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12:20:2003 Entry: "Ann : Two DREAMs, unrelated."

Two DREAMs, unrelated.

I was at home, but the house looked more like my grandmother's house as far as layout. Someone knocked on the door. I answered it, and it turned out to be someone Stan and I used to be friends with that we don't want anything to do with anymore. I'll refer to him as "Glenn." I let him in against my better judgment. What was strange is that it was as if I was reading a letter of apology from him simultaneously as he was talking to me in person. It was very surreal. I knew this was bound to happen one day, that he'd come back begging for our forgiveness (although I don't see that as a possibility IRL right now), and dammit, I caved. Stan was not around to do otherwise. So Glenn brought all his belongings into the house...computer, sleeping gear...it seemed that he was going to stay with us for a while. Oh joy. So I decided to tell him what's been up with me in the past three years, and warned him that what I was about to tell him might change his mind about me as far as wanting to know me. I started going on about progressive music, and I forgot what I was saying--I don't think it made much sense. He was quite interested and listened to me intently (which is odd for this Glenn...he never really cared when you told him about yourself)...but then I said that I had become a very big Pink Floyd fan and that I had been wrong all those years (that I'd been friends with him) not to have been listening to Pink Floyd. Suddenly his demeanor changed...it was as if I had told him I'd been a serial killer. He no longer seemed to be overly happy that I was letting *him* back into *my* life. He seemed very cautious and cold.

Heh.

I was in a strange place that seemed like it was a combination of Woodman's (large grocery store in my city) and the place that Stan works...the front office/residence halls area. For some odd reason I was helping some woman bag groceries, but I was putting the groceries into a shopping cart, not into bags at a checkout line. Evidentally, this was my "job," and the woman was my supervisor. Stan was nearby. After I helped her, she walked away, but she didn't tell me what to do next. I was really angry and upset and started to cry and complain to Stan, saying things like, "This is why I hate working for other people. They are so rude, and they don't take the time to tell you what to do when you're working under them...they just expect you to know what to do! If I had people under me, I would tell them what to do so that they could stay busy. Instead, what am I supposed to do? Just hang out and do nothing?" or words to that effect. Stan was trying to console me, and took me down a corridor that was like a hallway in a school that had art displays of student work, except it was work of the residents that lived there (who are mostly mentally/physically ill). The work was very amateurish, just pieces of construction paper with other pieces of construction paper and metallic stars and play-doh bits glued to it. He said that one of the residents actually sells his work, and he asked me if I could guess how much his pieces go for. I took a stab at it and guessed "$20." Stan told me it was $400. The thought that people bought pieces of crap just because it was done by someone mentally ill and physically defective made me even MORE upset. In a doorway there was a man standing holding a person who was the size of a child, but somehow I knew it was the "artist." He was small, maybe 60 lbs? black hair, goatee, olive skin, glasses, I think. (I think this is probably similar to the way a client Tim had looked, who was spastic and very obnoxious). Then I woke up crying from the dream. It was hard to stop because the emotions a dream leaves with you are so very intense and it's hard to shake them off entirely after you wake up.

By Ann @ 20:52 AM CST:12:20:03 ..::Link::..