Monthly Archives: November 2009

Meeting in California

I’m supposed to go to a meeting in California but I’m not wearing any pants. I stop by a mall kiosk that sells yoga gear and plan to buy any pants I can. I’m happily relieved to find a pair that’s on sale, because otherwise I would have spent quite a bit of money. Once I’ve picked out my pants I notice that they’re selling a scarf that’s on sale, so I decide to buy that too. I also grab a bottle of water.

I take my items up to the register and hand the salesclerk my wallet. She rings up a very large dollar amount and I express my surprise; I know the items I’ve selected don’t cost that much. She shows me that she’s rung up a whole list of items that appear on a receipt in my wallet. I explain to her that I’m not buying those items today, and point out the date on the receipt. It’s nearly a year old.

Once I’ve resolved that issue and have some pants on, I go to my meeting. My job is to construct a train. There are some train pieces made out of wood. I add some additional cars by taking pieces of cantaloupe and melon that are in the fruit salad provided as a snack for the meeting.

Conference

I’m at a conference (aren’t I always) and everyone I know from high school and work is giving a speech. The room is set up like a conference with chairs but the stage looks like a stage in a grade school gym, with a red curtain and a flag. The speaker is wearing a navy blue suit and a red tie.

I’m miffed that I haven’t been asked to give a speech. I get up to walk out of the room and the speaker calls down to me and asks if I’d like to speak. I act condescending and say that I’m too busy. Later, as I’m watching people talk, I wonder why I said that. I should have just admitted that I wanted to talk. But it seems like it’s too late.

I set out boxes of thank you cards on a table at the side of the conference. They have the Bond logo on them. I encourage people to take a card and write a thank-you note to someone they want to give thanks to.

Later, I am working on a project with Friedman. I want to make changes to something on a website but I can’t figure out how. He comes over and shows me the edit link. It’s too small to see.

Face Powder and Hand Weight

I’m on a train and I’m standing near the end of a train car. At the opposite end I notice several of the guys from my high school debate team. I walk down and greet them all, and I give hugs to Steve S. and Joe C.

When I get off the train I go home. I’m supposed to attend an event or a party and it’s important that I arrive on time. I’m running late and I realize I don’t have any makeup on. In a hurry, I go to the bathroom and dump powder on my face. I wind up with huge white splotches all over my face, and I try to wipe them off. This process doesn’t save me any time. I look at the clock and see that I’m 20 minutes late already, and resign myself to the fact that I won’t arrive on time.

When I get there, I’m walking around a strange event space, it’s sort of like a store and sort of like an amusement part. I am carrying a silver metal hand weight (shake weight?) I realize that one of the metal end pieces has fallen off. My immediate concern is that something from inside the weight will now fall out.

Bunk Bed Living

Everyone from Bond is living together in a dorm with bunk beds. Movers come to take us someplace else and install new bunk beds.Everyone puts all their stuff in piles on the bed.

When the mover arrives he says that we can’t just pile our stuff on the beds, everything has to be packed in suitcases or boxes. I look at the new bunk beds and realize they’re too small—you wouldn’t be able to sit up if you were in the bottom bunk. I say that we’ll have to return the new beds and find better ones.

I make an announcement to the entire group about this. I tell everyone I have two things to tell them: 1) they have to pack their stuff and 2) we need to buy new beds. While I’m talking, someone comes up and interrupts me between points one and two. I get annoyed since it’s clear I’m still talking, and I’m nervous about people’s response.

Everyone is upset but instead of complaining about packing, they complain about the fact that they moved out of their parents’ homes. Everyone agrees that living with their parents was much better than this. They all glare at me like it’s my fault. I feel responsible, like it’s because of me that they can’t go home again.