I have been having so many strange, nervous dreams lately.

Last night I dreamt that I was asked to attend a meeting at my university on student parents. When I showed up at the appointed hour, I found the room � a wood-paneled, octagon-shaped lecture hall with tiered seating in an old gothic stone building � nearly empty. A few young women were drifting in. The woman who had organized the meeting came out to thank me for coming and to tell me that she hoped I was willing to run the organization, because she was planning on recommending it to me. I was shocked. Although I felt the organization was important, I didn�t want to spend the time being in charge of it. I told her my feelings and she looked disappointed, but she accepted them. I went in and sat down. Time passed, the clock ticked. People drifted in slowly. 45 minutes after the meeting was supposed to have started, the room was finally almost full. I saw my friend L.D. (a real life friend from my first years of grad school who now teaches psych and gender studies at a large western state university) and her girlfriend Ann (Ann was a real ex-girlfriend of L�s, but in real life she had a different name. All three of us had been active in a couple of Chicago women�s organizations/lobbyist groups years ago. They were both more active than I was.) I hadn�t (as in real life) seen her in a decade, so we greeted each other warmly and then sat down, agreeing to catch up after the meeting was over. After wasting an hour of my time, the meeting finally began. People stood up and talked about nothing in droning voices. Finally, I couldn�t take it anymore. Despite my social plans with long lost friends, I left into the night air and began walking home.

Somewhere I took a wrong term and ended up in a dicey neighborhood. (This neighborhood recurs in my dreams and is almost always just outside a college campus, although not always the same college. It always, however, has a tremendously urban feel despite generally showing up in an otherwise suburban locale. Usually the neighborhood is deserted and feels dangerous.). I turned a corner into an empty street by the blank brick wall of a school and I instantly got a bad feeling. I turned around and found myself face to face with a young boy, African-American (I mention this because in the dream, race seemed important, although I�m kind of embarrassed by the stereotypicalness of it all), probably about 9, who was holding me up with either a gun or his fingers in his pocket. He was young and skinny and ragged. He looked like he needed the money, so I didn�t think twice about giving it to him. I wanted him to have it. I pulled out a money clip from my purse and started peeling off ones and fives. The last bill I pulled out was a fifty. I said something like, �Lucky you. I have a fifty in here.� And then I realized it was play money. I apologized and explained, but he wanted it anyway. He wanted to play with it. As he walked away, more people began flocking to see what he had and although no one was bothering me, I was afraid to leave with such a crowd blocking the end of the street. I stood still and tried to be invisible. As the crowd disperse, a sad-looking but beautiful young woman, Latina, approached and tried to take the purse itself. I said, �No. That you can�t have. It�s the only thing I have that my husband gave me.� I was well aware that the phrase sounded like my husband had died, which was not true. But it had the desired effect. She backed off immediately and said she understood. She took me back to her apartment and gave me soup and rice. She received a phone call which made it clear that she was a prostitute. I gave her my shoes in exchange for her slippers. I left. I woke up before I arrived anywhere else.

End dream diary. Now I must write and wrap valentine presents and write some more and then to sleep, perchance to dream again.

[Second entry today. Click back to read about how harriet got a personality transplant and became crafty. Valentine's Day may bring out the worst in all of us.]

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