Glieuaeiel's DJ

Psychic Energy

I'm sitting in the living room, explaining to two of my mom's friends that I feel really frustrated about something. One of them asks me where in my body the frustration is located--where do I feel it most strongly? At first it seems like an absurd question, but then I realize that a lot of the unpleasant feeling seems to be centered right behind my forehead. I tell them as much (using a scientific term like "prefrontal lobe" or "cerebral cortex"), and they take a closer look at my forehead. "Yeah," one of the women says. "There are a lot of wrinkles there." Wrinkles, as in, the lines your face makes when you frown. She means that maybe if I stopped my unconscious frowning, I would start to feel better. I consider this to be pretty deep advice.

Frags:

• Using the Internet and frustrated because the sound suddenly cuts out. But it comes back.
• Starting from an Egyptian skeleton, a human body is assembled, one organ system at a time.
• our pet dog

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.