Sunday, March 18, 2012
I found myself on a TV show, although I couldn’t tell if it was a single episode or a series, as a character called “keeper of the kine.” How I’d become a television cowherd, I had no idea.
I was in an empty classroom between classes, being tutored by a college math instructor (real person) on a small part in a musical being staged just so he could spend time with me and get me alone on an iceberg drifting from part of the stage to another. I was supposed to kiss sea otters along the way. Worse, I (and others) was supposed to lip synch because I couldn’t sing. None of it made sense to me, and I was appalled by the effort and expense this man was putting into making an impression on me—and I didn’t even have a major role.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
I was returning to my room in a dormitory when I made what I thought was an innocuous suggestion to J. After becoming defensive and angry, he locked me out of my room—I realized too late that he had the key.
I didn’t want to call the police because doing so might affect a deadline he was trying to meet. In a panic, I climbed to the floor above my room and saw that it was completely open on top—there was no ceiling, just like in a dollhouse. I couldn’t imagine how I’d lived there without noticing or knowing that. As I looked down, I saw a figure dragging J. away while looking up at me and grinning evilly. It was someone I used to work for. I wondered about his new role as dormitory head.