Complete and Utter Terror

This entry is about Dean the Mormon from my Creative Writing class.

We went to Barnes and Noble to drink coffee (or cider, in my case) and talk…for like…you know, a few hours.

At one point, somehow we got on the topic of Amadeus, and he hadn’t seen it, which completely shocked me, and I think I said, “WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU!?  How have you not seen this movie!?”

So then later, after some obsessing about Danny, and my admission that I haven’t seen Weird Science, he said I got a yellow card for that one—he was almost offended.  Haha.  And I was like, “Hmm…what movie was that that you said you hadn’t seen earlier…?” And he’s like, “Yeah, you’re right.”

That was just a story, had nothing to do with the point, really.

So when I get to Nicole’s, my phone rings, and it’s him, and he says, very awkwardly, “Ginny, I’ve got to tell you this right now before I can’t do it….”  Then there is much swearing from his end, until finally he comes out with, “Ginny, I’m crazy about you.  I have been for a long time now, and I’m horrible at these things, so I just haven’t been able to tell you.  The greatest part of my day is seeing you, and the worst part is not being able to tell you that.  I really like you.”

I said, “Good, I’m glad you told me!  I like you, too.”

Then there was this short silence as he said, “So…now what?”

I said, “Well…this is quite awkward, as Nicole is right here in the same room, so how about I call you back in a little while?”

So…I hung up, and Nicole was looking at me expectantly, and I started panicking.

“He likes me,” I said.  “WHY!?”  I didn’t get it!  Why would he like me?  Why would anyone!?  When I started to think about it, it actually didn’t make sense.

But that’s beside the point.  He does, which freaks me out a little, because I have no idea how the hell to proceed from here.  All I could say was, “I’m scared.”  I think I probably looked really frightened, too.  Because really, I’ve never been here before.  I don’t know what to do.

I had to park really far from the bookstore earlier, so I said, “Walk me to my car and I’ll drive you back to yours—and then I can show you why my car is the Batmobile.”

So as soon as we got in, he said, “Okay, why is your car the Batmobile?” and I pushed the button that makes the little thing with my stick figure drawing of Alfred pop up.  Um…it’s hard to explain, unless you’ve seen it, but it’s this glove compartment thing in the center of the dashboard, so it’s like in the Batmobile when the little computer screen with Alfred comes up and Batman talks to him as he drives.

I’m sorry if that completely confused you.  Anyway, he thought it was hilarious, so that’s cool.

Oh, and Cortney and Nicole gave their approval the other night when we all went to a movie together.  So you know he’s a cool guy.  And for what it’s worth, Corey and Know-It-All give their approval, too.

And another thing–I’m so not telling Milo about this.  I’m just going to let him find out.

This entry was a bit scatterbrained.  I realized he hadn’t had much of an introduction, sort of came out of left field, so I thought I’d add a few details.  Anyway, I’m going to end this here.

…I’m bloody frightened.  It’s completely uncalled for, but I am; I kid you not.


Signs and Omens

I just called Ryan.

What was I thinking!?  Of course he still has a girlfriend!

Well, at least it didn’t really feel awkward.  I mean, I did half expect that response, so I was set for it, and he’s such an easygoing guy.

Here’s how it went:

He actually answered, first of all, which I didn’t expect.  He was always really difficult to get hold of by phone.

I said, “Hey, this is Ginny…from the cafeteria.”

“Hey, what’s up?”  It was a surprised, friendly sort of tone.  Not a “OMG, why are you calling me!?” sort.

I said I still had his number on my phone, so I figured I would call to see what was up.  I then asked him how he was doing (good, but very busy) and he asked how I was doing (also good, not so busy) and then he said, “My phone broke yesterday, so I actually had no idea who was calling.”

I said, “My car broke yesterday.”

He sort of laughed and said, “Well, I guess you win!”

I laughed, too, then said, “I was wondering if you’d wanna get together sometime, hang out again.”

And then he said, “Oh…I actually have a girlfriend now.”

I thought, DAMN IT!  Then I said, as though I was completely surprised and had had no idea in the world, “Oh…I’m sorry!”

“No, it’s okay.  We can still hang out if you want to, catch a movie or something.”

“As friends, of course,” I had to throw in, to show that I understood.

“Yeah, give me a call and we’ll set something up,” he said.  “I’m about to go into class, though.”

So, should I do it?  I said I would.  He is a great guy; I certainly don’t mind being friends with him.  But should I?  Would that be weird?  Because we were never friends before; we just went on a date last year.  So it wouldn’t be like going back to how it used to be before a hiatus—because there is no “how it used to be”.

In other news, yesterday I walked into my room and happened to glance at the clock—it was 3:34.  This sounds completely normal, I realize, but it wasn’t.  See, the last three times I had stepped into my room before leaving work and happened to glance at the clock, it was 3:33.  Three times in a row this happened.  I mean, that’s a strange number to just happen upon, if you think about it, because of all the times it could show, there are only ten chances each day for it to read three digits exactly the same.  (Twelve if you want to count 11:11.)  Twelve minutes out of twenty-four hours.

Anyway, so being as how I would have had to wait eleven hours and fifty-nine minutes for it to actually say “3:33” again, and I’d been only one minute too late…I somehow took this as a bad omen.  I said so to myself.  It’s because I need things to be even.  It’s that OCD coming through.  I felt off and had no way to fix it because I had missed the same time I’d happened across those past three times by one minute.  Does this make any sense at all?

So I’m heading out of my room, thinking, “Bad omen….”  Or a sign, or something.  And what good are signs if you don’t know how to read them?  And of course, the only thing I can think is that something bad was going to happen on my way to work, like my car breaking down.

And then I got a flat tire.  I’m not really superstitious, though, about most things, so I am merely pointing this out as a very strange coincidence, and a possible example of my occasional clairvoyance.

The prof had me read my “Richard Cory” paper aloud to the class today, because he was so impressed with it.  In fact, the other day when he was reading it during our little one-on-one time, he read the thesis…stopped…and went back to read it again, before saying, “Wow…that is a really good thesis.  Did you really write that?”

“No, I bought it online,” I said.

“Wow, how much did you pay for that?”


“For a thesis that good, I’d have paid $29.99.”

I think I now have the highest grade in both my creative writing and English classes.  Kick arse.

Anyway, got work now, and as I missed it yesterday and am leaving early today, it’d be good to be on time.

Parking Madness

College parking lots are fun.

No, I’m serious; the whole thing is like a big game of beat-the-clock (or beat-fellow-drivers-with-a-big-stick).

First of all, you have to arrive at the lot thirty to forty-five minutes earlier than whatever time you’re supposed to be wherever you’re going, be it work or school.  This entitles you plenty of time on the field.  It’s like Seeking, in a way, searching for that single parking spot in the vastness of the lot.  One game can go on for months.

The other day, for example, I drove around for a full thirty minutes before a spot opened up in the distance.  There are three rows in the first lot; I was coming from the two-rowed lot next to it and saw a spot open up at the far end of the second row.  But a moment before, another car had pulled into the third row.  At any second, that driver would be pulling around, and would be on the end with the open spot.

Let me tell you, I have never driven so fast through a parking lot.  I couldn’t take the chance that the other driver had seen that car pull out, which, presumably, he had. I
screamed, “IT’S MINE!  MIIIINNNE!” and laughed maniacally (I actually did.  Instinct. Scary, huh?) as I put on my blinker and raced down the row at sonic boom speeds.  And I got it.

But leaving’s a problem, too.  When I get out of work, I’m exhausted from standing up in the heat for 4 hours straight, and I like to sit in my car and check messages on my phone, perhaps return calls…you know.  Relax.  And there are all these people driving around scoping out the lots for cars that are leaving.  And they’ll sit there and
blink their blinkers obnoxiously until I pull out.  So heading back to my car is a matter of
concealing my keys in my palm until the last second, usually making a run for
it, and then scrunching down below the windows once I’m actually in the car.  I’m careful to leave everything off until the last possible moment.

Next semester, when I’m actually going to school there, I plan to get a parking space in the morning for my first class and never leave again until after work.

Mostly a Dream

Had this really bizarre dream about the cafe last night.  I came into work at my usual time one day, 4:30, and Michelle, who’d gotten there a couple minutes early, came running over to find me to say that she’d found this hidden closet nobody had ever noticed before, and that inside was a door to another dimension.  She told me I had to see it.  Of course I did.  So I dropped what I was doing (probably making pizzas) and ran off to see the other dimension.

First of all, there’s this closet.  It’s like a little crack in the wall that you have to crawl through, right by the men’s bathroom.  Inside, it’s all dark and empty (because nobody uses it, of course) and all there is is this giant, like 10-foot-tall mirror leaning against the wall to our left, and then these rickety wooden stairs on the wall to our right, leading to a door.

Through this door is another, similar sort of room, but now the stairs going down are on the left, and the mirror is on the right.  (It wasn’t until telling somebody this story later that I realized the significance of the mirrors—besides being one of my worst fears, they also represented a parallel dimension.)  And then there’s the door to the outside.

We stepped through it and found ourselves on the moon, staring out over outer space, and Earth…Earth is dead ahead.

Okay, so this was cool, but we had no means of getting to this other Earth, and I’m like, “Why?  Why would we find a door to another dimension that we can’t do anything with!?  How are we supposed to see what this other Earth is like if we can’t get to it!?  Why are we on the moon!?”

Just then, the Earth in front of us exploded into billions of tiny pieces.

Michelle said, “That’s why.”

As we watched, however, the billions of tiny pieces flew back into place, and the Bizarro Earth was again intact.

But then it exploded again, and it kept on exploding, over and over.

Anyway, we were so mesmerized by all of this, we just stayed and watched it forever, and when we finally decided to go back to work, it was 7:10.  (We close at 7:30.)  Except they were closed.  Not only that, all of the managers were there, looking furious, and Bob looked furious, and he saw us and wanted to know where the hell we had been, and it turns out they had closed early because there weren’t enough people to stay open, and we were both going to be out of a job.

But we said, “Bob!  We have a perfectly good reason!  We found a doorway into another dimension!”

Bob coldly informs us that he doesn’t want to hear any of our shit, and we should just get out of there now.

But we continue, “No, Bob, we’re telling the truth!  Look, we’ll prove it to you!  We’ll show you the door!”

Of course, the door is now gone.  No trace of it.

And back to real life.  What’d I do yesterday…went to lunch with Andrew at Matt’s—I had veal marsala over portabella, yummy.  Then headed to the café with Dennis to eat dinner for free, and hung out with Adrianna and Turtle for a while.  (Oh, and The Lukealike is now in my phone under that name.  We told him, too.  I told him we called him that, and he didn’t believe me, so he went up and said to Michelle, “She put me in her phone under ‘The Lukealike’, and Michelle said, “That’s so funny; that’s what we call you!”)

Going to Adventure Landing with the work crew tonight, except no Michelle or Adrianna.

Captain America, More L’Owen, and Some LOST Stuff Hidden in a Dream

Because I was in a hurry yesterday, I left out some good stuff about the meeting.

I showed up, and immediately heard the voices of L’Owen and Captain America through the opened doorway.  I thought that this was perfect, because I would now have a chance to keep the day’s tally.

Captain America is the Nerd Who Would Be King—he feels that he is superior to everyone, even though he’s like, socially inept, nobody cares what he has to say, and he looks a lot like Weird Al.  He’s constantly interrupting in class with inane comments that nobody gives a damn about, and Corey and I have a tally—I guess I should call it The Tally—going, marking down all the times he speaks out.  When he begins to ramble, we give him an extra mark for every ten seconds.

Corey and I are fortunate (?) enough to have a class with him on M/W and on T/Th, so we can keep The Tally going every day M-Th.  This way we can say, “Yeah, he tends to be most talkative on Thursdays, in preparation for the weekend, likely, and on Mondays, when he’s gone all weekend without speaking out in a class and has to liberate us all again.”

Our history professor is really nice and polite and has to try and interrupt him in a nice and polite way, like by walking to the other end of the room, not looking at him anymore, interspersing random other little comments to other members of the class, and finally saying, “Mm-hmm…uh-huh…well, about that…” and launching into her thing again.

L’Owen is not so nice and flat-out says, “No.  You’re wrong.  You’re an idiot.  STFU.”  (Okay, so maybe a bit nicer than that, but he doesn’t let him ramble.)

There was one time in history when Corey was going to have to leave early, and our history prof suggested he sit by the door (we sit on the far side, whereas Captain America and his friend, Gune, sit next to the door), and Corey looked warily over there and said, “Sit…by the door…?” which really tickled the prof (and me).  She said, “Well, if you just can’t bring yourself to do that, Corey, then you may just get up and walk behind my desk if necessary, walk out with as little distraction as possible,” and looked over at me and started laughing.

Another day in history, Captain America ranted, then stopped, and Gune picked up right where he left off, and Corey, staring in bewilderment across the room, suddenly snapped out of it, turned to the Tally Sheet, and, adding another mark, said, “They share the same brain.”

There was another time in L’Owen’s class when The Tally actually hit infinity—an arrow to the edge of the page.  We were like, “He’ll never beat that,” but I’d say it’s possible to hit infinity twice.  The reason for it that particular day was that L’Owen had asked us to watch for things that would make interesting story or poem material, and Captain America told us the story about when he was sharpening his daggers, dropped one, and nearly impaled his foot.  (He often gets more marks depending on Annoyance or Stupidity factors.)

Anyway, so Captain America was talking to L’Owen when I showed up, and he was saying something about how…well, I’ll just put in quotes as close to what I can remember as possible:

“See, what I find today is that people just don’t care about ancient races, and they don’t know anything about them.  I know a lot about them, because I’ve researched them, based on various games.”

I thought, Games?  Huhh?

L’Owen’s just going, “Uh-huh…uh-huh….”  Then I heard him stand up and head to the door, and he said, “Just a second, Mark,” and leaned out, and I smiled sympathetically at him, and I swear his eyes twinkled, hahahaha, and then he went back in and said, “Well, Mark, we’re going to have to end this here because Ginny is sitting out there and she was supposed to be in here five minutes ago.”

Captain America got a B.  And several Tally marks, exact number to be deliberated with Corey.

At one point, L’Owen said to me, all serious, “I don’t know if you’re planning to do anything with this [creative writing] later….”

I said, “Oh, this is going to be my life.”

And he said he could really see me going somewhere with it.  He said I’ve “got it”.  I thought I should remind myself of that because of how frequently I have self-esteem freak-outs and think I can’t do anything.

Something else of interest he said….  Well, he asked if I thought the story I had just given him was perfect, and I immediately said, “Oh, no,” and kind of laughed, and he said, still quite serious and sincere, “By the end of this semester, Ginny, I want you to do something that you will be really proud of.”

The first thing that went through my head as he was saying that was that it was almost exactly word-for-word something I’d said to Milo in The Letter.  It was almost unnerving.  And I realized what a nice thing it was to say, and was pleased that I had thought to tell Milo that.  Wonder if he ever read that far; it was toward the end.

So Dean, or Dean the Mormon, as he is now to be called (he’s not really a Mormon, but his parents are) went in after me, and as I was sitting out there, Dr. Steinfield, my English teacher, came out of his office, saw me, and said, “Are you waiting for me?”

I pointed behind me at L’Owen’s office (I was waiting for Dean the Mormon to reemerge) and he said with interest, “Oh, you’re taking him?  What for?  Film as Lit.?”

I told him it was for Creative Writing, and he looked impressed.  “How are you doing in there?”

“Not bad, I think…I’ve got an A,” I said.

“Wow, an A,” said Dr. Steinfield, in his casually funny sort of way, “well, there’s certainly room for improvement there.  You can do better than that.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said, sounding regretful.

I then became aware that Dean and L’Owen had stopped talking.  And L’Owen called out, “Ginny?  Don’t listen to anything that Charles Steinfield says.  Don’t believe a word of it!”

Dr. Steinfield was walking away laughing (it would have been an evil laugh, were this a movie and they comic book rivals instead of just rival English teachers, but instead it was pure humor), as I responded, “Oh, I know!  Don’t worry; I know.”

I had a dream last night.  It seemed a lot like Shannon from Lost, the story I watched last night with her Wicked Stepmother.  Man, I’d never liked Shannon as much as I did in that episode.  I had gone to her to ask for money for my wedding to some poorer guy (who looked like Boone) and she said no, she refused to help, even though the money was my father’s, and I was all alone in the world and whatever…and I was with a bunch of strangers, looking at wedding dresses, except that they were all wearing Superman costumes, like really good ones, not baggy pajama pants ones like Jerry wore one Halloween as a kid, and they were making fun of me because I was wearing this cheap Mr. Incredible costume.

And then suddenly I was no longer trying on wedding dresses over a Mr. Incredible costume with snobby strangers—I was trying on prom dresses with Sammie at the mall, and her mom was there, and she kept taking pictures of us in all these dresses, and some guy started following us around, discussing with Sammie’s mom which dresses he liked better than others, and offering to take the pictures for us, and then he finally informed Sammie’s mom that he was a talent agent scouting for models, and he was interested in Sammie and me.  So we’re just trying on all these dresses, and I go back into the dressing room and somehow, like, step into another dimension, where it looks all comic-book-y (probably as a result of my having been reading naught but Alan Moore’s Promethea series in my spare time over the past five days).

So yeah, I’ve entered the Next Dimension of the Changing Room, and there’s this demon thing in there, and I can’t tell you what it looked like because I don’t really remember, but it was separated from me by a thick glass thing that went up just far enough so I could reach over the top of it, but not easily, and the demon had a Challenge for me.  There was a desk on its side of the glass divider, as well as a sword and a gun (and he was holding his own sword).

The Challenge was something like this—there was this pole thing, and it had to tie my wrists to the pole, right over the top of the glass thing, and then use the single bullet from the gun (must have come from Lost) to…what, shoot the ropes off?  Does that really work?  Well, in the dream it did.  And then I had to somehow grab the sword from the other side and slay the demon before it slayed me.  If I won, I’d be rewarded somehow, I guess, or just go back to my dimension like normal, but if he won, he would take me over, like possess me, I guess, and go back and live life as me.

Naturally, I wasn’t going to refuse a Challenge, no matter how ridiculous.  So the thing tied my wrists up there, shot through the ropes with a single bullet, and then grabbed its sword and started swiping at me as I tried to get the other one through the glass.  I finally did somehow get it in my hand, and just as I was pulling it over the edge…it drew the sword across my throat, and I fell down on this table that was suddenly laying there…and did I mention that I was totally seeing this in little squares and various other shapes, exactly like in a comic book?  And like it was illustrated?  It really looked like one.  There was this image of me lying there on this table, in this long red formal gown, quite pretty, and just…dead.  And the demon is looking down at me….

And then there’s me, back in photograph quality, walking out of the store with Sammie and her mom, only…it wasn’t me.  I could tell somehow; I knew it was the other thing.  That’s…creepy.

Ginny the Great

I gotta say it:  Guess who currently has the highest grade in her creative writing class.  I’ve got a 95 (on the scale of 90-100 = an A).

I just returned from my one-on-one interview with L’Owen.  When I walked in, he was smiling that smile of undisguised glee, and again, I was uncertain whether he really enjoyed what he read, or if he just enjoyed marking it all up. (L’Owen has this unbridled evil side to him which is really entertaining, even when you’re on the wrong end of it.)  And then he said, “Ginny, Ginny, Ginny….”

I was smiling, too, because it was unavoidable.  “Sir?” I said.

He kept grinning for a second, and then said, “You’re great.”

Fortunately, I had not yet sat back in the chair, so this provided me with the perfect opportunity to do so, whilst folding my hands, grinning cockily, and saying, “I know.”

Ohh!” he said, unable to contain the joy.  “I’m going to be extra harsh for that!”

‘Twas an enjoyable sort of meeting.  He informed me that he thinks I am brilliant and have a great control over language and an excellent sense of humor.  Those are the sorts of things you always want your Creative Writing teacher to tell you.  I thanked him genuinely.

“Ginny, you’re somewhat of a film buff, I think?  I’ve sort of…gathered that.”  I agreed.  I think he wanted to compare Lorelai, Candace, and Lydia to the Witches of Eastwick, because he started off on that tack, but I told him I’d never seen the movie before so it wouldn’t really help.  And then he went about describing these three witches as these truly genius, sexy, beautiful ladies (he reiterated that more than once) and I was like, hell yeah.  No, actually one of his main critiques was that I didn’t go into enough detail about the characters, so that’s one of the things I’ve got to work on.  He gave me some good pointers, and when he gives it all back, I’ll take his comments and get back to work on it.

This does mean that I’m going to have to come up with something really inspired for my next story and make it brilliant, too.  I hope I can.  I’m a bit worried.  I haven’t really decided on anything yet.  Maybe the stalker stuff.

Three Dreams and a Cafe Anecdote

I left something out of the last entry:  Del told me about Friday, when he was sick, he was talking to Scot on the phone (Del is one of our chefs; Scot’s a boss) about bringing in his new Star Wars to loan Scot’s kids.

“I don’t think he was really listening, though,” Del said.  Because when Del said, “Now, just as a warning, they do kill kids in this movie,” Scot responded with, “Oh, good, they’ll love that….”

Maybe Scot wasn’t paying attention.  Maybe he was kidding.  Maybe he was serious.  Any way you look at it, that’s a pretty funny answer.

Anyway, to the dreams.

The first was not last night, but the night before.  I dreamed I was Harry Potter, on a bus to God knows where.  Ron and Hermione were there, too.

We were sitting on the right side, towards the front, and Lucius was there, too, sitting on the left and several rows back.  (I think Draco was there, too, but I don’t remember.)  I kept turning around in my seat, and Lucius and I kept glaring at each other, and at one point he gave me a Lucius smile, and I gave him a Harry smile right back to show him that maybe he could be mischievous and cruel, but I certainly knew the meaning of the word “mischief” and he’d better look out.  And somehow from his face, I could just tell that he knew I was a worthy enemy, like it or not.

But then he gave another evil Lucius grin, and suddenly there was a Dementor sitting right next to me.  I freaked out!  I never found Dementors as scary as I did at that moment, with me actually as Harry, and one sitting right next to me.  It was kind of terrifying.

I could hear it breathing, and then…it turned to look at me…and it was still breathing…and it stared and stared…and then just as slowly, it turned back and stared forward, and Ron and Hermione kept muttering things like, “It’s okay, Harry, it’s just minding its own business,” and “Don’t bother it and it won’t bother you,” and I kept watching it out of the corner of my eye….  I also heard Dumbledore’s voice in my head saying that there is nothing to fear but fear itself, which, in turn, got the Boingo song “Nothing to Fear” in my head, because of course, those lyrics are in it repetitively.

And then, very, very slowly, it took off its hood….

And I noticed that it had human hands….

And then I looked up, and it turned and looked at me, again very deliberately….

And it had a human face.  But not just any human face.

It was this totally random guy who comes through my line at work every day.  I’ve never spoken to the guy, don’t know anything about him, never really thought about him before, and then all of a sudden, there he was, cast as an extra in one of my dreams.

Well now, of course, I see him and am like, “Who is this guy!?!?”  Like he crept into my dream on purpose.  I don’t know, because that’s really weird.  I keep staring at him and wondering if he knows I’m staring at him and knows perfectly well that he was there in my dream in such a creepy manner, and knowing at the same time that this is completely ludicrous.

At any rate, I woke up about the moment he turned and looked at me, thinking, “WTF—Dementors aren’t supposed to be hot!”

Then I woke up even more and realized I knew who that guy was, and that I still had the Boingo song stuck in my head.

And onto last night.  I had two last night.

The first, Katy (The Bimbo that I work with) and I were, apparently, recent partners-in-crime who held up stores (or maybe just Super Walmarts) by casually walking in with guns, flirting with the male employees, and informing them that we wanted so-much-money before we left.

All action in the store would cease, as they gave us however much we asked for—we never emptied the cash registers, though—and we wished everyone well, and walked out, smiling charmingly.  Once outside, we would start running, because we’d know that the grace period they would always give us ended two minutes after we exited.

So last night, we robbed a Super Walmart, and I’m holding the gun on this one guy in a blue vest, and everything has stopped, and there’s a sort of air like, “Oh, great, we’re being held up again” but at the same time it’s, “Hey, isn’t it fun being held up by these two?”  And all the customers are even amused to see it taking place.  I don’t know.  Really strange, of course, as dreams always are.

I have no idea what Katy was doing (how the hell did she creep into my dream, anyway?  And in what dimension would she ever be my partner?)—she was just playing around somewhere as I conducted business, and I was going to get $2000, but then she called out, “No, make it 3,” so I said, “$3000, then” and the clerk obliged, and then we were off.

Katy informed me that she knew this great place we could escape, and that I should follow her.  Well, for some reason I did, and we ended up inside this huge indoor obstacle course that apparently was known to take an average of two hours to get through.

Let me describe this place, because it’s quite fascinating, really.  It was set up as sort of like a YMCA, where you could go just to get some good exercise in two hours’ time.  It was really dark inside, and instead of having actual floors (it went underground in places and way up in others), it had, like, rope bridges, rope ladders, swinging things that you step in one at a time to get across a gorge-type-thing (with a net below, I think)…it was a lot of good aerobic activities.  Kind of felt like a playground, or like an Indiana Jones video game.  It was all twisty and turn-y and maze-y, and I think there were probably several routes to get to the end, and at some points there were dark rooms that looked like really creepy rooms in haunted houses where you could stop and rest, and we stopped in one room that looked like a bedroom and hid under the bed and in the closet because somebody else was coming.

The rooms to rest in were so creepy, let me tell you—not as dark as the passages, but still dark, and only lit by…black lights, I guess they were.

Anyway, so we heard a voice, and we hid in this room, and the voices were gone, and by now, as we continue on our way, I’m bitching at Katy:  “How could you lead us in here!?  They’re going to figure out where we went, and they’re going to be waiting for us on the other end, you dolt!  Haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘you can run, but you can’t hide’?”

She said, “That’s what we’re doing; we’re running!”

I said, “No, this equates to hiding, because we are in essentially one location and will be for the next hour and a half!  You’ve completely screwed us over; we’re going to be caught this time, do you realize that?  This is it for us!  Thanks a lot!”

“They won’t know we’re in here,” she said.

“Of course they’ll know.  There’ll be eyewitnesses, or it’ll just be obvious because there isn’t anywhere else we could be in this amount of time.  Someone is going to figure it out by the time we’ve gotten to the end.  We’re screwed.”

We kept going, and passed a few more people, whom I believed were all staring at us like they knew, but of course none of them were; although I was positive I was right about them waiting for us on the other end, and then these people would all be staring….

I never found out though, because that dream, I think, just sort of drifted into another one…an even creepier one….

I was at…Aunt Christine’s house, I think?…and I had a lot of relatives who never existed before this dream…some little blonde chubby girl…well, maybe she was the only one.  There was this cool girl who was my friend who I kept trying to hook up with Grant (my real cousin).

My aunt had this haunted painting.  It was really creepy.  I’m not particularly sure what it did.  But it was up to all of us cousins (the only ones who really believed it was haunted—the adults just laughed at that) to camp out in front of it and stay awake in shifts at all times and make sure it didn’t…do anything.

It was really dark in there, too.  No matter what time of day it was.  Several days must have passed, for the amount of shifts we had.  I alternated talking to Grant, and that girl, and my little fake cousin, and sleeping.  The whole thing was eerie.  I can’t remember much more, though.