Note to self: if you’re having space cake to help you sleep, it’s almost impossible to track your dreams the following morning.
Here’s one I wrote from 06 Sept 2019, Friday:
I was teaching a class of adult men, black men, I guess. I asked one student to fill in what’s missing in a sentence: “He was a ___.” The exercise was not really well constructed, but the student filled in “informed”. . . I tried to explain that the indefinite article “a” requires the next word to be a noun, not the past participle verb. . .
Then the next scene I find myself tightroping across some dark abyss. I guess my partner had just crossed the abyss. I look down, it’s total darkness, but I’m not scared. My feet are tied or encased in these shoes to the side of the tightrope, and the shoes are linked to the tightrope via some metal bar which just rolls across the tightrope so I’m not really walking across, there’s another rope above my head and I’m pulling myself across with my lower body just rolling across. I let go of the rope above and slowly fall to the side. . . I guess I thought it was safe. . .
And then I’m in another class, the same classroom as before, but the students are all women, white women, I think, or at least there’s this one white female student who translated a whole line from another exercise. The class was then over, students were about to leave, and I was telling them to wait while I hand out, or really still to just prepare the homework for them–writing on the board a prompt to continue the exercise, translating, maybe freewriting a few more sentences in response to what we did. . . Now that I think about it, maybe the classwork we did was too easy.
And then the group changed to a hiking group. People were outside, I think, waiting while there was still one guy inside, maybe the hiking leader. . . I ask him about a map, I’m not sure. . . I fuss about my shirt and decide to put on an old, blue thermal henley shirt, short sleeved. . .
dream chronicles 