is still blank. I decide to leave it that way. Not a very good show, but I'll just try to do better next time. I'll try not to let people like that guy throw me off by making me second-guess which problem to do.

I go back to my seat as we wait for the results to be announced. For a moment, I'm confused, because it looks like there's someone already sitting in it. But then I look again, and it's empty. I must not have been looking at the right place.

The teacher starts discussing how to use graphing calculators to perform addition of "structs." I listen to the first couple of sentences, but then I tune out, because I already know how to do this. Suddenly I think I'm dreaming, and I wake myself up.

Counter-Bullying

I'm sitting at a desk in a high-school classroom. The teacher is an athletic-looking male, and it's a math class. But I'm not paying attention to that, because I feel something hurting me from behind. Some dumb kid thinks it would be fun to bully me, eh? I half turn in my seat, then casually and carefully bite the finger that's hurting me. I only catch a tiny bit of skin in the bite, but I think it's enough.

"Thank you, for not doing that again," I say. No reply.

A few minutes later, I feel a prick of pain in one of my shoulders that won't go away. Apparently I didn't scare them off last time. I have no idea how they're causing this particular sensation of pain, but I try to get rid of it by rubbing my shoulder against the seat behind me. It stops. After a second, I decide it's time for a confrontation. I turn all the way around and grab the kid behind me by the front of his clothes. He looks to be about fourteen or fifteen, with his hair cut long, a bit like Justin Bieber. He had been laughing quietly to himself, but he's not any more.

"What's your name, kid?" I ask. He just keeps looking around, shifting his eyes and not making eye contact. He doesn't look particularly scared. I'm trying to give him an angry, threatening look, and I'm surprised at how successful I seem to be. It's not a look I've had much experience with.

I look around to see if he had an accomplice. The guy sitting to the kid's right seems to be laughing to himself as well, so I ask him, "How about you, huh? What's your name?" He too stops laughing, but he doesn't answer, either. I notice that both kids have the same basic haircut, and also the same hair color: light blond dyed a faint purple. Anyway, since neither of them are responding, I suppose I should start thinking about how to deliver the rest of my speech.

I get up to walk a few feet away, conscious that other people in the room are probably about to start noticing the confrontation. When I turn around, I'm surprised to find things have escalated: an ally of mine's found a friend of his, and they've ganged up on one of the boys who was bullying me. One of them is pinning the boy's arms behind his back, and the other is winding up to punch him. I suppose they figure they'll get him to talk by torturing him. But that's no good, so I run back and shove them apart with my hands. Now the teacher's definitely coming, so I only have a few moments to finish dealing with the situation my way. I start lecturing the kid from the seat behind me, even as the teacher runs up and tells us in an exasperated, angry voice to get back to our seats. It's clear he just wants to end the disruption; he doesn't really care what caused it. I think I should finish my lecture, first.

I [falsely] wake up. I spend a few moments trying to remember the details of the dream, then I open my dream diary. I'm surprised not to see a date on the page: I usually write tomorrow's date right before I go to bed at night. But then I look at some of the text already on the page and remember that I've already written down some dreams from earlier tonight. So I put down a new bullet point and write down some details from this most recent dream, including "slight purplish hair." My handwriting is unusually small. I hope I'll be able to read it later.

Now, I'm not sure what time it is, and I'm not sure whether I have school today. It's the day after I flew back to Chicago for school. [IRL, I'm still on summer vacation.] I'm mostly moved into my room, except I'm pretty sure some of my stuff is still in storage elsewhere in the city. I'd planned to get that before classes started, so I really hope it's not Monday. But then, I'd planned to fly back on a Friday, so maybe I have the whole weekend left? I'm not sure, so I look for my cell phone to check the date.

The room is large and rectangular, the headboard of my queen-sized bed midway up the longer side. My first cell phone tells me nothing. My second cell phone, a red one, confuses me. [IRL, I don't have a second cell phone.] I can't find the date or time anywhere. Then I see the word "recording" on the screen, and I realize I must have left it recording video all through the night. I wonder what size the file is by now.

Bottomless

Towards the end of the women's choir concert, a soloist walks on. I don't recognize her as one of the members of the choir. Her first few notes have pretty bad tone, which I realize must be because she hasn't done any singing yet in the concert (so she isn't warmed up). As the song goes on, she doesn't get much better--although she does have a nice stage personality, so the song's still enjoyable. But eventually she stops and goes into the bathroom. It's kind of dark, so I'm not sure about this next part, but . . . when she comes out of the bathroom, it looks like she's not wearing any pants or underwear.

Dreamer's Tales

I'm reading from a random dream journal on DV. The writer uses a large, boldface font. The basic story is that he's incapacitated the leader of the bad guys, but he's still looking around for the rest of them. Then he realizes that in the time he's been looking, the leader may have woken up again. For all he knows, the leader could be standing right behind him, right now. The DJ entry stops there. I'm delighted to realize that I understand why: the sense of being followed is sometimes scary enough to cause the "Abort! Abort! Nightmare!" response. Overall, I'm impressed with this dream and with the way it was told.

Revelry

My dad is laughing about something he just heard from one of his friends. Apparently, that friend just received a call that his son was arrested in Philadelphia. As far as anyone knows so far, he got drunk with some friends, and they decided to fly over there to watch our state football team play an away game? Either way, it's hilarious.

Gaps

I'm writing in my dream diary when I realize that I'm running out of space: there are some more notes in the diary, below where I'm writing right now. I must accidentally have written on that page one time when there wasn't enough light to see what I was doing. I have plenty more stuff to write, though, so I need more room. I look back at the previous page and notice five or six blank lines on the bottom. I have no idea why I skipped those, but good thing I did! Now I have enough space to finish my entry.

Accio Glasses

I'm home between classes, working on something. When I look at the clock, I realize that it's way past time for me to be heading back to school. Class has already started. Even worse: I just remembered I have a worksheet due today. I meant to work on it during this break, but it completely slipped my mind. Hurriedly, I gather up my things from the room and start towards the door. I notice that everything looks a little fuzzy, and I realize I've forgotten to put on my glasses. I run back to the room in which I left them. They're all the way on the other side of the room, and my sister's sitting in an easy chair, reading a book. I suspect she's irritated about all the noise I'm making, so I try to make a joke.

"Accio glasses!" I say, pointing my hand across the room. That way, she'll realize I'm in a hurry (since I wish I could just summon my glasses, rather than walking to them). Hopefully she'll also think I'm in a good mood ('cause it's a joke), and it'll put her in a better mood (since it's a Harry Potter reference). Anyway, my glasses case rises from its resting place and floats across the room to hover in front of me. It opens, and my glasses float out and unfold themselves. Bemused, I reach for them. But apparently they were expecting me to reach for a different part, because they helpfully dart a foot to one side, causing me to miss. On the second try, I grab them.

Cast Iron

I'm being chased by a wild animal, a bear or something. Right in front of me is an alley guarded by a cast iron gate. If I can climb over the gate, I'll be safe. But the bear is right behind me, so I have to climb quickly. Once I start climbing, my arms and legs suddenly feel like they weigh fifty pounds apiece. They get tangled in the gaps in the cast iron, and I know I won't make it up in time.

I decide to try again. This time, I'm being chased by a gorilla with tentacles on its chin, like Davy Jones from PotC. But it's also farther back and I'm already halfway up the gate. I manage to get over in time. I watch as it runs up to the gate and starts climbing after me. Uh oh. I run to a door at the end of the alley, just a plain rectangle of wood, painted white. It opens inward, but the space behind is almost entirely filled by the door itself. I try to hold the door at just the right angle to squeeze around the edge, so that I can shut the door behind me.

Presentation Day

I walk into my English class, and the teacher says "Let's talk about [insert author here]." I'd completely forgotten about that reading. I remember him assigning it almost on the first day of class, but I thought he would remind us at least once before the day it was due! Apparently he expects us to keep track of everything we should be doing. Which is fine, except that I've failed that expectation. I'm supposed to have read an entire play, but I have no idea what it's even about.

A small group of students goes to the front of the room to do their presentation. Sometime during the course of class, I accidentally scratch a girl's ankle.

I wake up [falsely]. Taking a long, sharp metal stick, I go into the front hall and begin scratching the wooden floor, writing down my notes for the dream I just had. My sister walks by just as I finish writing the name of the girl I accidentally scratched. I notice she's looking at the name, and I'm worried she'll recognize it, or perhaps mistakenly associate the name with someone else she knows, who just happens to have the same name.

Water Damage

It's time for my lesson to start! The instructor and the one other student are already swimming out from the shore. I hurry after them, but then I realize that I'm still carrying the 600-page novel I've been reading. Water damage! I panic and get out of the water, extremely grateful that the covers of the book are laminated. Only the first quarter inch of pages seems to be wet. I don't know how many pages that is, but I sit down and start peeling them apart one at a time, blowing on each of them, for all the good that will do. This is a library book, and I have to save it, and my lesson can wait. By looking at page numbers, I notice that sometimes the pages are stuck together so closely that I flip three of them at a time without realizing it. That just goes to show how dangerous water damage is.

Despair

For the last week or so of class, the instructor is alternating days between individual work and group rehearsal. There's one piece that we'll all play together as an orchestra, but all the other ones we must each prepare on our own. Today's for individual work. I feel like I've been pretty productive so far, but I'm still worried that I only have half an hour of class time left. My project doesn't feel close to finished.

I get an unexpected call on my cell phone, so I walk over near the doors to the auditorium while I answer. It's a young boy, I'd guess about thirteen or fourteen years old, and I can't quite figure out what he wants. He says something about a ScanTron, and he seems to be asking my permission for something. He's not very coherent, and whenever I ask him a question, there're about five seconds of silence on the line before he answers. Other people in the auditorium are staring at me like I'm being rude, so I leave to go pace around the hallway instead.

Eventually this boy says, "Your answers were very helpful," and with a shock I realize what he must be talking about. Not long ago I took a short quiz for this class, and I turned in my ScanTron by dropping it into a slotted box in the room. This kid must have taken out my ScanTron and copied my answers when he went in to take the test, and then his parents found out about it, and now they're making him call me. I hadn't realized that the test I took--questions from the 11th grade ACT--used the same set of questions as the actual ACT for eleventh graders this year. This is not a good situation. But I don't see that there's anything I can really do about it at this point, so I don't react strongly one way or another.

Another voice comes on the line. It's an older man, probably the boy's father. "You've been surprisingly nice to my son," he says.

"Nice?" I ask.

"Yes. We were worried you might press charges for theft."

Theft? Wait, did this kid actually steal my ScanTron without putting it back in the box? That would be bad news; that test is a significant portion of my grade for this class. I ask the boy if he put my test back. He doesn't seem to understand the question. I sometimes hear an indistinct voice in the background, as if his dad is coaching him about what to say. I try asking him other questions, but he has trouble with all of them. Eventually I back up and ask if he's even in eleventh grade. That, at least, he answers in the affirmative, though he doesn't enunciate very clearly. He eventually says something that reassures me that my test is still safely turned in. That was all I wanted to know, and I'm fed up with this horrendously ineffective conversation. But I don't like this kid, so before I hang up, I give him an angry, rapid-fire lecture about everything he's done wrong. I tell him to answer more quickly when people ask questions over the phone, and I tell him never, EVER to take anything out of boxes with slots on top. I also threaten to come after him if there are any problems with my grade on that test. I hang up without waiting for him to answer (though I wonder if maybe I spoke too quickly for the slow-minded fellow to understand anything), and I go back into the auditorium.

Another student is just finishing giving his presentation (a slide show about something from physics), and people are packing up to leave. Crap. The instructor must have asked for volunteers, since presentations weren't supposed to start for another day or two. That this guy was already prepared makes me feel even worse about my own project.

A friend of the presenter's drops some review worksheets on the seats at the back of the room, near the exit. I grab one on my way to get my things, even though my chances of being able to do the worksheet without having heard the presentation are very low.

When I try to put the worksheet into my backpack, I knock a hose loose from a glass jar, and the hose starts filling my backpack with water. I'd stuck the hose in the jar earlier because I couldn't figure out how to turn off the water. And now it's ruining everything in my bag, taking my progress on the project from "very little" to "absolutely nothing."

It's too much. Maybe I should try to turn off the water or control the damage but it's too much. I give up. I seize one of my juggling balls, hurl it across the room, collapse tumultuously into a chair, and start sobbing. Some of the nearby students are looking at me; others are trying to ignore me. I see people throwing my juggling ball around the room. At my feet, the water coming from the hose thins to a trickle, then stops, and I know the instructor has shut off the water supply. Moments later, he comes to look at me from the next row forward, frowning.

"I've seen a lot of reactions like this in the past few days," he says.

It didn't work, I realize. Despite my complete breakdown, he's refusing to show me any extra sympathy. What an unfeeling world this is.

My dad comes to drive me home. Suddenly I realize that, in my distraction, I've forgotten to put on my seat belt, and my dad is careening straight towards some cars stopped at a light. With my free hand, I seize the strap and pull it across my body, hoping that holding it in place will be useful even if I haven't managed to fasten the buckle. Dad swerves out of the way, narrowly avoiding an accident, and explains that he was trying to do a live performance arrangement of "Jingle Bells" using sounds that a car makes. Shaken and annoyed, I tell him irritably that that was a really bad idea. He seems to think it's my fault, though, since I was humming the tune earlier.

Back in my room, I decide to do something really simple to convince myself that I'm not a complete failure at life: I put on my glasses. But the glasses don't work. I can't make the world come into focus. I can't even do that. I try reviewing some German instead. I stare at the word "ssssssssut" for a time, but it doesn't make any sense even though I know it should. At this point, basically the only emotion I'm feeling is despair.

Class Policies

I come to class early and run into "Cameron," a high school acquaintance. He tells me about a sort of email writing group that the teacher, Mr. G, runs. Students write in with philosophical and spiritual questions, then the group discusses what the answers might be. Recently, Mr. G has re-forwarded a lot of those questions, saying that people tend to spend a long time thinking about them then forget to reply, and that it's time to revitalize the discussion group. In particular, Cameron opens up a web page that looks a lot like the "check subscriptions" page on the DV forums. There are two threads in the inbox, both of which have been resurrected by Mr. G. But the most recent post before him was from like 2006, so Cameron and I laugh about how ridiculously old they are.

With a jolt, I notice that it's past time for class to have started, and I should be in my seat. I snatch my backpack from the floor and speedwalk down the long table in the middle of the room until I find an open seat, hyper-conscious of how disruptive I'm being. But when I sit down, I realize that Mr. G isn't here yet. Also, the long table at which I'm sitting has been covered with equally long, yellow venetian blinds, which apparently have been removed from the windows along one side of the classroom. (Through these windows, the inside hallway is visible.) I'm surprised no one's gotten rid of the blinds yet. I decide this must be a psychological experiment. Mr. G's trying to see if anyone will point out how strange it is to have venetian blinds for a tablecloth, or if instead we'll all just sit around waiting for someone else to speak up first. Well then. I get up and start rolling up the blinds (lengthwise), and before long others start helping me, and we finish that job. Then I ask an older woman if the proper way to store venetian blinds is to continue to roll up the blinds the other way, like a sleeping bag. She says yes, so I do. I hand the roll (which is not much larger than a dinner plate) to one of the other students.

Then Mr. G arrives. He takes the roll and starts hanging up the blinds over the windows. Oops. I guess that's what we should have done. I take the other half of the blinds and try to help by hanging those up. There are two rubber hooks which I have to snap over a pole above the window, similar to a shower rod. The pole is a bit higher that I can comfortably reach, and it takes some force to get the hook onto the pole. But I see this only as a challenge, and after some jumping and stretching, I manage to hang the blinds. Belatedly I realize that this may itself have been a psychological test, testing how stubborn I am about doing things myself when it would be easier with assistance.

Mr. G starts talking about class policies. There are only four big rules, which he calls "domains." They're all pretty standard for high school classrooms; stuff along the lines of, "Listen when the teacher is speaking." He shows us a well-designed, colorful poster of four students arranged in a diamond, each demonstrating one of the four rules. He also points out that the only reason he has rules at all is for the symbolism of it. If he makes rules, it establishes him as a leader of the class, and that's what allows society to function. Interesting.

Frags:

• I thought I wrote down a few other dreams, but those must all have been false awakenings. One of those dreams I debated whether to "censor" using spoiler tags, but then I decided it wasn't necessary.

Summer School

On Monday, we have an orientation. Then I go to bed to get rested for classes tomorrow.

For the first day of classes, we have to get in line for some kind of check-in. The line moves slowly, and by the time it's 8:25 I'm still a few places back from the front. My first class is at 8:30, so I think I need to go. I pick up my bags and leave the line, but one of the check-in ladies intercepts me.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you have an early appointment today?" she asks.

I'm confused, because I don't think class counts as an "appointment," and doesn't every student in this room have class at 8:30? But we go through check-in anyway, and when we're finished, suddenly I remember that I was supposed to set back my watch by forty-five minutes. So I'm actually not late at all. No wonder no one else was worried.

I head to my morning class, thinking I'll be early. But when I get to the room, there are already a lot of people there. What? It's not even 9:00, and this class doesn't start until 10:00! But then I remember that this class is usually MWF, and we couldn't have class yesterday because of orientation. So the professor is squeezing in an extra session on Tuesday morning to make up for it. Hmph. Maybe he ought just have planned to have one less day's worth of material in the course.

The morning class involves a running game where there are a lot of items strewn around a medium-sized room with a grid-patterned floor. Sometimes new items appear in the middle of the grid squares. There are certain items we're looking for, worth more points than the others. We're competing to see who can collect the most points.

The first time I play the game, I think I did pretty well. But it turns out another guy actually won, because he grabbed the items worth the most points. I hadn't even known what those were, but now that I do know, I want to play again. The second time, I notice that there are people stuffed into lockers along one wall of the room, and some of them are worth points. The animation for the game is pretty good, and rather charming.

Now it's time for the afternoon class. I'm skeptical about this one, because the subject seems like total hocus-pocus. I'm not even sure what it is, actually. The professor tells us to take out our textbooks, and the whole class groans. We remember this book from yesterday. The title is completely nonsensical, and by now I'm pretty sure this class will be full of New-Agey crap that doesn't have any business being taught in a university. Good thing I'm sitting in the back.

During class, I notice that the girl sitting on my left is resting her head on my leg and dozing. That makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, because it's almost like cuddling, and I'm glad she feels that comfortable around me. I'm also amused to confirm that she's just as bored as I am. She notices I've noticed, and she smiles. But it doesn't last too long, because the professor has the class break into groups for discussion and disperse to different rooms.

After discussion, there are still maybe twenty minutes left of class, but I don't feel like going back to the lecture hall. Everyone else leaves the discussion room, but I just spend a long time re-packing my backpack. I'm enjoying being lethargic, but I also hope that the professor doesn't take attendance at the end of class, so I don't get caught.

Later, I'm startled by a student coming into the room. But he's just there to move the front table back to where it was before discussion started. How responsible of him. Anyway, I guess that means class is over. Time to leave.

Seven Keys

A middle-aged man hands a young boy a pistol, warning him never, ever to speak a word of what has been done with that weapon. Presumably it was used to commit a murder of some kind.

In the very next scene, the boy brings the gun to another, older man, telling him mischievously that something terrible has been done with it. When the man asks what, the boy says, "We blue'd it," and takes out another of the same kind of pistol, except this one has been painted blue. Amusedly, the man pretends to be horrified by this action. The idea is that the color blue isn't very aggressive or serious or anything, so it has no business decorating something like a gun.

The boy pretends to aim the gun behind himself, but then coincidentally a spider the size of a small dog comes running into the hallway right where he's aiming. The man's face abruptly becomes very serious. Fighting these spiders is the main purpose of this community, and he says to the boy, "You may fire." But the boy, not having seen the spider, is just confused. Instead, the man lifts his own gun, takes careful aim, and shoots the spider.

Now, I'm in the final stages of a game involving these spiders. The building I'm in has seven levels, and in order to get a good score for the game, I have to collect one key from each level. The trick is that in order to reach the next level, you have to use the key from the previous level, and in the process of using it, you have to leave it behind. So there's got to be some kind of secret passage I can use to go backwards from the end and pick up all the keys. I'm running all over the building trying to find this passage, and I have to restart a few times from a save point near the top of it. There are about five or six other people helping me out with this.

This time, I try using a sort of wooden fire escape on the outside of the building. It's very reminiscent of a treehouse, spiraling around a tree and built entirely out of two-by-fours. There's one other person following me down. On one landing, there's a dead spider, lying in a pool of its own fluids. "Watch out!" I call over my shoulder. "Spider juice!" (It's very dangerous.)

Once on the ground level, I go inside to find a lot of people in a large room. They want something from me; they're expectant that I've gotten the keys; or something. In response, I start taking off my shirts. I'm wearing seven of them, one for each level in the building. But taking them off is actually very difficult. I can't quite seem to pull the first one over my head. A thirty-ish woman, someone I know, asks me what's wrong. I reply that I don't know. I tell her that apparently my arms just feel very tired and I can't muster the force necessary to take off a T-shirt.