We were on a sports field and we were having a competition in high jump. But it wasn't an ordinary competition because we didn't have mattress nor bar. We just jumped up and falled into the sand of long jump ground. The height of a jump was ocularly approximated or sometimes laser-measurement was used.

There were couple of Swedish guys too but another one of them didn't make into a final through a tryout. However, officials decided that he could compete in the final too because he was consider so good and he just blew it up in the tryout. Some of us were really amazed byt this decision but none protested.

The final started as the first Swedish fellow jumped and he didn't make it too bad. Then it was was this guy's turn who sneaked into the final with the help of jury: He didn't even bother to use flop-technic, he just jumped raising his legs up but the power of the jump was so unbelievable there wasn't any doubt who's going to win. With this poor technic he jumped as much as his compatriot. The crowd was in ecstasy: No wonder the jury let him to compete. He welcomed the cheers, rest of the lights went off except the ones that spotted him. Practically the competition was over. I just had to admire his talents..

J. told me he was recently engaged to a young girl who was only 13 years old. But he was very happy with the fact. Actually so happy that he said he wanna kiss the world. (I'm not sure if he said he wanted to kiss Christiane..) Well, Gaëlle was there on the hand and I said that you could kiss her. J. was so happy he was about to do it and Gaëlle turned her cheek so that a French kiss could be done.

I was sitting next to Fati and I was joking with her: "Look, we have a romance here." But J. and also Gaëlle were a bit embarrassed and interrupted my remark and therefore no kiss took place. Gaëlle tried to respond saying that actually it was me and Fati who had a romance. Even though this was a joke I got a bit confused because I loved Fati and I had to lay my eyes down. The girls started to joke about this matter and I just smiled stupidly. Then Gaëlle had a bout of verbal diarrhoea and because I understood only a wee bit of it (she was French speaking English and I'm not native English speaker either) I started to talk with Fati.

Second skiing dream in two nights: two different kinds of skiing, but in both the surface I am skiing upon is gone. I am trying to tell myself something; I'm not sure what.

Night before last:

I'm at the lake house in Pennsylvania. We get up to go water skiing in the morning as we usually do, before all the other boats have put wakes in the water. But the lake has been lowered to a point where only the south end has any depth of water at all, and this is still quite shallow. I am driving (or am I the one skiing?) on mud, on an empty lake. It's not clear: I am moving across the bottom like a fish, or a missile, or a camera mounted on the front of an airplane or a helicopter. Fisherman with large boots have waded out into the mud and cast their lines, heavy lines, across the width of the lake. I have to swerve to avoid them, and the boat slips and slides on the mud and does not handle well.

Last night:

I am wrestling with a problem on differential operators, a standard result I know how to reproduce, but it is not coming out right. There is a critical step that I know is there, but I'm not able to take it, like one of those corridor camera effects (zoom-in-dolly-out) where things elongate and elongate to infinity. I am trying to move toward the solution but it is not getting any closer. I am awake briefly at 4 a.m. and in my disorientation I'm not sure whether the problem is solvable or not, or why I'm trying to solve it, or why it is causing so much difficulty.

-- I roll over and go back to sleep --

We always ski in Utah because we have a house at the base of Solitude, but now we aren't there. We have come somewhere else to ski, a place very high up in unfamiliar mountains, and we arrive on thin jet planes that turn into gliders as they land, a sort of smooth transformation of the nose and wings, accompanied by muffled hydraulic and mechanical sounds. They land right in the woods, no runway, coasting to a stop between the trees, breaking off the top crusted layer of snow as they do so, like swans coasting to a landing on a pond. It is quite beautiful. As we gather our things it is morning; you can see the sunlight falling in diagonals as it sweeps through the aspen and birch.

We have dinner and go to sleep for the night in a kind of chalet, but we are preparing for something. The others seem to know what it is, but I don't, and I never think to ask. The next day we get dressed but when I get out to the mountain I am shirtless, in fact I seem to have no ski supplies at all for anything above my waist. It is sunny and warm enough that I do not notice, but as soon as it is pointed out I am cold and shivering. My brother is there, and lends me some of his.

The mountain is quite bare in patches, and we eventually find that we are having to leap from patch to patch to stay on snow. Great leaps over rocks and headwalls and gullies. Finally we are skiing on grass, and somehow this is not a problem. The cross-country skiers have adapted to it extremely well, or their skis have become grass skis, it's not clear which. We decide to postpone skiing until nightfall, when there will be more snow.

It is night. It is clear with bright stars and a heavy yellow moon, and gentle, backlit wisps of clouds. Instead of lifts to take us to the top of the mountain there are aircraft, quite unusual ones again, taking off more like rockets (pointing up) but quiet and stealthy, almost silent, not at all disturbing the night air. I see two take off and they become gliders again, passing overhead and moving in and out of the clouds.

The others announce that they are headed for their transport, but in making my way there I am stuck clinging to a snowy cliffwall, bare hands into the snow. It is stiff and icy, and I can feel the crystals digging into my fingernails, but it is holding. I am having trouble climbing because I'm unable to kick into the snow below me, so I am stuck hanging by my hands. I am making slow progress with just my arms, but the launchpad is far above me and I'm not going to make it. My glider takes off without me.

I drop from the cliffwall into a chute and ski down to watch the gliders coast up to the top of the mountain. When I look up and spot one of them it is in trouble, flipping over like a paper airplane does in mid-flight when you haven't got the wings folded right. Upside-down for a while and then rolling back to upright it makes a controlled descent to a patch of the woods down a path from where I am watching, and crashes into the tree canopy. I start into a run; the snow crunching under my feet and my breath are the only sounds I can hear. When I arrive I find that the fuselage has broken open from the crash, and several of them have been thrown from the cabin, but they are all OK

Radha's Musical

  • I attend the opening night debut of a musical theatre production written by and starring my ex-girlfriend, Radha. My mother accompanies me and we have front row center seats. There's a lot of singing and dancing by a large cast. The songs tell stories so there's not much plot--sort of like A Chorus Line. Having known Radha for some years, it is obvious to me that the play is autobiographical. It recalls many aspects of her personality that I've forgotten since our break-up over three years ago. Primary themes include sanity, depression, family dysfunction, search for happiness, search for love, and free will over destiny. There's an upbeat, sarcastic song and dance about people calling her crazy and her own appropriation of the term as an identity of strength. The last song is about using her free will to choose a future of happiness over an historical trend of sadness. During this tune, the cast comes down into the audience dancing. One of the dancers approaches me and takes my hand for a quick swing dance. I suspect that I'm supposed to be surprised and let her lead me, but instead I remain very cool and confident as I lead her in a slow, steady swing with twirls and spins until I think I might be messing with the choreography and let her go. After the finale there's a standing ovation. In the lobby after the show, I tell Radha how much I enjoyed it and she tells me I almost messed with her choreography, but not quite.

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