You again

I dreamed of you again last night.
I am not sure how it came to be, but you were here, and I was somewhere, and we kept meeting up here and there.
I had some tickets in my pocketbook, and some of the people tried to take them away, they stole them and passed them out thinking there were football tickets. They were travel tickets. And I got most of them back. But not all of them, I don't think. Anyway, then there was this guy who married my friend Karen, whose wedding I was at in real life, and took the photos. I stumbled across the photos last night while looking for my leftover Christmas wrap. I saw Karen in her wedding dress right before bed and that's probably why she was in the dream. But anyway, there was this artist, a handsome guy, foreign and tall. He had mostly dark hair, some grey. He was a painter and he was strange to most people, but I really liked him.

Well, this guy announces that he is going to need to get married, and Karen runs to whisper to her husband that she wants a divorce so that she can marry artist guy (who is older than her or her husband) She and artist guy marry the next day and I know they are not a good match. I wish he would have picked me instead, just waited a couple of days until I could have met him. Well, sure enough, they are not a good match, she does not care for his artist ways, and she leaves, asks her 1st husband to take her back. So I go to his area in the pavilion where he paints, trying to introduce myself. He is shuffling off with all of his supplies, carrying them to the upstairs where he lives. I wait by the cast iron table to see if he returns for his watercolor boxes and leftover supplies. I want to meet him, he does not return.

So I am now in the house of an unknown person the leftovers of the wedding feast are being made into some kind of seafood chowder. Some of the people who stole my tickets are there, and I demand they return them. One person I know as a sweet person, has bought my ticket from someone else, I offer to pay the ten dollars to have it back. Soon the person who cooked is there and she is not pleased with me and asked me to leave. I wonder why, and then your Annie steps in behind her and I realize why I am unwanted there.

So I end up at my Grandma's house. It is like it is from the old days when I was a girl, full of veterans. When I was a girl, there was a veteran from WWI there, his name was Jack. Jim the retarded guy was there as always and s0 were so many others who were missing fingers or such... leftovers and forgotten from WWII. But this time, there were twice as many, a whole bunch of them eating supper. There was a lecturer there. You were there too, sitting and eating. I sit down next to you and you are happy to see me. You give me a pair of your pants/undershorts. I think you took them off right there and then, but maybe not, and then I was to put them on and I did, but like, without it being obvious...then you show me the pink boyshorts that I usually wear, I think gave you a pair the last time I saw you apparently, and you are showing me them kinda like a joke or a private thing... you joke that they were too small for you, like the last time I saw you, you needed a clean pair or something...anyway I am like: "Put those away, we are in public!" So then a woman comes around and sticks her head in. She is severe with her hair in a grey bun. She is German, but I don't know why, maybe her outfit. she has an accent... She says something and I cannot hear it, so I ask what?? and she looks at me and yells. YIKES, she is scary, she is looking for the people who steal tickets. Not me so I don't worry about it.

It is soo good to see you, your eyes are piercing blue today and I keep looking at you, feasting my eyes. I am sitting near you and we are in a room full of people, but it feels like we are alone. We talk and laugh and joke and soon it is nighttime. We go our separate ways. You are sort of hiding out in my Grandma's house, blending in with all of the war veterans. You are upstairs in the sleeping area of the house for war veterans that my grandma used to run. I go up there to find you... I am on tiptoes, trying not to wake anyone. I wonder which bed is yours? They are all twin beds, and I look and look and I find you in the last room, sitting at the desk, reading the news on the computer. I put my arms around you, and look into your eyes, your eyes are serious. Your country is being attacked, and you are upset. "I must go soon" you tell me. But neither of us want you to leave. You feel an obligation to be there, and we are both sad about your departure. It feels like it is a war.

But it was really good to see you smiling at the dinner table, eyes twinkling and you joking every other minute. We hugged too, alot and that was great.

The Money

Me and some slick-back-daddy are in a field. Slick-back has and entire BRICK of money, like a box, but it's money, alot of money alot alot of money. And slick-back is planning on burying it in the field (it's wrapped in cellophane. There is so much that he struggles to carry it all. Somehow, I am an accomplice to this. And the impression is that it is you know, ill gotten gains. Soon it is evident that slick-back has some idea of whacking me over the head with his shovel... but that is soon thwarted by the arrival of two goodie two-shoes girls. The girls, are plain and simple and full of good intentions, like they are picking wildflowers or something like that and stumble upon SB by accident. So he proceeds to WHACK them in the head instead. but they recover, quickly and there is a hiway to the left of us, and some female busdriver notices SB as he intends to o these girls in. The Jig is UP! she is on her bus radio, calling the police. It becomes evident that this money (a huge amount of it) is stolen.

Cut to the mall.

A plush luxury mall with only the finest is where we are now. I don't remember buying anything, but SB has a bunch of stuff, none of which I can remember.

cut to the street corner.
There is a woman there, a foreigner, (German?) and she has an open guitar case or something, she is on the street corner, sitting on a stool and singing I think, she is older, grey hair and she has seen quite a bit of this transaction, like she knows....knows knows the money is dirty, but she approves of the tactic. I think it was my idea, and she likes it, that if SB has to be caught, he should make himself anonymous. How? by giving half of the money away. Full on half of the money is being handed out to poor people (who come to visit the old singing woman). Seems like full-on thousands of dollars are passed directly into the hands of the less fortunate, and of course, the mall is only a block away... of course they go there to spend the money...of course the word is out on the streets that money is getting passed out by where the old woman sits. (she is not that old, she is my friend)

So when they figure to arrest SB, he will just claim to have been passed out money on the street, same as all the rest of the people.

cut back to the mall...

It's not slick-back-daddy being escorted out of the mall, it's mack-daddy instead. Slick back must have had a partner, I guess. I am an observer. I was in the field with SB for some reason, but I did not spend the money in the mall.

I see the look on MD's face as he is escorted out of the mall by police in handcuffs. It seems to say, you'll never pin this on me, soon enough you will find that hundreds of people were in this mall spending the stolen money.

By doing this, passing out the money, SB and MD are able to keep 50% of what they have for themselves, and have created a pretty good smokescreen by passing out the rest to strangers in need.

I am pleased that they took my advice, it may have been stolen money, but it went to people in need, the first of which were the two goodie-two-shoes that stumbled across us in the field.

But I still woke up with a headache that felt like I had been whacked across the head with a shovel!

Wed. morning

OK lots of dream, little memory... so here goes:

I am in High School, there is some kind of big assembly going on.
I am wandering around, and soon settle down in a side corner by the stage. People are handing out playbills, one of these people is in the same space as me. It's a guy, in a white shirt.

A little girl with poofy hair, like a light brown or reddish 'fro asks me if I have seen her friend. I tell her no, she looks distressed, the friend has been in some sort of accident. I do what I can to inquire on her behalf asking the guy with the playbills if he knows anything, he does not. I send her and her friend off to another hallway to ask an adult.

So much more happens that I cannot remember. But soon a frail pale little girl arrives again, she is ADAMANT that I find out what happened to her friend (the one in the accident) OK OK I will help her, and I extract myself from the stage area to take her hand and take her to the office. I know only one person will know. The principal. I also know you do not get into see him just on a whim. So I instruct the girl to follow my lead.
I walk her into the reception area of the office, and greet and whiz past the receptionist. WHo in turn, starts up: "HEY, you can't go in there," but it's too lake, I have opened the door to the offices behind the reception area. They are all empty. a few things litter the floor, phone cords and such.

The receptionist is focused on me and the little pale frail girl.
We are here to see Mr. Taft I say, confused.
(Mr Taft was my High School principal in Houston who died in my sophomore year)
"all of the administrative faculty have moved to the ***** street offices" she tells me.

I start to ask about the little girls friend.
The receptionist tells me she is dead, died on her way to school in a horrible accident. I realize pale frail girl has witnessed it, and is desperate to know if she survived.
There is an African American woman nearby
she corrects receptionist.
"No," she said, "that girl is still alive, she was taken to **** emergency room and is in intensive care"

So frail girl has her answer, and I return to white shirt boy and he has a blanket which covers us both.
but then all American girl arrives and slides in behind him.
"Cherry Vanilla" she says over and over again as she sways back and forth.
I see she is his sweetheart and there is no room for me under the blanket in the assembly at the school by the stage.

I am not the cherry vanilla type of girl.

I move on, alone