Change is difficult. Explaining it is harder. c. December 2007

I've been dealing with a lot of dirty laundry, not all of it mine. I've got to do another load and I realize that I'm out of quarters. I ask a co-worker and all she's got are dollar coins and a commemorative pin.

I go to the courtyard where there's an activist group soliciting donations. They are acquaintances of mine and I ask them if they'll make change for me. I've got a twenty and I need two bucks in quarters. One girl hands me eight quarters, a twelve dollar bill and a twenty. I've never seen a twelve dollar bill before, but the way our currency keeps changing unannounced, I'm not surprised. And, I reason, we do have a lot of dozens... inches, months, eggs. It's also an easy way to give change for something that costs eight dollars. Whatever. Back to the problem... she's given me too much money back. I show her the twenty and tell her to keep that. That all she owes me back now is six dollars because I've got the twelve and the eight quarters. She says she doesn't have a six dollar bill and she roams off to get her colleague for advice.

My patience runs thin, even when I'm asking for a favor.

Otherwise too engaged to grab the brass ring c. late November 2007

I am sitting on a porch with a man, his sister, and mother. He announces to his family that he and I are going to get married, and he clips an engagement ring around my finger. I look down at it. It is a brass ring in the shape of a tiny single handcuff.

He also announces that my flowers are to be thistles. Afterthought: His last name is Scott. I immediately think of the crayon color and start trying to work with that limited color scheme.

His sister is going through a rough divorce, and social services keeps visiting to make sure she is taking care of her children properly. I am trying to help her out, but my help is not welcome. As part of the court order, she needs to display flags on the porch to show the extent of her mothering skills. The flags sometimes morph into clean laundry hanging from a line.

I start to throw up whole, uncooked shiny black beans. I mention to the man and his family that I often throw up strange things in dreams, and that usually it means something.

I halfway resign myself to making this marriage work, and halfway look for a way to escape. The beams above the porch start to collapse and I get on a ladder to prop them up as I throw up more black beans.