night of 12/21/2010

1

i am staying in a bed-and-breakfast in a small dusty town. it's two small rooms across the hall from one another, two beds per room. [see: my house/bedroom as a child.] a detective comes in; he mentions he's looking for a fugitive embezzler, the one who's staying in that empty unmade bed over there. that's the bed i'm staying in. i appear to have amnesia. i know he means me. i keep mum. later janine comes--i don't know her, or she me. we take to each other. we plan to spend the next day in bed watching movies together on the little black-and-white TV at the end of the bed. we're getting ready. i don't want to get into the bed because then the detective (across the hall, who can see into the room with both doors open) will see and know who i am.

2

i'm driving on the highway and i have missed my turn. i remember how sometimes i used to do that when i lived in buffalo and i'd have to go over the canadian border, then come back across. fortunately you didn't need your passport in those days. now suddenly this is the mexico border; i'd better stop! i go under an overpass and pull the car over. there is a door in the foundation of the overpass, i go in. there is a woman in a uniform here. she starts speaking spanish. i realize i've entered mexico. a man comes in and i begin explaining my situation; i don't have my passport. the woman is examining the contents of my wallet.

eventually they are persuaded to help me. two toughs appear to help me carry the car into the doorway, down a path and across a stream, and finally up some rickety stairs that arrive at a deck edge that is the border. the three of us clumsily work the car up to the top. the two men jump immediately into a hole in the deck to return to mexico. i look down and see another man hanging by his neck. is he being executed? no, he's masturbating. others are preparing to asphyxiate themselves as well. looks like the beginning of an autoerotic orgy.

night of 12/12/2010

1
i am coercing a sunflower into a rose, for a magic trick where i will change it back. the petals are the hardest. i can't get them to curl and look natural. it is a physical process but i don't know if i use my fingers. finally i succeed well enough and perform the trick for a.; i pass my hand over the top of the flower and then release the change, and repeat for the length of the stem. a. is suitably impressed.

2
i am on a conference call, walking. i arrive down in the lab where the others are and we realize we can hang up the phone. i am being upbraided by e. for bad (lazy, naive) code. i have no conception of the right way to do it. i begin to describe my insufficiency in great detail, and apologize at length. this appears to be the end of the matter. e. has a face of a piece of lab equipment. his eyes are off center and consist of a two-digit LCD readout: 00. this is a sad look. e2. comes to hug him and he begins to sob.

i am walking out very distraught. i keep dropping to my knees as i try to walk. people can see and i'm not sure if i want them to. i'm not sure if i keep falling for show, or because i am genuinely weak with anxiety and shame. i come outside and fall again.

night of 12/8/2010

i am riding my bike back over the sandy yards of some beachfront shacks. it's new and shiny purple (like my kid's new bike). i slip in the gap of a misaligned fence and jam my bike. i have to extract first the front wheel and toss it out, then the rest of the frame. when i emerge the wheel is gone. i put the frame down to investigate it. soon the frame is gone too. it's obvious that the beach kids milling around are responsible. i begin beseeching them, threatening, yelling at them to give the bike parts back. mocking and disdain in return. i search for the parts and recover a few. it's getting late. i recall i have something like some classes to get to.

finally i recover most of the pieces hidden around the beach, and approach the two apparent ringleaders. two sandy blonds, slightly tan beach kids. they have marginally lazy eyes on opposite light eyes, mirrors of one another. i bend to study them closely, silently. one of them asks, "what are you doing?" "i am making sure i remember your faces. someday i will meet you again." this finally is enough to frighten them. one reaches into his pocket and produces the remaining pieces, segments of the chain. i dump all of the pieces into my shirt held up by the hem.

i walk into the house keening, sobbing. i glimpse guests down the hall, turning to see what the racket is. i run upstairs. i have realized on the way home (my old childhood home; the beach was also the main road in front) that i am in the process of missing my finals that day; the last of the three is just beginning and i wouldn't make it. also i didn't attend any of the classes all year. (the usual dream, except that i had some hope if only i'd made the finals.) that on top of the dismantled bike. janine says that j.(1) will be staying over. i don't know if she is embarrassed. i am embarrassed. i think she will disdain me, but possibly she is only trying to figure what to do. we'd recently sat with j.(2) who observed that i would resort to excruciating crisis to allow me rest and care.

night of 11/30/2010

a rain looms, and i get the car back just in time. our family has moved into the house where i grew up. i am battening the french doors in the kitchen and dining room, driving the bolts into the floor and ceiling to hold them against the storm. the hindmost door in the dining room hasn't been puled away from the wall in a long time; when i swing it shut i see lumpy masses by the hinge. i wonder aloud why my father had just painted over whatever it was--dirt? debris? i realize it's egg sacs plastered to the wood.

i back away, scanning. janine and ayla are in another room. i see the spider, a big wolf. i'm trying to keep it in sight and maneuver over to the camera. if i can get a picture, i can look it up to see how to deal with it. then there's another spider, even bigger, gray, across the counter. i am up on the opposite counter trying to get a shot. the wolf is considering me. then it edges over to the gray one; i hope they'll fight and simplify my problem. then ayla strolls into the kitchen right next to the counter. no! ayla, run! she won't respond quickly enough. she'll stand there and ask me what i'm talking about. the wolf leaps! no! no!

--
eggs. mother.
backing away rather than just squishing it.
ayla defenseless from the leaping threat; my child.