TOW 		             
Dreaming; Night of
September 7, 1985
       8:13              I was a smart-alecky student in a British-type private high school. I made a career out of driving my instructors (all male) crazy. I got into trouble in one class I was in and, with a brilliant wit, I reparteed the teacher's comments, making him look like a fool. He told me to leave the class (it was ending anyway) and wait for him outside. I asked if I could take the cutie in front of me with me (to ease my solitude) and to my surprise, he agreed (I had been being facetious). She was a good sport, however, and took my arm to accompany me. I realized that I might have gotten her in trouble so I apologized. She didn't seem to mind. I seemed to be a sort of hero to the other students on campus because of my run-ins with the instructors. Anyway, I went outside (she disappeared) and the instructor soon came out. He was very mad and tried to intimidate me by threatening me with a large pair of surgical scissors. I took them away from him and threw them off to the side. Unfortunately, the headmistress was right there. She grabbed them up and came over screaming, trying to find out who had thrown them, saying how dangerous and stupid it was and, besides, there was a grave over there. I looked back into the little grave, which looked very Southern and very old, and, sure enough, there was a sort of headstone on a sort of pole which read "soldier." Then I saw another one on a taller pole right beside the first. Trying to glibly change the subject from the scissors, I asked her about the graves' history. She didn't seem to know. I asked if they might not just be markers on trees dedicating them to the memory of some soldier, but she seemed rather certain that they were actual graves. I saw a good opportunity and removed myself from the vicinity. The headmistress began to grill the instructor, who she recognized as being the owner of the scissors. I assume that he must have been a surgeon or some such, because he told her that he had just been explaining a fine point to me when the scissors had inadvertently gotten away from us. Then my attention returned to my "self" who had gone on his merry way, superbly pleased with his performance and slickness. I saw JG (from work) coming toward me. The setting had switched from a campus to a sort of outdoor mall of shops and plazas (and many people). As he approached me, I tried to brag about my latest achievement in teacher harassment, but apparently he had been paid off by a former butt of my jokes, because he ignored my words, came up to me and said, "(so and so) wanted me to give you this" or some such, and shot me with a long, lean-looking water pistol (attempted dream theme last night and this was water). I took off running, laughing a bit at his daring. I vaguely had the idea of trying to find a suitable place amongst the numerous little shops to dash into and purchase a water pistol of my own, but I realized that this plan was unlikely to work, because dreams never worked like that. Doubletake. Yes, I now realized that I was dreaming, so I started taking a serious look at my surroundings. I was still running through the plazas and open alleyways. As I looked around, I thought how much this place looked like Nogales, Mexico. I then immediately thought that because I had thought this, the setting would metamorphose into a Mexican tourist market. It did. But this wasn't what I wanted (oh yes, by the way, in one of these Mexican shops, as I passed by, I saw my father's wood-carved roosters for sale. I made a note of this at the time to remark on this in my DN when I awoke), so I kept running and thought how much it also looked like a Catfish Town-type setting, at the same time anticipating a change to my imagined scene. It did change. I began to worry about losing the dream, so I ignored all of the details of the buildings and ran away from them. I came to a sort of open field. I had slowed to a stop, but I remembered the running and having read that conscious running in a dream was rare, so I took off running, concentrating on what it was like to run. The dream had now become more vivid, I think, than any I've ever had. The warmth of the climate impressed itself upon me, like a Louisiana summer evening. My perception of everything around me was very good; my sight was marvelously clear. As I ran, my motion reminded me of the possibility of flight, so on the next step, I pushed up off of the ground and flew with less effort than I ever have (to my knowledge). Before, as I ran, I had thought about spinning to keep the dream, but, as I was not losing it, all I could do was remember to use this technique when I did begin to lose it. I flew across the field, enjoying it immensely, and, somehow, of my own volition or not, came to be standing at its other end. It was dark out now. A thin row of trees separated me from an interstate highway. Cars were travelling along it, and it reminded me of having lived next to one in the Jefferson Hwy. apartment. The traffic was light, however. A narrator told me that this highway had fallen into disuse after another one was built and that it was mostly traversed now by high school kids. One car slowed and I saw some teenager-types inside. They waved or something and went on. Then I felt the dream beginning to disperse. I felt a weariness in some part of me which seemed to suggest that it was time for the dream to end, and, before I could reflect on this, it did. Oh yes, earlier when I was running, I noticed and studied the beautiful sky in detail. A little else before all this. (A)
      
RETRO        
     At some point, I spoke a line of Spanish.