men at the foot of my bed that aren't there really. you can't see them, but they're there

i am feeling to restless too sleep and this is my dream. i get my guitar to play and make me feel better. it is has new dents and is terribly fucked up. i decide i will have to bring it to get fixed somewhere and from then on it will be left at home.

earlier dream - i'm walking and stop by a radio station. the equipment is in a closet like thing and the floor is ankle deep in water. i think about how dangerous this is. the man is about to change cds, i say excuse me. he starts to play guitar and i sing along. he tells me to sing louder because he can't hear me. i apologize. my guitar is with me

so i realize that this dented guitar is not mine, but his. i'm horrified. i have to think of a way to get mine back. Kaitlin is leaving to go pick something up from someone who is at a place called "moes muffins" on "the west end"

i get on my computer to pass the time. my room is as is. will granberry sends me a video chat invite. everyone is there, including some obscure cat. in the video shot of me there is a man sitting behind me on my bed. i am laying on my belly, in the dark - the light highlighting me and a MAN is sitting with his legs off the side of my goddamn bed. he is not there really, but he is there on the screen. i move my screen so i don't have to look at him. i think this is a dream and ask "do you guys see man behind me?" chelsea laughs saying "yea, hah who is that?" i slam the computer close and wake the fuck up.

to dream, you need new york

lincoln,nebraska -i can skateboard enough to get by. three great men go to yoga. i can't tell them in which direction it is. well maybe i know the building. i take one to the barracks. we get back, only to intrude on a painting class. 'it's okay,' i say,'i am a painter!'

a play with all my people in it.
they were all each others' people. i had no place there.

so i left. my shoes, my purse, my crossword puzzle were back at the stands. i walk home in my socks.

grandma wanted to go back to the nursing home. she tried to drive herself with my car

outside my door i heard her say "maybe you're a genius, maybe your something else. or maybe you are one of those procrastinators. remember volume, remember light! " (said in a less accusative, more monologue sort of tone). i knew she was there. i didn't have to respond. i was napping.



worst case scenario: i ride my bike - you show me the way home. i'm being followed by a man. i tell you to slow down. i'm being followed by a man. i tell you, you don't understand. you think i'm signaling keep going. this man is following me and you notice to late. you see, you slow down. it is too late. you try to punch him. you knock him off his bike. he lands in the road. he will get hit by a car. we can't just leave him there i say. but we can you say. we keep going. the man in the road yells - i am him!. you realize it was a misunderstanding. you can't take it back. a car runs him over and you can't take it back.

he is still alive, but this is post-scenario talk. he drags himself to the side of the road but where to go now-- he is a twisted shape in a marching band - crooked and mangled amongst hundreds of identically dressed and poised men.