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11/24/2004 Entry: "I Didn't Actually Have a Breakdown"

So I had this dream last night. I was walking to school with my shotgun on my shoulder. I had heard a talk radio program (in my dream) about the Constitution, and was taken by the second amendment: "...the right of the people to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed." I felt that not being allowed to take a shotgun to school was infringing on my rights. As I walked into school, only one student questioned why I had a gun. I explained to her that a) it wasn't loaded, and b) it was my Constitutional right. Everyone else was cool with it, and after I explained, she was too.

Next, I was in health class at Rockland high. I went to sit at what I thought was my desk, but someone was already in it. I thought it strange, but just picked another seat. The teacher (Scott Benzie) came in, and started giving the homework assignments. He passed a card to the first seat in each row. Apparently, the really smart kids were given the first seat. These students could choose whether they were going to do the homework listed on the card or not. If they chose not to do it, they turned around and handed the card back. Every other student in the row then had to do the homework, and the smart kids would then be given a different card. The head of my row chose not to do what was on the card. I turned to the girl next to me, and said "I'm not familar with this method of assigning homework." She said "He's been doing it like this all year!" I began to think I wasn't in the right class. That would explain why my seat was taken. I asked to look at her book. She showed me some kind of marine biology book. (Why marine biology in health class, I don't know. In the dream, I didn't question it.) "That's not the same book I'm using," I said. She said "It's Monday morning, first period. Are you in the right room?" I wasn't sure, so I went to the office to find out.

I went to the office, and checked my shotgun at the door. (Strangely, there was another shotgun in the corner where I left mine. Apparently, many students were bringing shotguns to school.) In the office were Tim Dresser, Debbie McKenney, and Mrs. Sylvester. I explained to Mrs. Sylvester that I wasn't sure what class I was supposed to be in. She said she'd go pull my schedule from the file. In my dream, I was really freaking out. Something wasn't right, and I knew it, but I didn't know what was wrong. Tim Dresser decided to fax Susan all the pictures of the students who were supposed to be in 1st period health on Monday. Of course, my photo wasn't in there. So Susan called in, and asked to speak to me.

"Why are you in health class? You're in your 30s! You graduated almost 15 years ago! You're supposed to be at work! I'm coming to pick you up."

I hung up the phone, laid down on the couch in the office, and started crying.

Susan picked me up, and put me in the minivan. She explained that we needed to get to an art convention. You know how the time share condo people sit you down with a group, at a mountain retreat or something, and try to convince you to buy a time share? It was the same kinda deal, but with art. And instead of being at some cool locale, it was at the old Junior High on Lincoln St. So we walked into the room, and were the first to arrive. The salesman, who had been lying down napping, jumbed to his feet, straightened his suit, and welcomed us. Someone else came up beside me, and they, already having their nametag on, proceeded into the sales room. I had to wait for the salesman to fill out my "Hello, my name is..." form.

Then I woke up.