dream journal

the dream journal is back on-line and it's about damn time. if you want to start at the beginning and work your way up to my present day psychoses, take a stroll through the archives:

29 June
For the duration of my contract at Will Vinton Studios I am to live on the premises. Accomodations are comfortable, but I may not leave for the entire nine months or so. Jon (the other asst. editor) and I are to share a room which has only one large (very large) king-sized bed. At first I feel a little uncomfortable about the arrangement, but then I remember that our schedules are so different that we will almost certainly never be going to bed at the same time and even if we were it's an enormous bed. I explore the room and start to make myself at home. One cabinet is full of pillows (though there are plenty of pillows on the bed already). The medicine cabinet above the sink (which is right next to the bed) has all the toiletries I will need already all set up for me. I need to use the facilities so I head to the rest room, but accidentally walk into Team Dave's living quarters. To cover my embarrassment and make it seem like I meant to walk in there, I proceed straight to the balcony, upturn a box and start going potty right then and there. Smooove. The view off the balcony is of New York City, but at a really odd scale. It's almost like looking at a bas relief map from above at about a 50:1 ratio, but the people and buildings are only at like 3:1. I can see all of Long Island and just as I am wondering how to get there, Bela (at full size, perhaps larger) comes splashing through the ocean and sits in the middle of that terminal moraine. "Bela, you're as big as Long Island!" I shout down to him from the balcony. After my outburst folks come out to the balcony. I try to pretend that nothing's the matter though I am actually deeply embarrassed to be caught with my pants down on their balcony.

26 June
I am at a restaurant where the featured chef is a cartoon dinosaur named Dinah who has her own TV cooking show (called "In the Kitchen with Dinah," natch). The show is being filmed while we're there - whatever we order she will make for the show. And - added bonus! - any breakfast item is free! So I order waffles.
Back at home, I open the door and Snuggles (Rebecca's dog) comes bounding down the stairs at me. Did I completely forget that we were looking after her? Have I even fed her since she's been here? She really must need to go for a walk so we head outside. When I return I let Snuggles go and she runs upstairs to the bedroom and hides. Just then I hear a rustling in the fireplace and a skanky looking fellow (who at best probably just means to burgle us) comes climbing out. I go to hide with the dog.

25 June
I'm all for the dream journal by the bedside method of recalling and recording one's dreams. The downfall of this practice, however, is that one's logic and writing skills immediately upon awakening often leave much to be desired. My scribblings upon waking up are not only barely legible, but barely logical - a problem compounded by waiting several days to html-ize the dream here. Having said all that, I will simply transcribe what I found written in my notes with few comments where I remember them.
meeting john m in the grocery store/bookstore where the zines were kept in the back.
large picture posters up front featuring Santa
john's in line i'm browsing zines in back
(from earlier) buying housewarming presents (for?). i get wine tho it is very expensive ($59.95) - still it has a bottle cap, not cork
watch a movie starring damien echols [that's the real life "star" of "Paradise Lost," a documentary] and i think "he's great, what else have i seen him in?"
dumping wax into the river (TNT). 2 doz fish turn up dead
visting justin/matt. try to explain my stickers and the whole JT thing [this is in reference to these little stickers I've been making that feature someone who looks very similar to John Taylor of Duran Duran. I don't think the picture is actually of John Taylor] i see a moving image projected in loop on the wall similar to the picture of JT.

22 June
I leave the apartment in search of food or entertainment. I am walking towards the river; I think I am thinking about going downtown. However, right before I get to the bridge I have a sudden change of heart and make a left turn. I am now in industrial Southeast wandering among the warehouses. It is so dark here I can't see more than a few feet ahead of me. I suddenly remember that serial summer rapist Pamela was telling me about and realize that I am in his neighborhood. I start moving more quickly, my heart racing. I stare hard into the darkness, willing my pupils to open wider . To my surprise this kinda works. I can see farther down the road - there a light! I start running towards it and as I approach I see that it's a high school - mine, in fact. I am in high school again and this is where I go to school. A safe refuge indeed, so I burst through the fire doors and take a look around. The place is a mess - desks overturned, chairs broken, paper everywhere. Apparently school elections were yesterday and there's been a mass uprising in protest of the outcome. The school is in revolution. I wonder what side I'm on as I begin to tidy up a bit.

21 June
I have arrived, by car, in Boston, MA. I don't know if this is our ultimate destination but we (darcy? and I? maybe Vanessa?) are staying for awhile with friends at MIT in the dorm rooms. It suddenly occurs to me that we are awfully close to Tirza and should go visit her and my travel companion concurs. We will seek her out tomorrow. In the meantime we go grocery shopping, do some sightseeing and decide to go to the school pool for a dip. It's like a resort pool, kidney shaped with a fountain at poolside. I dive in and swim around, but I can't exactly do laps especially since there are so many people in the water just standing around. Eventually I get out and go change in the bathrooms. We're walking back to the dorms, but we have to swim across the river to get there. We jump in but I remember that I've left some small trinkets on the shore side. I prop myself on the concrete blocks lining the river - they're filthy! Sticky, gooey, stinky, slimy - ugh! I wish I didn't have to touch them but I need to retrieve my belongings so I do. The goo comes from off-shore oil rigs in the vicinity. I stand on top of a platform to reach the shore. I cringed at the sensation of the icky stuff underfoot - it nearly made me ill. I got my stuff and we swam the rest of the way.
At the dorm I decide to change my clothes (they're pretty gross now), but as I'm doing so my brother (who's staying in an adjacent room) calls me over. He shows me an array of cheap costume jewelry arranged on an antique dresser. He explains that the former resident of the room (we're now in a retirement home run by my brother, not a dormitory) left him these pieces and he was wondering what to do with them. They're awful -- big tacky pins with lots of cheap stones. Some of them are in the shapes of animals with big googly eyes glued on them. "Do they at least have some historical value," I ask. "Not a bit," he responds.

June 18
Darcy is getting married today and I'm running late for the wedding. To expedite my travel time, I am using my new hoverbike which looks like jet skis and is navigated by use of a foam kickboard which I hold outstretched in front of me. Zipping through the air at truly remarkable speeds I have to cling tenaciously to the steering board to stay on course. The sensation is very similar to the flying dreams I used to have when I was in high school, but different because I now seem to need machinery to help me fly. As I swoop in over the lovely park where the wedding will be (looks a little the front lawn at Reed) I note a large congregation of Sith lords on one side of the grass. They all look like Darth Maul and are standing two abreast in what looks to me like attack formation. They look angry. Do they mean to shoot me down? I fear that they can shoot me with the lasers in their eyes until I remember that they don't have lasers in their eyes and as long as I don't get too close to them they cannot hurt me. I remember this fact just as I am flying over one of them. He jumps up and grabs my leg and I cleverly repel his offensive by going higher. I go on the offensive next and start to swoop down on one of them, but as I get closer I realize it's not a Sith at all but Queen Amidala who's being held hostage. I pull up and regain altitude at the last possible second before I would have gotten hopelessly entangled in her headdress.
Finally landing safely on Darcy's side of the park I see that I have made it just in time. She's just about to walk down the aisle. Once I get there I realize that the Sith lords are there to disrupt the wedding, hopefully capturing a sweet little 4 year old girl (maybe Darcy's daughter, maybe Bela). The only reason they haven't attacked yet is because they don't know if the girl is even there. I ask if she is around and someone whispers "Under the porch." I look under the porch and see the girl hiding there being kept company by Uncle Fester. Uncle Fester has to hold onto her tightly because she's squirming and making a lot of noise which will surely give her away. She is pleased to see me and wants to come out to say hello but I tell her she must stay still. She playfully throws her duffel bag full of clothes and toys at me. I have to hide it before the Sith see it and identify it as he bag so I climb up in the rafters to stash it there.
When I get down from the roof, the ceremony is over and we are now inside of a kind of sleazy motel (a rent-by-the-hour kind) where the reception is being held. The treats are out and I'm enjoying these truly amazing little fruit tarts. Yum. After the reception I am left to clean with a few other people. I mention that I have stayed in this hotel before, but I immediately regret it because now everyone has the wrong idea about me, but I just stayed in the hotel by myself.

9 june 1999
a languidly indulgent dream about going to the delta cafe and taking an agonizingly long time to decide on my side dishes. definitely getting the crawfish etoufee for entree... but what goes with that? surely not mac n' cheese though that was what i really wanted. certainly i'll get fried okra, but should i get greens too? ... and so on and so on... i woke up terribly hungry.

25 may
after spending a near-harrowing evening doingthe final mix for "earshy" i finally made it home and to bed around 1:30. naturally i immediately began to dream about the film, the film center and the film people. we were in class all going about our business and slowly one by one students were noticing that bushra and matt were makin' out. creepy. once the room had fallen silent with curious stares bushra said that she had an announcement to make; she and matt were getting married. aghast, i took the opportunity to offer a diatribe against not only the institute of marriage but a particularly vicious attack on matt (which was actually a lot more hostile than i think i actually feel). matt left the room so as not to hear the speech, but bushra just said "why shouldn't we get married? he is all things to all people."

19 May 1999
My cat's front paw is bleeding. I investigate and find that one toepad and claw have been ripped clean off. As I attempt to do some first aid, he wiggles free and runs to the cat box. I scream in horror of the tremendous infection that's sure to take place now.
We're at a pre-show Academy Awards party (as in a party at the ceremony), but I seem to have gotten there late. Everyone is already in the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion watching the presentation so all the food is pretty picked over and the room is pretty messy. But I find some cold food laid out on the table - hey, this is being catered by the Saucebox! They've got those fabulous dumplings and springrolls. I start to load up (lamenting the fact that the plates are so small) when I realize how totally unhungry I am. I wonder how uncouth it would be to wrap up some of this food and take it home.

17 May 1999
It hurts to breathe. My heart flutters wildly in my chest on every breath. I am dying.
So I tell Darcy and she springs into action. She's always so good in a crisis. She begins to make funeral arrangements and instructs me to go finish my will and clean my room. I can tell that she's eyeing my CD collection, but that's okay. It's not like I'm going to need them. I go to my room and decide to write my will first, but I'm having trouble thinking of anything I own of monetary value. Of the CDs, though, I think "Those are a living bank account!" I get distracted from the will-writing and start working on organizing my room for the estate sale. I wonder if I should hide my diaries, burn them or leave them be. I hide them. I really should call all my friends and loved ones to let them know that I'll be dead soon. I start with Vanessa. I've been really very calm about the whole thing but once I tell her how sick I am and how I'm going to die soon I start sobbing uncontrollably. Vanessa is dismayed at my fatalistic attitude. "Have you even seen a doctor?" she asks incredulously. "I can't afford to see a doctor!" I respond between sobs. But now that she mentions it, maybe whatever the cost of seeing a doctor is worthwhile if it means my life. And I am starting to feel a little better. How did I know that this pain was going to kill me anyway? It doesn't seem so sure anymore. I hang up the phone with the resolve to live - and go see a doctor.

16 May 1999
I've got a bomb and I'm going to use it.
With no conscious decision to do so I strap the bomb to the subway tracks and stand back. Within moments a train comes whizzing into the station, derails and explodes. I begin to sift through the rubble looking for survivors, but I don't know if I'm planning to help them or hurt them. The gravity of what I've just done rushes into my thoughts. I let go of the piece of metal I'm trying to pry loose and quickly wipe my fingerprints clean. I check for other prints I may have left behind and make a hasty retreat.
When I get home Mom eyes with suspicion. The accident has already hit the news and I notice for the first time that the front of my shirt is covered in blood. Should I burn it, hide it, plant it on someone else? For the meantime I just stuff it under my bed.
I am deeply disturbed by this events, especially my apparent lack of agency in my actions. I go out for a walk and wind up wandering through an old apartment building. I though the building was abandoned, but I run into a lone resident. We argue violently and, much to surprise yet again, I shoot and kill him. Aghast, I rush back home and resolve not to do anything anymore at all. At home (which looks like 123 Sesame Street) friends and family are sitting on the stoop chatting. Someone has a beautiful horse. The person who brought the horse is bragging about her strength, speed and power. I get pretty annoyed with this pompous display and declare, "The horse isn't that strong! I bet I could push her through that wall." I point to a stone building directly behind the horse. I immediately regret making the boast because now I'll have to do it. I get a running start and broadside the horse. She goes flying into the wall and the bricks topple and crumble like Styrofoam. She falls, upside-down, into the abyss just beyond the wall. Apparently the wall was just a façade in front of a deep, rocky canyon. She falls several hundred feet before being meeting her end on the rocky slopes. Everyone freezes in shock. No one thought I'd really do it (least of all me). No one blames me, though, because they know how all these events transpired.
We go back into the house and they are announcing on the news that the subway explosion was connected to the Littleton shootings and that Dylan Klebold (still alive and in police custody) is being questioned about the explosion. I worry that he will reveal my involvement because the events are connected and Dylan does know that I planted the bomb. Still, I feel pretty confident that he won't spill the beans. The real shocker on the news comes next. The newscaster says, "Late-breaking reports announce that items found at the scene of the crime implicate local resident Veronica Vichit-Vadakan." Uh-oh. "A 16mm film can containing 1940s era newsreel footage was found under the train wreckage. The film may have originated from the Film Center, where Ms. Vadakan works. Police say it may also contain images of WW2 era Nazis, thus further implicating Mr. Klebold and his cronies." I try not to betray any emotion as I cling to the desperate hope that the film does indeed contain the Nazi segments thus shifting attention away from me. And I comfort myself with the knowledge that even if the film is directly linked to me, it would not be enough evidence to convict me… Unless… unless they also find out about the other murder and the horse. They could really only get me for the horse's death and killing a horse ain't the same as a blowing up a trainload of people.
As all these different issues swirl through my head, my mother is watching me and she already knows the truth. Immediately she launches into action, collecting up "evidence" of my presence at any or all of the scenes of the crimes. She is an unstoppable force, thinking of things I never would have thought of. I wonder if I should call a lawyer. I also wonder why the police haven't brought me in for questioning yet. I can't think about all this too much more, though, because it's Monday morning and time to go to school.
I'm in high school again and everyone stays a respectful distance away from me, all having seen the news. Someone dares to speak to me about the bombing, saying "So it must be tough being one of the suspects named for that, huh?" I respond moodily "I'm the only suspect named so far." I wonder if my acting is convincing or transparent. "I was pretty surprised to hear that you did it." "Yeah, me too." I know he's taking it in a different meaning, but I actually mean that I am surprised that I did do it.
Back at home everyone is playing with a gun, an old-style double barreled shotgun. Someone's trying to teach me how to use it, and it keeps going off accidentally. It's just shooting hunks of lemon rind, but it could still mess somebody up. I pull my hands into my sleeves to keep my prints from getting on the gun - just in case.

13 May
A varation on the theme of finding little Timmy... I find Li'l Duncan! which of course is almost the same as finding Tim.
Also in the dream (maybe connected, maybe not) I go to a reading of some author I've never heard of. But John has asked me to go so I do. When I get there he's stinking drunk. Apparently this author is teh great unrequited love of his life and he's making an ass of himself. I finally drag him out of the room and lament the fact that I'll have to bus him to his home. He is barely able to walk and stumbles against me down to the bus mall. Someone says "look, John has a girlfriend," and I sneer at their misunderstanding of the situation. On the bus, John is being totally annoying so I try to engage him in conversation to at least keep him from bugging the other passengers directly. I ask him when his birthday is, testing out the Virgo theory. "october 45th," he asnwers.
"OK, October 45th so that would make you a... Hey! there is no such date!" As soon as I have this revelation John doubles over cackling. I'm so annoyed that I just ignore him until our stop.

3 May
Yet another dream about finding little Timmy. In my waking life I would like to see to Tim again and I do miss him, but not to the point of total obsession my subconscious appears to have. So what's going on? In this variation on the theme I was working in the Film Center, tinkering with something or other when I turn around and see Tim who is smiling sheepishly in the doorway. "I hear you've been looking for me," he says and I simply stand dumbfounded for a few moments before I drop whatever I'm doing and run over to hug him. As we're hugging -- for what seems like an inordinately long time -- I wonder if this is a dream since I've had this dream so many times before. I decide that it must be real since I would certainly know if it were a dream, right?

1 May
Something about tryingto barricade myself inside my apartment, but the sliding glass door won't lock so I line up a bunch of pens along the runner to keep the door from opening. i don't think it will hold. Also, something about Justin and I declare that I haven't seen him in 7 years. Julie is there too and is doing something under the table (literally, that is).

26 April
It's the weekend of the film shoot again and we're all trekking back from Eastern Oregon. The trip is very long and tedious and I'm cramped in the back seat. Someone is talking about how we're travelling the same path as the great witch hunts of the early 19th century. Apparently the East Coast wtch hunts upstaged the smaller scale Oregonian version, but what ours lacked in size it made up for in venomous hate. Dozens died, otehrs fled in fear. All along this same path that we were now driving. "They don't call it Salem for nothing," someone in the front seat offers. "Are we in Newburg yet?" I ask.

25 April
1. It's the last night Darcy and I can legally stay in our old apartment. It seems that even though we haven't been in the apartment for weeks we were paid through the end of April so we decide to throw a party on this last night. In our weeks of absence the management has already many of the necessary repairs; there are new doors (still unfinished), the walls painted and the carpet has been replaced with thick blue shag. The carpet is so thick in fact that we have difficulty opening and closing the doors. Seeing how many repairs had already been done I knew for certain we'd never get our deposit back now.
Someone else has already begun to move in. It's someone I know as "Betty", an elderly woman who was homeless, but I suppose is homeless no more. Many of her things are in the living room so I feel a little intrusive, but I know we're okay to be there. I wonder aloud how Betty can afford the rent and the others simply shrug and roll in the shag carpeting.
2. On a tour of agricultural hotspots, I'm on a big luxury bus with a lot of other people. I get off the bus first and run out to the field we're visiting. This is the place I've most anticipated seeing on the tour. I meet up with the tour guide, a grizzled old farmer in overalls. We stand at the wooden fence together and he tells me that nothing has grown here for years. Indeed, the land is overrun with dying weeds as far as the eye can see. I wonder why this was a stop on a tour of supposedly successful agricultural lands. I notice the perfect stillness of the air and realize that we must be here to enjoy this rare silence. The others from the tour are beginning to bus and making a blasphemous ruckus so the farmer and I start to stroll down the lane that cuts through the dead land to get away from them. As we walk he confesses to me that he has a unique talent. He can foresee events of significant bad luck in others' lives. I think that he's trying to warn me that something bad is going to happen to me so I push him to tell me more. He refuses to elaborate explaining that talking about incidents of bad luck (which he calls "daisies" - I assume that this is because of its linguistic similarity to "doozy" but with a kind of upbeat slant) begets more bad luck. So his unusual spin on the Cassandra complex lets him know that bad luck is coming, but prevents him from speaking about it lest worse things happen. He tells me about the string of "daisies" he experienced when he first discovered this power. I try to argue that since we've already started talking about it we might as well talk about details. As a response to my suggestion and a way to drown me out, he begins to sing, "One daisy, two daisy, three daisy, four; five daisy, six daisy, seven daisy, more."

21 April
We've just moved into a new house, Mom Vanessa and I. The front of the house is set up just like my apartment, but the back extends for several bedrooms and a kind of rec room at the very rear of the house. We're all calling dibs on which bedrooms we want. Vanessa calls dibs on the rearmost bedroom which is actually pretty small, but has lost of windows with pretty flowy curtains. The other bedroom is very large indeed, but has only one small window and no light in its private bathroom. So I decide to share the cool little bedroom with Vanessa.
Without much effort we're already moved in. I settle into my new room in my bed and quickly fall asleep. When I awake I really realize how small the bedroom is and how ridiculous it is for us to share a room. I go next door to the other bedroom which Mom has attempted to make into a sitting room, i.e., there are a lot of chairs. The room isn't nearly as bad as I remembered it. I'm unhappy that such a great space is being put to such poor use. And there was a light in the bedroom after all. So despite the extra work and the lack of windows I resolve to move into the room. But now it's time for me to go to work and I ask Mom if I may borrow her car. She says sure so I go out to the car, a bigass boat of an olds. As I walk out I think, "oh this is one of those driving dreams" but quickly suppress the thought less I disturb the verisimilitude of the dream. I realize I don't have the key. As I turn around to go back into the house I notice a figure moving in the shadows of the trees. He ducks and scurries his way into the house looking very disturbingly mysterious. As he enters I scream, "Hey! Get out of my house," but I don't think he's heard me. I follow after him to the rec room in the back. He's looking for something. He's lived here before. "I have to find the evidence" he declares emphatically and I begin to help him gather the evidence of his innocence of whatever crime transpired here.

17 april
As a member of a travelling Vaudeville ('it's not really a circus,' I aver) show, my fellow showmates and I travel through the country looking for audiences. We stop off at this old abandoned mansion. The singers were warming up so I went exploring with Little Timmy, a son of one of the singers. In the the trapeze artists set up their equipment in the stones of the old walls and ceilings. The room looks eerily like Dr. Frankenstein's lab. Little Timmy and I go upstairs to explore some more and I start to notice disturbing anomalies; some rooms seem to repeat themselves and people seem to be popping in multiple places at the same time. There are two members of our troupe for whom this seems to happen more than most. I'm not sure what it is they do in the show, but they're always around hovering silently. They're large guys who wear dark glasses all the time, but they are 3-D style glasses. I try to stay clear of them.
We've been at the old mansion for some time and the troupe is rehearsing in the basement so Little Timmy and I are there. He says that he's got a secret and smile mischievously. He goes over to the stairwell and presses a particular stone in the wall. A panel slides open and he walks inside. Through the hole in the wall I can see a room just like the one we're in, only in mirror image. "Timmy, don't!" I shout, "it's a parallel universe!" But it's too late. Little Timmy has already gone through and the door slides shut. Parallel universes are dangerous so I fear going in after him, but I know I must. As soon as I slide the door open I see Timmy being held up by his ankle and dropped into a well. He's been assimilated into the parallel universe. I don't know if there's any chance to save him, but I have to try.
I lose track of Timmy after the well so I search the parallel universe's version of the mansion. Luckily I am already familiar with the layout of the house. I soon encounter the two brusque, silent men from the show. They are actually agents of the parallel universe out to kidnap residents of the other universe. Because our universe is a place of light and theirs is one of darkness, they must wear the 3-D glasses in order to see. Conversely, I wonder if I'll not be able to see Little Timmy in this world without 3-D glasses so I swipe some that I find and scan around, but I realize that just a random search isn't going to be very useful. Figuring that the two agents will likely lead me to Timmy, I begin following them. One of them catches me and pins me against the wall, venting spleen. Other residents of the parallel universe gather nearby. They are unaware of the space-time warp we were arguing about and watch us with curiosity. At my first opportunity, I sneer at him, "They're watching so you'd better let me go, Daryl." Using his name from my universe catches him off-guard and his grip loosens. There is a stir in the crowd. "Why did she call you Daryl?" He tries to laugh it off. Smiling I say, "Oh, that's just his name in the parallel universe!" A mini riot begins to breakout and in the hubbub I make my escape.
Another agent catches up to me and begins to chase me down the stairs but I have a pretty good lead on her. I get to the bottom floor, pry open the elevator doors, hang on to the bottom of the car and start going up. at each floor I push open the doors and scan for agents - or Little Timmy, then duck below the car again and go up another floor. On the fourth floor an agent is standing at the elevator, sees me and says "No wonder Little Timmy ran away" but leaves me be. I get out of the elevator and the agent is there again and the chase is on. As I am running down the stairs, I feel a gun in the small of back but keep running anyway. When I get to the bottom floor I run outside hide in a bush. The door to the house closes behind me. "Now I'll never find Little Timmy" I think to myself.

28 march
i'm working at the guild (which looks nothing like the guild) and i'm standing hanging over a balcony railing. martha is down below. she holds up my wallet and says, "veronica, is this yours?" "yes," i say and start to reach out for it as i curse myself for being so forgetful. she pulls it out of reach and says, "it's not yours anymore." i realize that she's not playing around and i get very upset. "martha, that's not like you at all!" she shrugs it off. "well, at least give me my ID back. you have no use for that, right?" she agrees and hands it to me and leaves. i realize that i should have asked for more things back, like my library card and social security card. i regret that there's a significant amount of cash in my wallet. and my bank card! i'm worried about it now and while i don't think she's stupid enough to try to use it, i determine i should get to a phone asap to cancel the card. but every phone in the place is disconnected. was this part of her plan? i *really* need to cancel the card now. and i start out on a search for a phone.

20 march
no surprise that while in the middle of nowhere, eastern oregon on locatin for our films, i should have a paralyzing anxiety dream about just that. in the dream we were out on location on Hwy 216 when i suddenly realize that i've left everything at the motel and we're not heading back. so i start panicking about finding a ride back to the motel and still get back to the shoot in time. big stress

7 march
i'm going to france and as i arrive i can see from the plane that vincent is waiting for me at the airport. we greet and chat, but we have to hurry like mad to catch a train which will take us to another airport where i am catching my connecting flight. i wonder if it wasn't really worth the few bucks i saved to do all this hurrying. i have no idea where my connecting flight is going, but i think it might have been somewhere else in france other than paris. we get to the metro and find that we just missed the train. "well," vince suggests, "you can either try to catch the bus to the airport or you can give up on getting the flight today and spend the night in paris with me tonight." "or," i say, "i could fly back home now and try again tomorrow." he concedes that that's a good idea, but we decide to try to catch the bus first. i run out to the stop just in tim eto see the bus pull away. i'd given up when i see a swarm of people encircle the bus and it stops. 'what luck!' i think. i approach the bus but just then the people start to scatter and the bus starts backing up and driving forward in an erratic and frightening matter. people are hiding from the manic bus, but i'm still desperate to get on it so i jump in front and it stops. the driver emerges ranting about something or other. obviously a very disgruntled employee. i run up to him and say "what's going on?" but suddenly remember that i'm in france so rephrase with "qu'est-ce-qui se passe?" he responds with nonsensical gibberish. i try to talk him down, but he cannot be calmed. he produces from his pocket a small metallic object which i understand is a detonator for a bomb strapped to him under his clothes. he starts to press it and i shout to everyone nearby to duck and cover. he pushes the button but nothing happens. he can't detonate the bomb himself, someone else must do it. so he hands me the detonator and as i am pressing the button i notice too late that v is standing next to him. "run!" i shout. v takes a step away just in time and the bomb "explodes" -- actually it was more like an implosion. the guy just crumbled.
since i obviously wasn't going to make it to the flight after vince and i agree that i should just go home and try to catch the flight tomorrow morning. since i'm flying around so much anyway, i decide to go to the sundance festival (which was going on conveniently) and check out the scene. i seem to have to come to the festival with scott jackman and i'm sitting in katie's car waiting for scott to come out of the theatre. there's some guy there, too, the wunderkind of the fest who'd just screened his first feature. i was eating sunchips ("tortilla style") and the guy kept snitching them from me. he was only all right looking (why did i dream about some average looking dull-ish guy?) but we were flirting pretty intently anyway. he decided to move the car and started driving around which made me a little uncomfortable since this was scotts car and when he got out of the theatre he'd be worried about the car if it were missing. i kept debating whether or not i should pursue anything with this guy since he was hardly my ideal and i had to be up very early the next morning to go to france. adding to my nervousness was the sudden knowledge taht i was very scantily clad.
as i slowly awoke, i felt relief in finding this was a dream for one thing at a time. first i thought, "oh that france thing was just a dream i dont have to worry about being up early in the morning and rush around." then i thought, "this guy is a dream too so i don't ahve to make any decisions about whether or not i like him." and finally " and i don't have to worry about the car either because that's a dream, too."

22 feb
trying desperately to get dressed to go to school (high school, i think. iw as in my mother's house). it was taking a really long time for me to find anything and make a decision. i knew i wanted to wear a short skirt, but i could find none of my thousands of skirts. the clock on the wall was running at what felt like real time (unusual for dreams -- time is either stopped or speeded up) and i was wasting a lot of time. i was going to be very late to school. people were shouting at me to hurry up. i finally put on a long wrap skirt and a terribly ill fitting pink angora sweater. i went out and everyone laughed at me (mom said, "you look like you're retired!" --i.e., you're dressed like an old person) so i went back in and tried to start all over again.

20 feb
will try to find time to elaborate later...
1. alien invasion of earth. it was the x-files conspiracy theory come to life, as seen through hg wells' eyes. i was in a very high highrise and everyone was watching the bombing from the massive windows. as the bombs got closer everyone cheered every little earth victory and booed every alien wallop. it was clear our asses were gettin kicked. no one seemed too concerned that the bombs were getting closer. i lookd for a place to hide. there were this little stuffed animal hedgehogs everyone. i asked someone about the hedgehogs and they told me that the bombs we were using on the aliens were nicknamed hedgehogs so these little stuffed ones were kind of like war souvenirs.
2. we were trying to hide and dispose of a dead womens body. it was in the trunk of our car and someone handed me a can of spray paint and said 'hide her!' before running away. i looked at the can -- it was cake icing in a spray can. i understood. i was supposed to cover her entire body in icing to make her look like a giant birthday sheet cake. as i sprayed the icing on , it came out in diferent colors and patterns the longer you sprayed. i became completely enthralled by the groovy product and was no longer thinking about the gruesome task at hand.
3. i was in georgia. pop and i needed to get to the west coast. decided to horse back ride the whole way there. wondered about teh logistics of where to keep one's horse, how long it would take, where we would sleep. it took five minutes to go from georgia to new mexico. we'd forgotten something on the east coast, but i said "aw, i dont want to go all the way back!"

3 februray
we're walking along in the canyon, along reed lake. there is a giant salmon "beached" on the side of the river. it's the size of a small whale, about 20-30 feet long. it's been gutted and sliced into "steaks" -- half of the fish (lengthwise, that is) is gone -- but it's still in a very recognizable fish form, expecially since the skeleton is still intact. i think about trying to lug home some of the rest of the fish because i'd hate to see it go to waste. i figure i can smoke or cure it in some way since i wouldnt be able to eat that quantity of fish quickly enough. someone points out that the fish is already 3 days dead and unrefrigerated it probably isnt still good. i give up on the idea, but at least i'm happy that half of the fish got used. but someone else notes that they didnt eat the fish, just threw it away and i'm tremendously sad.

13 january

very fragmented. don't remember much at all except that it was kind of stressful. don't know if all these bits are connected or not.
crazy mexican restaurant where there had once been a pizza place and they hadn't bothered to change the sign outside causing some confusion but their burritos were so good no one cared. i was excited to find a "san francisco style" taqueria in portland.
some kind of party going on at someone's house (tho the house looked guests one by one. we were simultaneously trying to identify the killer (was it one of us? or some crazed stranger hiding in our midst?) and continue to enjoy the party. very challenging.
celeste (in a gorgeous vintage evening gown - blue floral, sleeveless, collared) comes to the party has one drink and passes out cold. i drag her by the arms to a place out of the way in the hallway. i am worried that she is now particularly susceptible to the killer.
the doorbell rings and it's matt severin, but with lots of hair. very confusing not only because of the hair, but because matt is already at the party. obviously one of these matt severins is the killer, but which one? a wrong choice could be deadly.
someone (my dad? vincent? some male figure with whom i am close) is going outside with matt severin II. suddenly i know that he is the killer and i must save pop/v/?? and i say "don't go with him! he's the killer!" matt II says, "no, he's the killer! watch out, veronica! he's going to kill you!" doubt rises in me. could it be? how sure was i that matt II was the one? (i don't remember how this resolved)
i have to sort a pile of killer bees (dead) and tiny hives (just slightly bigger that the bees themselves). they're laid out on playing cards. i have to be exceedingly careful in handling the killer bees because (unlike actual killer bees) the slightest bit of their venom could mean instant death so i must steer clear of the stingers.

18 January
So I had this complicated, long-winded, narrative dream last night and when I woke it was still fully formed in my mind. I did the responsible thing and took some notes, but now, sadly, the notes have little meaning to me, though I do still remember some of it. Reprinted here for you is a (more legible) copy of my notes with additional [bracketed] comments.
Mom's disappearance [I was at a mall - Hilltop Mall, I think - with someone else, maybe Vanessa, maybe Darcy. Mom had been there, too, when she was abruptly no longer with us. For some reason foul or somewhat foul play was immediately suspected.]
Sitting in the Karmann Ghia [The other person and I decide to wait for Mom in the car - a Karmann Ghia just like Robert's.]
Hedgehog - no, a badger - under the floorboards of the car. [For some reason I was keeping a pet badger under the floormat of the passenger side of the car. The badger seemed perfectly happy down there, but I was afraid it would bite my feet.]
She's ultra-Catholic of the "witchcraft" variety. [This was my terminology in the dream, What it means is that my Mom apparently was a practitioner of the Santeria/Vodun style Catholicism that relies heavily on the magical/mystical intervention of the entire pantheon of the Saints. This was somehow connected either to her disappearance or to the methods we would employ to get her back.]
Some guy kills himself because he can't get the graph right on his computer. [The guy shot himself in the head. Don't remember much more than that.]
Vanessa buries herself alive after failing to write a website about the Mall.
Accordion heater. [Ummm... Don't know how this related at all except I can see the heater in my mind's eye still. It's just what it sounds like; a portable space heater which looks like an accordion and can be stretched and manipulated to accommodate a wide variety of spaces.]
Recording company. [I wish I remembered more about this part. I think it was interesting, but I don't really remember anything about it at all.]

21 January
The good news is that I remember most of the dream I was having right before I woke up. The bad (and sad) news is that I've lost most of the dream I had had earlier in the night because I dreamt that I wrote down the dream, but I didn't really at all. My damn tricky subconscious. It'll do anything to keep me asleep. The only thing I do remember, though, is that it ended with me singing the Schoolhouse Rock song "My Hero, Zero" by the Lemonheads. In fact, when I woke up, that song was still stuck in my head.
Here's Part 2… I'm in Mom's house. I've just gotten engaged (like, to be married) to Dave. A little contrary to my character and my frequent exhortations against the peculiar institution, I'm overjoyed. But then again, it is Dave. Putting a damper on my good mood, however, is the fact that I have to meet Dave's family. They're all sitting in the living room scrutinizing me. I desperately want them to love me and welcome them into their family. I want to be this Pollyanna-type figure who blows into their lives and makes them feel great about life. I want to be charming, lovable, charismatic and gregarious. I want all these things, but instead, I'm introverted, twitchy, evasive and generally freaky. They don't like me. And they don't have any reason to, either. I try to make light conversation, but choking on my words, they just stoically stare at me. Exacerbating the situation is the fact that I'm terribly embarrassed to have them in Mom's house, witnessing the rampant chaos firsthand. I can see the disdain in their eyes. Mom is, of course, taking a very long time to get ready. We're all supposed to go to lunch together and then head out to - what? the wedding? some kind of event, anyway. Later it becomes Thesis Parade.
Noticeable missing is Dave himself. I wish he were there to share the burden of entertaining his family. But now that I think about it, I haven't seen him since he proposed several months ago. Huh. I wonder what happened to him.
Bummblebutte is there and is walking all over them and me, making a general nuisance of himself. As I'm petting him on my lap, he suddenly starts vomiting and shitting uncontrollably. Even more embarrassing than anything else that's happened thus far. We all stare in disbelief as he continues to foul everything he nears.
Finally, after more excruciating discomfiture, I decide to go upstairs, get cleaned up, and hurry Mom along. I excuse myself and hie out of there as quickly as possible. Mom is still a long way from being ready. I clean myself up, and try to pick a new outfit. Going through my wardrobe, I'm overcome with anxiety. I've got to come up with the perfect outfit. I begin to become acutely aware of how long I've left Dave's family alone downstairs and how being a poor hostess probably reflects very badly on me, but I'm too scared to face them alone again. I notice that it's 3:00. 3:00! We have to be at Thesis Parade at 4! And we still haven't gone to lunch. It's Merideth's parade, so there's no way I'm going to miss it. We were going to go to Chinatown for lunch, but there is certainly not enough time. I force Mom down the stairs in whatever state of readiness she is and we all begin to discuss our options. In my brief absence from the living room, it has turned into a fast food restaurant. As we struggle with finding a compromise lunch place, I finally say, "Let's just eat here." They look around disapprovingly, but agree realizing that it really is the only way to get to everything on time. I let them order first. I realize they really only have meaty things, so I order fries and 'poppers' - those deep fried jalapeno things, which I get just because the name makes me laugh.
As I am waiting for my food, it occurs to me again to wonder what became of Dave. I am suddenly overcome with doubt. Why did he ask me to marry him? It came right out of the blue, but it was so welcome that I accepted without question. But now that I'm thinking about it, he didn't even seem all that excited about or interested in my answer to his question. In fact, he was rather distant that day. And where's he been for all these months, anyway? I'm beginning to think that this isn't going to happen. And what am I doing getting married anyway? Do I really want to be married? I've never wanted to get married before, but then again, no one's ever asked before. I finally allay my fears by consoling myself with the thought that if it doesn't work out it's easy enough to get a divorce.

12 january
i am staying at a swanky hotel somewhere far from town (don't know where exactly). just hanging out in my room watching the entertainment news that always seems to be on hotel televisions, i see coverage of an independent filmmakers convention. the perky on-air reporters are interviewing the people running the booths. all sorts of indie luminaries are presnt from todd solndz to guy maddin to woody allen (who was emcee-ing). i think that it looks awfully cool and that i'd love to go when suddenly i realize that it's taking place in this hotel and furthermore, this conference is the reason i'm here. i hurry into the lobby/conference to see for myself. maybe it's because i've gotten to the party late or because i'm in the wrong conference room, but there isn't much here. all of the booths are for crappy small-scale video distributors all so desperate that they're giving out stacks of their videos for free.

11 january
at mom's house. she's moving and taking very little with her. it's her latest attempt to clean up her life and start new, and tidier, living. we all know that like with the last time it's doomed to fail, but we're all there to help anyway. there seems to be some kind of hurry involved in getting the "keepers" and getting out of the house -- maybe it's being demolished, burned down after we leave. i ask and in fact new people are mobving in, taking the house and all teh crap as a package deal i'm a little embarassed becaus ei know that i wont get every little personal thing out and i dont really want strangers pawing through all this, but i'll just have to deal. i am going throughb some of mystuff and i find some tiny little vials of nail polish which i keep. i suddenly realize i need to egt my clothes an dstart frantically throwing clothes in my bag at semi-random grappling with the decision of what to keep and what to leave behind forever.

10 january
so i'm walking around downtown and suddenly i'm starving and the only place around is mcdonald's. i relent and go inside mcdonalds - my first time visiting one of these restaurants in years. i figure i'll get some fries and maybe a coke or something. i get in line and for some reason it seems to be taking a very long time to get any service. they're calling the name of someone whose order is up. in fact, they've been calling the name for about ten minutes now. the guy working behind the counter looks frustrated and peeved. he really wants someone to come pick up this order. finally a young woman walks up to the counter and says, "you know, he's not coming. it was a prank and he gave you a fake name."
the counter person looks terribly peeved. "well, what the hell am i supposed to do with 50 cups of TEA now?" i look at the tray he's been carrying and there are several cups of tea lined up neatly in a row, each with a different tea bag.
"i don't know," she says, "but can i have the earl grey?" he gives it to her and then looks up at me. i consider asking for the english breakfast but i don't want him to think that i am in cahoots with the prankster so i just ask for the fries.

9 january
it's been a long time. i know, but i've not really been sleeping much lately so i've not had any dreams -- none really worth remembering anyway. it's tough to keep dreams in my head when i am jolted awake every morning by the incessant beeping of my alarm clock at a time when i've not even achieved stage 4 sleep yet.
but having said all that, i did get to sleep in this morning and this is what i remember.
i am on the phone chatting with darcy and flipping through a travel/leisure magazine. i open to an advert feturing a large luxury hotel on a white sand beach. the hotel has emblazoned on it these words : iraq-london. it's a superfancy resort-style hotel on teh exclusive shores of teh persian gulf. it looks positivly enticing. before i have time to think abou it, i am suddenly outside the baghdad airport waiting for a subway train to the coast. i get to the beach and teh hotel is just as fabulous as teh picturein the magazine seemed to suggest. i imaging spending a long vactaion there, waking up late in the day and spending my days playing in the ocean. idyllic. suddenly, and a bit tardily, i become worried about my safety. if bombings start again, will i be injured? will i be able to leave? how will i afford to leave? how did i afford to get here? how will i afford to stay? are there eurostyle hostels in baghdad? will i be jailed, abused, killed because i am an american? i comfort myself with the thought that at least i dont look too terribly american and i may go unnoticed or at leats unharrased. it's late in the day and i know taht the last flight out of the airport has already left so i decide to check into the hotel for tonight and try to catch a plane out tomorrow morning.
i go upstairs to my room and darcy is there. i'm surprised, but not too terribly since we were on the phone together when the though to come here first hit me. but i am worried about her because she's so obviously american. we have to return home -- and soon.