rshort1202

I am inside a vast warehouse with a very high ceiling. It has a sense of isolation, like it is far from much development. It also seems run down; I think part of it is broken down and exposed to the outside. Sand has blown in and blended the indoors and out. Atop towering shelves, product is precariously placed. I think about trying to knock it down by bumping into the shelf, but then think about the real damage that could be done if it fell onto me. The place is so very quiet, emanating silence. I think Melissa is here too. Now, I am outside of the warehouse, rising into the air. I look down and watch everything become smaller as I rise. This compels me to continue rising, and I do so until I am hundreds of feet above the desert dirt below. It’s almost effortless and entirely exhilarating.

I have gone into Beer NV and Dad is here too, seated. The bar counter is shorter (in length and, I think, height), and the tap handles seem closer. Overall, it feels slightly different. As I approach the counter, a friendly girl comes up and asks what I want. I’m not really ready yet, but don’t want to pass up the service while I have it, so I ask her what dark beers they have right now. She starts describing some and pours a sample of one. Dad tries it and likes it. I try it now too. It is very chocolatey. There also seems to be dark residue at the bottom, like a cup of coffee. I ask for this one, and she pours a glass. Dad now gets up to go to the bathroom and seems either off or drunk or both. The lady looks at me, mouthing ‘is he okay?’, to which I nod coolly and confidently and give a thumbs up. I now have another beer - a wheat beer? I talk with Dad a bit, before he leaves. The lady is now pouring me a small glass of Golden Ale, just because. I end up not having time to have any because I leave shortly after Dad. I feel a little bad about leaving it completely full and untouched. I also remember that I didn’t even tip, when I should’ve tipped her well. It then occurs to me that I didn’t even pay. I think about calling them to see if either of us paid. The time is about 11pm.

I am on what seems to be a beach. It is long and open, with soft and very white sand. Melissa is lying on a towel, while I’m a little ways away. I think she has my phone and is doing something on it; I run over to her to talk to her/look at whatever she’s doing.

I am in a larger building (it feels slightly like the warehouse, though there’s also a homey element). There is an opening in the wall, through which I pass. On the other side is a large, open space that seems to have low rows of some kind of crop? There are people walking through the rows, dragging longer bales of hay.

I am staying with Melissa at her house (though it looks different). I’m going to be sleeping on the floor right next to her bed. I am upstairs, while she is downstairs. Throughout the night, I wake up a few times with a disconcerting feeling. When I wake one of the times, I discover that I’ve broken her glasses. I have no memory of doing so, but I know it must’ve been me. One lens is out of the frame and cracked. I notice that the other lens is also heavily cracked, which I hadn’t noticed before. I wonder if she’s been wearing them like this. It still saddens me to think of accidentally breaking them, and think about buying her a new pair. I also remember her other pair. I look up now and see her in this dim room. Comforted by her presence, I hug her. I relay to her the disconcerting feelings.



I’m with Melissa at some food place. We get to the counter and look up at their large menu. It seems to be Mexican food. Melissa orders a few tacos, then I step up to order. I ask the guy for a certain taco, but he says he only has a steak one. I can see the taco I want on the menu, but I don’t care too much, telling him that’s fine. I also add a burrito. He gives me a little container of red hot sauce. He also grabs a bottle of a more orange looking hot sauce. He squirts some towards me, most hitting the counter, but some landing on the floor between my feet and a little bit on my shorts. He seems nonchalant but also like he’s getting a kick out of it. I’m not exactly mad, just a little put off that it got on my shorts.



I am in a parking lot, where Mom has gotten into a verbal fight with Ashley (from the preschool, the one Melissa also worked with). They are yelling at each other, over something unknown, as I reach out to hug Mom and then attempt to do the same to Ashley. She doesn’t let me, so I desist. I then contemplate taking Mom’s side and fighting back. I go over to her silver SUV and tap it a few times with my fist. There is an unstated knowing in her hesitation as I walked over to it that I had intent to damage it.



I am driving up a narrow and winding road on a hill and through a small neighborhood (pretty much a house on each side of the road, i.e. no more than two deep). I’m calling it Stead, even though it looks nothing like it. I hear Dad on the phone with Matt. Dad is declining going to a party tonight - “we’re party people, but just not tonight, period.”

I am in a restaurant with Melissa. The restaurant seems to have some self-service element to it, or at least some food on counters behind glass. After we’ve been seated for a little bit, we get up to get some food. There are a couple 20-something girls working behind the counter; I ask one for some of a salad. They say something about it being really spicy, as if I can’t handle it. I think they may not be giving it to me because of this, but I tell them I can handle it even spicier or something similar. This evidently causes some animosity, but I think they give me some. I notice that they all have darker skin, and I’m not sure if it has anything to do with the way they’re treating me (I’m tempted to think it’s because I’m white). When we go back again, we still get poor service, seemingly deliberately. There is one girl in particular (with darker skin and darker, bushy hair) who is blatantly ignoring us. I think we try to say something and another girl (white, with blond hair) defends her. I don’t know what we’ve done wrong. This is enough now to cause this girl to start ranting at us. She starts going off, and things keep escalating until she is out here by us, tirading. I have some dish of food that I end up setting down so I can record her with my phone. I think she almost kicks the food over. I’m not even upset, just in disbelief at how unwarranted her behavior is. After it’s over, I go back to the counter to file a complaint. I tell one of the girls that I get it, I’ve worked in food service, but there is absolutely no reason she should’ve done that to a customer. Oddly, they happily oblige and hand me a form. I start writing, detailing everything, and it becomes quite long. I run out of space on the thick, brown paper that looks more like a menu and end up writing on a table?

I have gone into Discology. It is a completely different building; the walls seem dark in color and there are a few rows of low, black shelves. David starts talking to me about how he rearranged things? He also has a proposition for me or something like that. I start looking in a shelf and see four Doors records. They have the look of an older pressing that’s been around a while but taken care of. All are familiar expect one; this one is a copy of Strange Days with a completely different cover. I don’t think it says Strange Days anywhere, but somehow I know. It kind of has a lot of things going on, part of it being a car or two and a side profile of Ray. I think about getting it just to have this different edition. I also see some classical. There are a few with thick covers of a solid color [that are actually in the store, as of last time I was in]. I think he’s moved them to this more accessible spot, probably so they can be seen more. I find a multiple LP set of classical performed by a woman composer. It looks near mint, the cover and discs, and is labeled as $1-$2, so I keep it. I’m guessing the price is based on how many of the discs you take? I go to pay for it, but David looks like he’s getting ready to leave, so I’m just going to leave two dollar bills on the counter by his computer.



I am somewhere inside where there are a lot of people milling around. The vibe seems pretty happy. I see some members of the Grateful Dead among the crowd. One is Jerry (his appearance is like that from the late 70s), what I go up to and say ‘how about a Dark Star to open the second set?’ He seems to think it’s a good idea. I then let Bobby? know. I think Donna is here as well. It doesn’t really seem like I’m in the band, but it does seem like I have some influence. Later, the band comes on and Jerry starts a Dark Star but it is soon overridden by one or more others in the band. I’m a little disappointed.

I am seated in some restaurant at a longer table with some of the family. I look at the menu and the drink menu. A pudgy waiter comes over and takes Dad’s drink order. He then looks at me, but I haven’t decided yet. I ask if they have a porter or a stout. He says yes after I say ‘porter’ and then yes again to the stout. I ask for the stout. Dad, sitting across from me, has now done something that makes me extremely irritated. We have our food now, and I pick up my plate and beer and go sit at another table. I position myself so I’m mostly facing away from the other table. I can see Uncle Scott though, and he looks frustrated (possibly at me).




I am outside with some others, walking through a rocky crevasse. You can tell that it’s been developed for climbing, and someone points this out. We now come to a spot that looks like it has not been developed. There is also a grey boulder that is maybe the size of a car, but disc shaped and levitating. There are thin branches or vines hanging from it, and I’m not sure how you’re supposed to climb it. There also seems to be some kind of energy force around the boulder. I walk under it and let myself fall backwards. The force supports me and slightly moves me. Now, it feels as if this must’ve been something I was reading, as I am closing a thin paperback. It was the end, and I know there is more, but I can’t find the sequel as I sort through books on a shelf.