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      Hey sisyphus,

      I like your method and outline of your DJ alot, well organized and to the point. I'm new and a bit confused about the most effective ways to go about all this, and since you seem to have a high LD count I'm gonna subscribe to your DJ and ask some questions occasionally. Hope you don't mind. Thanks a lot for sharing!
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    About sisyphus

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    About sisyphus
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    I am sure about illusion. I am not so sure about reality.


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    by sisyphus on 05-31-2016 at 07:02 AM

    I am in a large multi-purpose room with many people. The room has been set up for a theater performance, with banks of folding chairs all facing toward one end that will serve as the stage. Maybe it's a community program or charity benefit. I am here with the family, but I quickly separate from them and find me own seat somewhere in the middle.

    In the front, a few of the actors are milling about, chatting with patrons before the performance. I recognize a few people from high school. That makes me groan. I turn my attention to the crowd. They are settling into the seats, but they are also moving the chairs. There's supposed to be a few clear aisles between the banks of chairs, but as the people move their seats, the aisles shift and become crooked or blocked. I groan again. Why can't people just accept and let things be? But of course, I'm being a hypocrite. Realizing this, I become a mess of frustration, partly directed outward and partly inward.

    The group of seats I am in has become a single column of chairs, such that there is no one to my immediate left or right. Again, I am conflicted. Isn't this nice? Like having a row to yourself in an airplane. But on the other hand, it's just a poor allocation of space and a mockery of the well-laid plans of the organizers of this event. The other people in my column have decided to move to the left, joining the nearest bank. So I go along too. Now I have someone to my left, and the open aisle to my right.

    The play begins. It is billed as The Frogs but I quickly realize it is actually Othello as evidenced but a character named Iago in the first scene. I watch disinterestedly. The actors aren't any good; they are just volunteers. I turn my attention once again to the audience in the hopes of people-watching. Quickly, though, my interest is drawn to the person sitting to my left, who is an attractive young woman.

    She has fair skin and dark hair gathered into a pony tail. She wears a light blue tank top and black or navy leggings. I smile at my own luck. My gaze draws hers and our eyes meet. She smiles shyly. She twists in her seat a bit, so that she is facing more toward me and her legs rub against mine. I place a hand on her thigh. Her eyes close, as if savoring this intimate connection. I slide my hand up her thigh, but as I get too high, her attitude suddenly changes. She slaps my hand away and turns her body away. A few people nearby turn to gawk. I feel ashamed and embarrassed. I must have gone too far.

    Now I feel the urge to use the bathroom. Maybe it's a convenient excuse to leave this situation. I give one glance at the actors. They are still hamming it up. I stand out of my seat and navigate the crooked aisles to the exit. I pass a hallway and find a bathroom. It has full-length windows on one side, so the room is brightly lit by sunlight and offers no privacy. The floor is also flooded with about an inch of water. At least I hope it's just water. I cringe and tip-toe toward a urinal.

    As I'm doing my business, a man approaches and gets my attention. He's a deliveryman. He shows me a package and points to the label with the address. He's asking if this is the right address. I look at it and say yes, but this is the bathroom. He ought to continue one door down, where they might accept the package. He leaves. Another deliveryperson arrives, this time a woman. The same conversation repeats. Isn't it obvious this is the men's room? I am a bit frustrated but mostly just amused. I finish. I'm pretty sure I didn't wash my hands, but, well, it's just a dream.

    I return to the main room. I look for a seat other than the one next to the girl in blue. But the only one I see is next to my family. Ugh. I'll take my chances with the girl. I sit back down, trying not to draw attention to myself. I peek at the girl, but I can't judge a reaction from her neutral expression and posture.

    Time passes. Eventually I make eye contact with her, but still no clue from her facial expression. Instead, she spreads her leg out to meet mine. But it's a cautious gesture. I'm not sure if she wants to get closer, or if she's using her leg as a guard to keep me at a distance. We remain in this stalemate a while as the play drones on up front. I steal glances at her. She is very pretty and I feel very sorry for having offended her earlier. But I don't see any graceful way to reconcile.

    She makes the first move. Once again, I smile at my luck. She shifts her body toward me. Her leg is still against mine. Now her whole side is leaned up against me and her head tilts on my shoulder. She takes my hand in hers and places it on her leg near her knee. "You can touch me," she whispers.

    I am relieved, but still cautious. I leave my hand on her leg, but don't move it up. I look to might right, scanning the crowd. Perhaps I'm trying to act nonchalant. I look at the spot where my family had been earlier. But instead of them, I see a woman in a red dress. The Goddess.... She gives me a stern look. We don't speak much lately. I feel a multitude of emotions. I give her an expression as if to say: Let me explain?

    The play is ending. People are standing up. The girl stands too and my hand leaves her lap. I look at her. She looks at me. We remain in eye contact as she starts to back away, following the crowds as they begin toward the exits. I try to read her expression and body language, but I can't be sure. Why can't people just say what they feel? Sigh. I'm being a hypocrite again. After a protracted gaze, she turns and disappears into the crowd. I turn back to the right, looking for The Goddess. She is gone too.

    I wake. My first thought, true to my erudition, was why the play was either The Frogs or Othello and what symbolism that would share with my ill-fated romance. I will ponder that.

    Quo vadis

    by sisyphus on 05-18-2016 at 08:47 AM

    Quo vadis? is Latin for "Where are you going?" I don't think the Romans used question marks though. The phrase is associated with a biblical scene, when Peter sees Jesus after his resurrection and asks where he is going. Jesus replies that he is going to Rome to be crucified again.

    I find myself in a grocery store. This is a common scene for me in both waking and dreaming. So far, I have procured all my items and now I approach the checkout lanes. I see that they are all long. That fact makes me a bit discouraged, but also I have patience. There is no other option but to wait, so I am content to wait.

    As I wait, I glance around. By chance, I spot someone I recognize from waking. She is in the produce section, examining some fruit. Let's call her Siren, which is not far from her real name. She has been in just a few of my dreams, but in my recollection, all lucid. The incredulity of seeing her here makes me lucid once again. I stare at her. She is darkly tanned with long dark hair. She wears a black cocktail dress that perfectly complements her form. At this distance I don't see her face but, having recognized her, I bring my memory of her waking visage to mind. She has a beautiful face with striking hazel eyes and a warm smile.

    Time passes. The checkout lane shuffles forward a bit. I remain in revery, staring at Siren as she chooses her oranges and onions and whatever. I am entranced. I am "lucid" but not lucid. In other words, I am self-aware but not clear-thinking. This is a common theme of my dreams recently. Perhaps it is a theme of my waking state too.

    A thought enters my mind: What are you doing? It is a reminder that I have been trying to entrain in myself. It reminds me that I should be doing rather than merely being or observing. In this moment, I don't actually act but the thought does alter the dreamscene.

    On cue, Siren turns and spots me. She smiles and I see her face, just as I remember it. Her hazel irises are piercing in the middle of the whites of her eyes, which contrast so strikingly with her tan skin. Similarly, her smile is pearlescent and radiant. It is hypontizingly attractive, and all the more so because she is looking and smiling at me. She begins to walk toward me, with her basket held just-so at her hip.

    "Where are you going?" she asks me. She is Turkish and has an endearing accent to her English.

    I look to my right, at the line of people waiting for the checkout counter. It hasn't moved. "No-where," I answer to her question.

    She tilts her head, as if pondering the deeper meaning of my response. After a beat, her smile broadens. "Come with me," she offers.

    Now, I tilt my head and ponder the deeper meaning of her words. Or, more accurately, the possible sexual meaning. I am suddenly filled with lust. The scene of the grocery store fades away. Her dress fades away too. I am now staring at her naked body, tan and lithe. I entertain visions of touching her, and, though I don't yet act them out in the dreamscene, the visions are nonetheless made manifest in the dream on some level, in a way that can only happen in dreams.

    I catch myself in this fantasy. Once again, I think: What are you doing? And to that, I add her words: Where are you going?

    I pull my attention away from her body and back to her face. She is still smiling, innocently. I'm only dreaming. What does that mean?


    by sisyphus on 04-05-2016 at 01:08 PM

    I am in an office like one of my old jobs. It's a large room with a maze of cubicles but the walls are low enough that you can see everyone. I am in the corner of the room, so I am in a good position to see everything in front of me. I have two computer monitors. On the left one, there is a text editor showing a dense spaghetti of code. On the right one, there is a complicated-looking scene in a 3D-modelling program. But only I know that these are not running programs. They are screenshots that I have set as my desktop background so as to look like I am busy. I am actually tinkering with my phone, but look up when a coworker addresses me.

    His name is David. He is talking with another coworker named Adam. David asks me: "Is it LGBT or GLBT? Adam thinks it's GLBT, but that's wrong, isn't it?"

    I reply: "Why don't you look it up from the source?" I know that LGBT is the more popular form, at least around these parts. But asking me isn't the best way to get the answer.

    They both ignore my suggestion. Adam seems bent on using GLBT. He is a community liason. He is replying to a post on the company forums. I turn my attention back to my phone. I'm trying to close the current app, which is a browser open to the same company forums. But it's not responding. After submitting his post, Adam comes around to me and goads me to read it. I show him that I can't open it on my phone because I'm not logged in, and anyway my phone seems to be hung. He looks at my computer screens are realizes that I am "busy" so instead he returns to his desk to read his post aloud.

    He has used the initials GLBT to form his own acrostic. I conceal a cringe. He then goes on to make some statement about not ending with irony, and he lists a few author's names. The one that jumps out at me is "Robert Irving." Do I know that name? (In recall, I would conclude it's a confusion of Robert Frost and Washington Irving.) Adam seems to be building to a reasonable point but then he ends with something like: "and that puts me right next door to your girlfriend." Oh. A personal slam. Great.

    Now, David comes around to my desk and asks what I'm working on. I point to my phone, indicating that I am slacking off. David is a bit more savvy, so I can confide this to him. But just to indulge him, I open up a real program on my computer. As it loads, I explain that it's a first-person scene, so you don't even see the main character. But when the program opens, it's an animation in third-person. I realize I've been slacking off so much that I don't even remember what the software is supposed to look like. David and I both shrug. Meh, whatever.

    Adam returns, asking for David's help again. He wants to print out his post, so he's asking how to take a screenshot. David admonishes him, saying he should just print it as text instead of capturing an image. They start arguing again. It boils down to a misunderstanding of words -- between take a screenshot and snap a screenshot. Adam says if he wanted an image, he would have said snap. He knows he just wants text, and that's what he means by take a screenshot. It's just a failure of communication.

    I try to avoid getting involved, but they wrap me in nonetheless. David looks at me and compels me to explain to Adam that he is wrong. I sigh. I didn't think it at the time, but in recall I could summarize my displeasure with a bit of Shakespeare: "Words, words, words."

    As I write this, I follow my own earlier advice to "look it up from the source." So, looking up the context of that line from Hamlet, I find that it suits my feeling even better than I thought. I reproduce it here:

    Spoiler for Hamlet, Act II:

    Back to the dream. I start to explain that it's just a misunderstanding. Adam is from a different part of the country and their idioms are a bit different. I don't know if that helps at all. Either both of them are satisfied with this explanation or else both of them are unsatisfied and leave to continue their argument elsewhere. In any case, they leave my desk, which is what I wanted.

    Once again, I return my attention to my phone. I discover why I can't close the app. It's not an app. It's a screenshot of an app that I set as the home screen background. Caught in my own trap.

    A new group of coworkers enters the scene to my right. They are led by a manager, who is not my boss but senior to me. She is a dead-ringer for Michelle Obama. She approaches my desk and asks: "Are you coming to The Show of a Thousand Shows with us? It's optional but I've organized this as a team-building activity."

    I make eye contact with her and then look at my "busy" computer screen, which also leads her eyes their too. "Gee, I dunno..." implying it would be a big imposition to my work. I wait a beat, so that the effect sinks in. "Well, I suppose if it's for the team..."

    She acts relieved and thankful that I conceded to her intention. Maybe I played her perfectly and earned a favor. Or maybe she was playing me. It is imprudent to count the score too early. But in this moment, I feel like I have successfully manipulated her.

    I stand out of my chair and make a big to-do about collecting my things. I drop my briefcase, and out of it spills a half-filled bag of white bread. It's now all smushed and crumbled. I look to the manager. "You'd better go ahead. I'll clean this up and catch up to you." She agrees and the group starts off back to the right.

    I pick up the crumbs and walk them over to a large trash bin on the opposite side of the office. That done, I turn back toward the exit. In see enter yet another coworker. Her name is Sarah. She has dark hair. She wears a tight-fitting pair of black dress pants and matching black blazer. She carries her bag to her desk to my left. Now this is interesting. I wouldn't mind spending some time with Sarah.

    "Are you coming to this Show of Shows?" I ask.

    "No." She replies flatly, but continues. "What's it about anyway?"

    "I don't know." I ponder for a beat. "Maybe it's about dreams..." I become lucid, but The Dreaming collapses quickly as I laugh at myself for this late realization.

    Game Show (For Garry)

    by sisyphus on 03-31-2016 at 01:28 PM
    I am hosting a television game show. The game is played with a deck of cards. It can be played by one or two players. The game is called "Lucid Dreaming" and while the game is fun in its own right, it can also supposedly induce lucid dreams.

    My dream is quite like The Larry Sanders Show and might be inspired by the recent news that Garry Shandling passed away. Since I am hosting the show, the drama of the dream concerns the behind-the-scenes interactions with the cast and crew. I don't remember all of it, but I most prominently recall that I am upset that the show has become a vehicle to sell the home version of the game, rather than to support the practice of lucid dreaming. At the end of each show taping (the time when Bob Barker would tell you to spay or neuter your pets) I try to interject my message that the game should be about dreaming. But I get interrupted each time by my sidekick, Ed McMahon. And that part of the show is editted out before broadcast.

    History Lesson, Happy Endings

    by sisyphus on 03-25-2016 at 03:42 PM

    Another very long DILD saga with lucidity fading in and out. Whenever I'm in these long dreams and my lucidity peaks, I make mental notes about what has happened so far, so that I can recall it all when I wake. I think that's why I can remember so much. Its also why the narrative still seems to flow continuously, with callbacks to previous elements, even as the scenes tend to morph abruptly in their superficial features.

    School of Orwell

    I am in my childhood bedroom. I intuit that it is before school on a Tuesday morning, and that I missed school on Monday so I will need to catch up. My mother enters and scolds me about missing school. She puts a delivery box on my desk. I argue with her a bit, trying to assure her that it's no big deal. Really, I just want her out of my room. She leaves.

    I open the box. Inside I find the parts for an electronic device that needs to be assembled. I skip the instructions and just start fastening pieces of plastic with the nuts and bolts. When I complete the thing, it looks a bit like the head of a guitar. It is tapered at one end with two rows of adjustment knobs along the sides. On the flat face, I spot four buttons. Looking at the instructions, I learn that this thing was provided by and required for school. It's a pedometer, but it also tracks how you use your time. That's what the four buttons are for. Each student is to push the button to correspond to their current school activity and it all gets tracked and analyzed by the school. (I think of how terribly Orwellian this idea is; and then immediately lament how close our reality is to that Orwellian dystopia.)

    Reluctantly, I push the button labeled "Channel 6: Normal school activities" and put the device in my pocket. I start filling my pockets with other things. When I pick up a pair of pliers and a kitchen knife, I realize I shouldn't be bringing those to school. I stumble out the door awkwardly, my pockets overflowing with trinkets. I trip and fall. Hello, carpet.

    Before the Goddess

    I look up. I'm no longer in my house. I'm in a college dorm hallway and right in front of me is the neighboring room. The door is open and inside I see The Girl Next Door In Red. She is a sort of proto-Goddess character from long ago, although I don't make that connection in this moment. She is getting dressed. Her girl parts are covered by matching red underwear, but I can see everything else. I must have a goofy stare on my face. Her eyes catch mine, but she isn't upset. She acts a little embarrassed but then she starts teasing me, posing as she slowly pulls on her jeans.

    Still on the floor, I notice the school tracking device has spilled out of my pocket and broken in front of me. The Girl Next Door steps over me and continues on down the hallway. She looks back at me over her book bag and gives me a look like: You'd better hurry up if you're going to catch me. I fumble with the device, trying to re-assemble it quickly. As I work at it, a cat wanders in from the left and sits right in front of me. He (or she?) has a dark coat with a few flecks of brown and orange. The cat looks at me and raises his paw.

    Amused, I address the cat: "Do you have a question?"

    The cat doesn't speak, but I understand his communication. From his body posture, I sense that he is concerned about something. I sense him say: "Will there not be any cheating, this time?"

    "No. No cheating." I don't know what the cat might mean, but my reflex was to say whatever to relieve his concern. The cat looks down the hallway and that reminds me that I was going somewhere. I follow his eyes down the hallway, but the scene has changed again.

    I Never Bluff

    I am in the living room of one of my adult friends, Benjamin. Well, now the presence of the cat makes a little more sense. I intuit that I was invited along with some others to have dinner with Ben and his wife. I'm still holding the school device though. It seems now that it belongs to Ben and he is asking me to assemble it for him to save time.

    I start to have some fun with him: "I would gladly put this together... if you can compensate me for my time."

    "You want to get paid?" He thinks a moment. "How about a free dinner..."

    I retort: "No, you already offered me a free dinner and I accepted. This is a separate deal. I get paid, or I walk."

    Ben gives me a bizarre look, like I'm taking the joke too far. What he doesn't know is that I'm not joking. I don't want to be here so I'm looking for clever way to leave. "Alright," he says, calling my bluff. "There's the door."

    I pick up and leave without a second thought. Now then, where was I going... oh right, school.

    Back to School

    I cross the street away from Ben's place, enter a building, and I find my way onto the elevator. Scanning the faces, I don't spot The Girl Next Door but I do recognize some people from high school. We are riding this elevator up to our first period math class. The elevator stops a few times and more students enter. It's quite crowded now. They are complaining about math. One of the people to enter is Anne, who is also based on a real person, but not from high school. What is Anne doing here... I conjure some false memories. Yes, Anne would have had math first period, but I wasn't in her class.

    I groan to my friends that I'm going to the wrong class. And I missed school the previous day and don't remember my schedule. I make eye contact with Anne and she smiles at me. Ah! How I wish I was in Anne's class so I could talk to her more.

    I ask a question toward the whole group, but I'm hoping Anne will answer. "What did I miss yesterday?"

    Anne doesn't reply. Instead, in the crowd I detect the voice of The Girl Next Door In Red. She is on the elevator after all. She explains that class was interrupted by a group of guys setting off the fire alarms. Other people chime in to fill in the details. Apparently, a group of "999's" had climbed up the fire escape and entered the building. "999" means they may be mentally ill. I remark how strange that is. But the conversation returns to the fact that I'm not in their same class this period, and I don't remember which class I should be in.

    "Don't you take German first period?" suggests one guy on the elevator.

    "No, I don't take German but everyone thinks that. If I did take a language it would be Danish..." I trail off. Oh, I remember what class I should be in: History. I push the button to stop the elevator on the next floor. I give one last glance toward Anne. To my surprise, she has pushed through the crowd to stand next to me.

    She speaks: "Hey, I wanted to ask you a question." But before she can continue, she becomes aware of the crowd gawking at us. Everybody knows Anne has a boyfriend, so it doesn't look too good that she's whispering with me. She loses her nerve and turns away.

    The elevator stops and I exit onto a fire escape. It's a rickety metal staircase that doesn't feel very safe. I have to go down about 10 stories. It's only wide enough for one person, but there are a few guys climbing up. So we have to be very careful passing each other. Then I remember my classmates talking about people sneaking in via the fire escape. I get nervous. Maybe these guys are the 999's. I even have a heated exchange with one of them. I forget the exact words, but he was upset and I tried to be nonchalant so just get past him. This succeeds and I am happy that I avoided the situation without fighting.


    I am nearing the ground floor, just a couple stories to go. I look out and see that the area in front of me looks like a circus tent and inside I see rows of metal railings, like the zig-zag lines at an amusement park to wait for a ride. I spot Anne down below, just about to enter the tent. Huh, maybe we are in the same class after all. I call to her. "Anne! Hey! Hey, what did you want to ask me?!"

    Anne turns and spots me. She seems puzzled at why I am on the fire escape. And she's a bit embarrassed at the situation. But she shouts back: "I -- I wanted to ask if you wanted to go see a movie tonight!"

    Oh, nice. But, no. Anne has a boyfriend. Or maybe that's over? I'm conflicted. I yell "Maybe!" This is not well received. She seems hurt because it sounds like I'm rejecting her. I am begin honest though. I want to go with her, but I don't know if I can considering that this dream has been so topsy-turvy already. To reassure her, I adjust my response: "I mean: Definitely maybe!" I try to detect if her reaction improves, but I can't tell as she turns away and into the circus tent. Damn. I might have messed that up.


    I hurry down the rest of the stairs. I enter the tent. It is indeed my History class. I recognize my teacher. Instead of desks, there's rows for standing, separated by metal rails. I scan the room for Anne but don't find her. Class is about to begin, so I choose a spot near the middle and front. To my pleasant surprise, just as the bell rings, Anne takes the last available spot, which is right in front of me. The cat is here too, wandering between the students and rubbing against their legs.

    The teacher starts lecturing. He begins by explaining the tracking devices that we were given. He checks that everyone assembled theirs. He then distributes a new textbook, which is received with groans. He also circulates a roll of clear plastic, like Saran wrap. The students tear off a sheet and adhere it to the front of the textbook to protect it. The roll doesn't get to me. Instead, to my left I recognize another familiar face from my waking past, Justin. He tears off a sheet and hands it to me. I put it on my book crooked. I tear off the stray corners and roll them into a ball. Like a basketball, I shoot this ball of trash toward a trashcan next to the teacher's desk. But it looks like a toilet seat. My ball lands and sticks on the rim. Damn. Another near miss.

    Justin and I spend the next few minutes trying to get the trash to fall into the bowl. As the teacher paces back and forth, we have a few opportunities to act behind his back. In fact, the whole class is goofing off whenever the teacher's back is turned. We try a few different things. Blowing. Throwing more trash to try to tip it in. Finally, Justin pulls out a yardstick and extends it to reach. Just in time before the teacher notices.

    Phew. With that little secret mission a success, I am now emboldened. I turn my attention back to Anne in front of me. I don't see her face, but I move closer to her and put my hands on her waist. Then I slide them down to her hips. I pull her body closer to me. I smell her hair. I breathe down her neck. I can feel her arousal trembling through her body.

    Happy Endings

    My revery is broken when the teacher slams his textbook shut. I am startled, but it seems that class is over and nothing more. The teacher walks into a back room and gone for good. The lights dim and the students relax. But we all remain in our rows. It seems the next class is beginning. The lighting turns to stage lights in many colors. They start flashing and music starts playing like we're in a dance club. The new teacher walks in. It's an attractive young woman, but older than the students. She wears a low-cut sequin dress that ends above her knee. I try to determine the color of her dress and of her hair, like I always do for dream characters, but the flashing colored lights make it impossible.

    This new teacher starts lecturing but we can hardly understand with the loud music. Anne is no longer in front of me. I look around and see her a couple rows behind and to my right. Why did she move? We make eye contact but she doesn't smile or indicate anything. Hmm. There's a new group of people in front of me. The class has almost doubled in size. I don't recognize any of these new students.

    More time passes. I don't remember it all; it was a blur of light and pounding music. I recall the cat returned yet again. And now there's a second cat, although it looks more like a sock puppet. I pet them both. Then a second teacher enters under the spotlights at the front of the class. It's another young woman. She is completely naked. She has fair, but not pale skin and blonde hair. There lecture is something about "happy endings." I am amused that they might either be talking about narrative structure or "massage therapy."

    The nude and the other sexy teacher start dancing. It's sort of a jig as they face each other. Their bodies bounce in all the right places and I savor the view, but it is only in glimpses through the crowd in front of me. Now they turn to the class, still dancing. It seems they want everyone to join in, but no one is brave enough to be the first. I recall my intention to act rather than watch. I fly up over the crowd and descend onto the dance floor. I get a very good look at these two beauties. I look them up and down, trying to decide whether I prefer the nude or the dress. I notice their legs and watch for a while, trying to learn the dance steps. I start imitating their steps. They both smile at me, proud that I've caught on. They both approach closer to me and our dance becomes very sexy. The rest of the crowd follows and it's quickly a mob of bodies, pairing off and dancing this odd jig. I reach my hand for the nude's buttocks and give a squeeze. But just as I do, she pairs off with someone else and dissolves into the crowd.

    I am left with the girl in the sequin dress. She gets in really close to me and now we're feeling each other up instead of dancing. She whispers seductively to me, recalling the lecture: "Is it time I taught you about happy endings?" We stumble through the dance mob to the edge and find a corner of the room. I pin her back against the wall and kiss her deeply. I feel her body and she moans. I lift the skirt of her dress and thrust into her. Her eyes roll back in pleasure. I am also overwhelmed with pleasure, but I feel most glad that she feel good too. I thrust more and we both look down. It's not the center of my attention but in my peripheral vision, I finally determine the color of her dress. It's orange.

    I wake. Wow, that was long. And indeed a happy ending. Quickly though, as I try to organize my recall I remember that I was supposed to meet Anne for a movie. Could I DEILD back and finish that too? I consult my body. No, it's too late. So I just try to sort out the order of events. I feel some tinges of nostalgia and remorse. Before that I was looking for The Girl Next Door In Red. And I was kind of a jerk with Ben. And how long has it been since I saw Justin? Or had any dream that took place in a school? I take it all in and let it just be wonderful in all its complexity.