sWell (shakewell) wrote,

keeping the dream alive OR nothing but rest for the wicked

went back to bed...

marching band competition, drum majors amanda robbins-meyers and this old dude from my environmental geology lab, color guard encore, kasy frazier flag solo, flags on the field, sabers in the end zone

i remembered the lyrics to the song for a while, but then i got caught up in some other things...

"i ain't, i ain't yo baby daddy..." to the tune of "hood rat, hood rat, hoochie mama..."

i dreamed about being in the army with mathew perry, tom boone and (i think) amanda robbins-meyers as my drill sergeant. we played a lot of softball and matthew perry brought tom boone up on some charges over eavesdropping on amanda's podcast.

menlie let me listen to her ipod which was actually a nintendo revolution controller

i dreamed an editorial meeting of the mchs underground. mr jones was there and that's the first time i ever dreamed that someone who is dead was still alive. he was always in the same pose and same clothes as in the picture i took of him on the train in d.c.

during my morning commute, i tried to hire my school bus driver to take the underground staff on a field trip.

i went to the recycling center in madison to find crates to keep my records in. everything was mirrored across the north-south axis. driving toward me on the highway was a man dressed as an arab (very world police) and waving his arms and his rifle in his jeep. i shot him because i thought he was a terrorist, but he was an undercover marine. after that, maybe i died too. i was floating into the building. i could feel the change in temperature as i crossed the threshold (so hot!). everything was shut down. cheech marin was whittling with another mexican and amy lewis was sitting on a picnic table. they talked about how they weren't going to make the regatta rugs this year because the weaving pattern was too complicated (at least that's what cheech though after taking one semester of basket weaving). all the old rugs were hanging up on the wall. they were the size of license plates and looked like pre-school craft projects. a fatter, younger pedro walked up dragging a mariachi guitar. he told amy he got a gardening job for $5/hr. she said that was good because she could only afford to pay him $3/hr. she counted out $9 and stacked it between her straddled legs on the table. then she poured out four lines of coke/meth. she had my wallet. she got out another dollar and said "if you're very good..." before he snorted the third line, he exhaled and blew powder all over amy's jeans. she rolled up the dollar and he used it to snort it off her crotch.
Tags: dreams

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