Be Quiet!

The other night I dreamt that the parish I grew up in, St. Michael's, had been sold and converted into a mainline Protestant mega-church, complete with sound engineers, wide-screen monitors, theater lighting, and stadium seating.

For some reason, the entire school was there, and I was sitting with a section full of freshmen and sophomores who I don't know. The faculty was spread really thin; I was supervising about 100 kids. And they wouldn't shut up! Be quiet! I ejected several students from my section.

Sweet Dreams

So last night I dreamt that I was driving on a curvy bridge over the water... and I lost control and the car splashed into the water. I reached for the door handle with my right hand (was I driving a British car?) but I didn't get the door open in time... damn, I would have to wait until the car was full of water, so that the pressure could equalize....

.... fade to black...

Seconds later, I was driving my British future car over a curvy bridge over the water... the universe had given me a second chance... and I lost control and the car spashed into the water. But this time, I opened the door right away, and was able to get to shore.

I went home to my big new house, where my sister was there, only she was EVIL. I don't remember much else about her....

I do remember getting into the shower, the walls of which were painted purple. I looked down and realized I still had my jeans on.

Tita Went to Texas

Have you all been reading Tita?

You better read about how she went to Texas. I won't spoil it for you here, but the story does include "Ay! Puki malagkit!" and a picture of homemade tsinelas.

So, I just woke up from a nap. Ever since I sprained my colon, I've been taking long naps here and there, whenever I can. Today I dreamt I shared a giant warehouse loft with my sister, and that we were both watching tv. Only she brought along a huge panther, a pet which she took out occasionally for walks and naps, but which lived full-time at the canary shop downstairs.

At a certain point, we all fell asleep in front of the tv, me, my sister, and the giant panther. When I woke up, my sister was asleep, so I tried to leave the room quietly, but the panther started growling at me. When she woke up finally, I was a little bashful but I asked her not to bring the panther into the loft anymore, because I was scared it would eat me. Do panthers eat people?

Anyway, the best part of the dream was the giant loft. I think it was on the Waterfront.

Too Much Sleep

Lately, I've been sleeping too much. 10 to 12 hours. This time last year, I was sleeping 5 hours a night, and getting headaches during the day due to lack of sleep. Here are some possible reasons why:

1. maybe my body is fighting off the killer flu that closed another high school (no symptoms/knock on wood)
   
2. maybe i'm experiencing depression (doubt it)
3. maybe tv is objectively not that interesting right now (likely)

In any case, last night I hit the sack around 8:30. I woke up around 4:00 am, very well rested, but of course it was only 4:00 am, so I went back to bed. Whenever I give myself that extra sleep that my body doesn't know what to do with, I always end up remembering strange dreams.

I dreamt my dad put my mama and I in a van in Sto. Tomás, and the reason he told me was to go shopping in Manila. Of course, first we stopped less than a mile from where we started, at a store run apparently by one of our relatives. My dad stopped the car and got a big bag of m&ms and threw them into the car, not realizing that there was a whole in the bag, and m&ms went spilling all over the ground. Before my dad could turn on his family charm, a kid came up to him and scolded him, telling him the m&ms were not his. He disappeared into the back for a while, while my mama and I sat in the van, which we realized was slowly rolling. He ran back out and put it in park, but then I got annoyed, so I got out of the car, walked around to the driver's side, and put on the emergency break.

Then my dad came back and told us, ok, time to go to Manila. Once the car was going, though, he went in another direction and I started to get mad. He told me we were going to stop at another house, and he wanted me to go inside. Who's there? I asked. What will I do?

He said 'just go inside!' and acted like I was being unreasonable, but I told him to forget it. Screw that. Throughout my childhood, my dad has always tried to surprise me, and I have always always HATED his surprises. Always. Categorically. I hate my dad's surprises. EVERY SINGLE ONE. I started telling him, and he got mad, so he just drove the next few blocks, parked in (another relative's) garage, and then went in himself.

I asked mama what he wanted me to go in for, and mama said, of course, to pick up some food. After a while a man I didn't know came out, started the van back up again and drove us another few blocks to a dead end. I thought, ok, he's parking the car for us. I started telling my mama how frustrating it was that I was told we were going to Manila, and instead we were doing all these things. Mama to told me to be patient, but I said, I don't lie to dad! Why does he lie to me? He is a liar! And mama said he's not a liar, he just doesn't like to tell you everything. Just be patient.

At this point the man in the driver's seat who had parked us at a dead end pulled a gun on me. I laughed at him, because I could see that it was a plastic flare gun, that wasn't even loaded. So then I grabbed him by his long hair, dragged him out of driver's seat and through the passenger's side door, and started savagely beating him in the face.

I woke up during the savage beating, and wondered breifly who the man I was savagely beating was, and what had happened to my dad in the house. But then I remembered, oh, it's just dream violence.

Look, when the plan is 'we're going to Manila,' I want to go to Manila. Period. If the plan is something else, just frikken tell me, and I'll be ok. But if you put me in a car and tell me a fake plan, then SOMEBODY IS GOING TO GET SAVAGELY BEAT IN THE FACE.

I need to know the plan. Once I know the plan, I am on board.

Maybe I'll get washed up and go out to breakfast.

Life is Wonderful

I had a dream that a contractor came over, and brought his daughter with him because he didn't have child care. She was eleven or twelve.

The contractor had to take off for a while, asked if it was ok if the daughter hung out with me for a while. Sure, I said, no problem. He took off, and she stayed, but soon she was crying. What's wrong, I asked, and she said that she was worried because he had such a high fever. I had noticed that he was looking under the weather, so I told the girl to call her dad, tell him to take her home, and then take care of himself.

The girl agreed to call, but after a few minutes I realized she was distracting herself, milling around, going through her stuff . . . doing everything but calling. She's scared, I thought, so I took out my cell phone and said, don't worry, I'm calling him right now.

She started screaming and trying to force me into a corner. "I am going to kill you" she screamed, "I am going to kill all three of us! You are going to die!" At this point, she's throwing stuff at me, whatever she can find. Of course, it's my house, so 'whatever she can find' means laundry. She did manage to find a sliding closet door, which she detached and dropped on me.

I managed to get away from her and run upstairs easily enough. As I ran upstairs I dialed 911 on my cell phone. I called, and it was a wrong number, 947. What? I dialed again, 911, but the numbers on the screen showed 947. By this point, I'm upstairs, and she has stayed downstairs, shreiking and crying. I decide to lock myself in the upstairs bedroom, and try to call 911. I am dialing it correctly, why does it keep saying 947?

Why? Because they have reprogrammed my phone. The daughter has flushed me out of the downstairs, and the dad is waiting for me, probably just outside my front door. She's probably robbing my stuff downstairs, while the dad is waiting outside to clobber me (or worse) so that they can have the whole house to themselves.

I wake up. 4:30 am. I thought about the song "Life is Wonderful" by Jason Mraz, and how I was too panicked in my dream to think of my options.

It's now 5:00 am and I'm not really sleepy. But my back hurts, so I'm going to go lie down for an hour.

Dream, Monday afternoon.

I dreamt that as I let myself into the green house we used to live in, a very dark girl had let herself into my house, looking for my sister, who had apparently addicted her to a certain candy. I told her that I didn't know what she was talking about, that my sister didn't live there any more, and to get out.

The next part, I forgot, but I don't think it's related.

Anyway, later in the dream, I went downstairs to discover the girl back again, sitting on the couch, waiting for my sister. I told her to get out, she was a little more irritated this time, didn't get that she wasn't supposed to break in.

The house was decorated for Christmas. A lot of lights in the house were not working.

I went to the dining room and discovered a secret passage to the crawl space, I remember feeling cool air blowing up from it. And then I realized that the sliding door on the dining room patio was open, and I thought maybe that's the way the girl was coming in, and maybe she's back. So I closed the door, locked, it, and searched the house, threatening whoever I might find, hopeing I wouldn't find anyone.

I went downstairs to find a meeting of monks, all white guys in brown robes, in the downstairs rec room. They were pleased to see me, as if they had been waiting to see who would come down the stairs. The superior asked why I seemed so confused, and then somehow realized I didn't belong at this secret society meeting. How did you find us? I told him about the girl, which didn't ring a bell with him, but he said, yes, just a minute, raised his hand and started counting. Around the number three I started to fell like I was waking up from this dream... but then he got to 10 or 11 and I was still there. It's not working, said one of the monks. The superior asked me what kind of training I had.

I said, well, I work at a Jesuit school. They all looked relieved at the explanation, but concerned for my sake that I was still there and not waking up. The superior went into the garage, and I followed him, but was distracted by a tall elderly woman with a church hat and a white cardigan who had wandered into the garage looking for an author who had listed her address as our house. After her, I saw another character (forgotten) and then I saw a man who had disproportionately big hands and no eyes, who came up to the garage door was and chanted his little rhyme about he had touched something which made him blind and had caused his hands to become that size.

By this time I had lost track of the father superior, but whatever he did must have worked, because BOOM I awoke in my bed with a gasp. It was 7:30 pm.

As I wait for all those stress hormones which woke me up to dissipate, I wonder about the monks. Were they all just a dream, or did I come across a secret society of men who held meetings in dream land? Do they usually accept people who go downstairs into their meeting? Why did it matter that I work with Jesuits? And what power did the father superior have to wake me up from my dream? What did my sister give that dark girl, who kept breaking into the green house?

And why do I still remember?

It was ONLY a dream

This morning I dreamt that I was a little kid again, with a bunch of other little kids--of course I was the oldest. I dreamt that we were at a party, and all the adults wanted to gossip, so they took over the kitchen and had us sit in the dining area.

Then my dad came out with a tub of exotic fruity ice cream, with five different flavors. Tamarind, guava, avocado, passion fruit, and mango. My dad served the youngest first, and went around the table and got to me. I asked for a halo-halo; a little of each flavor. He served me happily, and I was excited to eat.

Then he took the pile of spoons off the table and said he'd be right back. We waited, and waited, and then started getting disappointed. Dad? I called? I could hear the adults laughing in the kitchen. Dad! Are you bringing the spoons?

By now, the ice cream is melting, and the little kids are starting to cry. Then I realized he was doing it again. He is an expert at setting people up for something and then denying it to them. Also, one of his favorite things to do is make us wait for him, to keep himself the center of attention as long as possible. I didn't want to go into the kitchen of laughing adults to get the spoons myself because by now I was crying too.

DAD! DAAAAD! I'm screaming angrily, and swearing to the younger kids that I would rip off his arms and beat him with them. Someday, will step on his IV. No I won't.

DAAAAD! DAAD! DAAAAAAD! DAAAAD! DAAAAD!

I shouted myself awake, angry at my father who I haven't lived with in almost ten years, with a sad craving for tamarind ice cream.

Anyway, that was just a dream.

Here's an actual memory: when we were kids, and we were all piled into a van, going camping somewhere maybe , we'd be listening to the radio, and a song we really, really liked would come on the radio--I'm thinking "Freedom" by Wham!. Anyway, we'd all burst into singing, because that's how we are, and we're all happy and then my dad would happily click! turn the radio off.

Hey! all the kids said, disappointed. My mom would say, "That's mean." And then my dad would say "I just wanted to hear the kids sing." Then he'd turn the radio back on again, and all the kids would immediately start singing again and be just as happy as they were; all the kids, that is, except for me.

Me, I would be sitting in the back seat, quietly contemplating how much I hated my father, as my cousins sang excitedly all around me.

Dreams and Choices

I had several dreams last night, but I only remember one. I remember chastising B during an intermission at a horrifyingly boring assembly at which they were going over a multiple choice social studies final. It was taking FOREVER, and I complained bitterly about it, exasperated and dramatic like Scarlet O'Hara, throwing myself in frustration onto an adjustable bed. It cracked me up. My dreams lately have been ridiculous.

I dragged my sorry ass out of bed this morning at 6:20; I got dressed and left the house at 7am sharp. On my way out the door, I debated with myself as to how to feed my obnoxious hunger. I had wanted to get a couple of bahn mi from Saigon Deli, but I didn't want to be late for work. So I made a poor choice and spent my last 4 dollars on a gross Burger King breakfast biscuit.

I taught one class, the challenging class, but a lot of students were out sick, so it wasn't so bad. There is something nasty going around; I can't help but wonder if it has something to do with the headache I have right now. After my class, my prep period was spent busting out labels and flash-planning the k meeting. During the lunch period, I was meeting with student leaders, and then it was back up to the classroom. After that was a rehearsal, and after that I busted out of there and drove up to the Ave. I tried to get $40 from the cash machine, but it wasn't cooperating; i.e., nsf. So I took out $20 and walked up to Than Vi, and scarfed down charbroiled beef skewers with rice vermicelli. I ran out of there and hopped into the car and drove back to school for the three hour k meeting.

I finally made it home at 7pm. I made myself a bowl of rice, eggplant, and li'l smokies. I have a lot of work to do, but my email is so slow right now. They're webcasting the big game. Hmph.

Hmph, they better be good.

H's friend in England sent this problematically named candy to her. We have yet to sample, but but I'm going to send a copy this image to a Congalese guy I know.

Here's another ethnically themed snack. When will I be able to snack on something named after a stereotype of ignorant white people? Hmph, it better taste good.

I wrote a blog earlier that didn't get published. It was about a dream I had that D broke into somebody's messy house and was pouring out the liquor cabinet like it was her own. When the owner finally showed up, I woke up panting. It was a great dream, with sunlight, hardwood floors, dirty dishes and clean bras next to each other on the counter.