Mall-alma mater c. November 24, 2007

I keep visiting my alma mater during orientation and I'm not privy to the schedule. I think I'm supposed to register for classes, but I am pretty sure I've missed the deadline. I can't find my dorm, and only parts of the campus are vaguely familiar. The idea of embarking on another degree is really daunting. Sometimes, I already have a schedule that includes really heavy courses on Russian history, marine biology, and Post Neo-Somethingism literature. When I do get a chance to browse a course catalog I am excited to find courses on machine knitting and plastics, but I have no idea how to drop or add classes.

I stop by one of the outdoor bars along College Row (usually with a gourmet burger / cabana theme), but they're not open yet. So, I head into one of the restaurants and/or cafeterias. My meal card hasn't been activated, so I've got to pay cash.

I never get to eat. Either my order never comes up, or I get moved to a different table, or I've missed the serving time, or someone I'm meeting comes in and wants to go somewhere else.

I'm always surprised by the number of new amenities. In recent visits, they've added a pet shop and animal hospital and an indie-designer department store, an auto body shop, multiplex theater, and a craft supply store. WeShop has expanded to include a gardening section and a modern design giftware section. There's also a huge record store and something that resembles Abercrombie & Fitch. You can use points at all of these places.

Clearly, I've got unresolved issues about my education. It's a luxury commodity, and I have had opportunities to exploit its value. It's also something I didn't buy into completely and never fully consumed. Maybe I had to leave before I really had a chance to shop. Maybe it was more than I bargained for.

An ongoing search for baby purple carrots c. November 2006 to the present

I'm in fancy grocery stores. Some are really high-tech, some are very organic and unkempt. The are almost always multi-leveled stores. I'm supposed to bring baby purple carrots to Thanksgiving. When I find them, they are usually wilted in a tiny plastic clamshell pack and cost about $14 or $19.

I didn't realize that such a thing existed until I typed "purple carrots" into Google Images just now.

A hybrid vehicle / a career change not in the cards c. November 9, 2007

I'm in the Javits Center, looking for my former co-worker, Ph****. I'm floating in a seated position, rowing down the aisles using a cane on the floor in an oar-like fashion.

I'm supposed to meet Ph**** at the entrance of the Sources show. They've changed the name of the show to Changes. I think it's a funny coincidence because whenever we discussed the Sources Show, we always sang the David Bowie song "Changes" with the word "sources" substituted in the lyrics... as in:
Suh-suh-suh-suh-sources.

I'm not on the list at Changes. I show them my business card. The man at reception rips it up, saying, "Sorry, that card will do you no good here." I remember that Ph**** isn't my co-worker anymore. Turns out he is on the list, but I can't go in to meet him.

In my dreams I am usually either in a wheelchair OR I am flying. The dream recounted above was a strange combination of the two... relying on a cane while floating.

WHEELCHAIRS
The recurring wheelchair dreams are usually accompanied by feelings of guilt, because I am physically able to walk, but mentally too exhausted to do so. While wheeling around, I fear accusations of malingering, of trying to gain advantages or sympathy by using a wheelchair I don't need.

• Is it our discomfort over seeing someone wheelchair-bound that would make us angry to see that same person get out of the chair to handle obstacles like stairs and curbs? Why? Is it about fairness? Those confined to a wheelchair wouldn't have the same freedom to get around those obstacles.
• Or is it about scorning laziness? But, we ride in cars all the time.
• Is it tied up in the separation of adulthood from infancy? I stare at overgrown kids stuffed into strollers with a certain amount of disdain. But I don't sneer at a kid on a bike or tricycle.
• Or, is it that when we see someone bound by something, we prefer that they stay that way?

There are parallels here to mental illnesses, or any illnesses that are difficult to quantify physically... especially as it pertains to the use of anti-depressants. Some people think anti-Ds are like cheating at the pursuit of happiness, an athlete on steroids. By the way, I also think it's significant that I don't know how to ride a bike in my sleeping OR my waking life. Although I doubt it, maybe if I learned to ride a bicycle, I'd stop dreaming about wheelchairs.

FLIGHT
My dream flights, on the other hand, evoke feelings of being exceptional and accomplished, able to overcome gravity in a way others cannot... very Matrix, very Crouching Tiger. No wonder most superheros can fly. For me, flight is always very muscular and requires exertion. It's also something I figured out how to do, not a skill I was taught or a talent I was born with.

I repeat, again c. November 4, 2007

I had the dream about broken records again.

There are too many records stacked on the record player. The needle can't reach. Some of the records are still in their jackets and others are all warped and broken. I try to play a Pixies CD but I use the record needle on it. It makes a waxy scratch through the CD and record below.

Step on a crack, break your mother's heart? c. October 30, 2007

In 1992, I modeled a traditional Chinese wedding dress for a local newspaper feature. My father was in the hospital at the time, and I had been struggling with the guilt I felt for being too stoic... until halfway through the photo shoot, when I rushed out of the room and puked through my nose.

I'm visiting my parents' house and find that my mother has taken the Chinese wedding dress out of my old closet. She is selling it. Not that it belonged to me or that I would have wanted it for my wedding, but I feel somehow that it is invasive that she sell it without asking me. She says that she's given up. She doesn't think I'll ever get married. Why don't I ever bring boyfriends home?

I say, you know why. Look at what you did to B**** and R***. In fact, I say, I've been married for over a year, but you'll never meet him.

She bombards me with questions. The last question is: what kinds of things do you two do together?

Crack, I say. Lots of crack.