I was in my old high school in Portland, on the second floor. I was giving someone a tour, showing them what in real life are classrooms but which in the dream were boiler rooms. I explained to them how the Nazis used to burn people in them.The rooms were dark and empty with splotchy red paint on the walls. I had brief black and white cartoon images of the Nazis in America run through my head.

Soon, I was sitting on the floor with my neighbor Sarah from Texas and her parents. But her parents were very Minnesotan in mannerisms, accent, and demeanor. And her father was black. Sarah gave me something she called a jalapeno, but it was the color and texture of a pepperoncini like you get with pizza, and it was long and wrinkled. I ate it. It wasn't spicy, and it tasted like a cucumber. We chatted for a while, then Sarah's parents decided to give me more food. I got a pita wrap, with lettuce, strange veggie burger patties, chicken, and sauce. I removed the chicken and ate it.

Majaha, another student here in St. Paul, walked by, and we exchanged greetings. Daniel Dreier, a friend from Portland, walked by, and we chatted briefly in German.

I was in the basement of my grandmother's house in Montreal. I was shooting at the figures of teenagers who walked into the laundry room, with a hardcover children's book. As I "fired" the book at the figures, they vanished. There were three hooded, purple robed people who I could not make disappear. I realized that these were the people I was here to save. My dad walked into the room and tore the edge off the book I was shooting with. "That's the barrel!" I yelled, but he didn't seem too concerned.

I skulked with the book upstairs. Guests in the living room took to muttering when they saw me. "Is that such-and-such book?" they were whispering. As I walked up to the second floor, the book tore and left pages all over the ground.

On the upper floor there was a line-up to go to the bathroom. I peeked in the bathroom and found a tiny kitten peeing. With this odd picture I...

Woke up with my neck and shoulders tense. A sure sign that I am a bit stressed.

Interpretation: Before I went to bed I had a bit of an argument with my dad. I was rather distraught so I put on the David User solo album and listened to it all the way through. It conjured up images of Montreal in my mind that lasted into the dream. When I woke up to the sound of my alarm, I scrambled to shut it off and in the process kicked a strange furry object on my bed. Yes, it was the family cat. (Don't worry, I didn't kick him hard.)

I was driving in my car with my daughter. We were having a very intense conversation about fuzzy things. We pulled up in front of her house and went inside. I peeked in her room and the cat was on her bed. This upset me for some reason, so I went to find her and complain about it. I couldn't find her. The house was now empty. I was now upset that she had left me there, alone, and didn't even say anything to me.

I didn't know what to do. Maybe she went to get cigarettes. I sat on the sofa. The house was deathly still. The cat came downstairs. I was really, really anxious and angry that she had treated me this way. I started crying. I decided that no one was going to treat me this way, not even her, one of the two people in the world whom I would lay down and die for without any hesitation, and got up to leave.

At that point, she popped her head from out of the kitchen and asked, "Do you want something to drink?"

i'm rolling a blunt at shannon's house for everyone. they give me the weed and go watch TV. i notice they've given me probably a half an ounce, so i decide that they won't miss a few mediocre buds and stuff them into my cigarette pack.

I'm talking to my mom, we both are sitting in a closet on top of a mattress.

This setting may seem strange, but I know where it came from, my friend, Cela has her bed in her closet because she likes having walls on both sides of her when she sleeps.
Anyhow, I'm sitting on this mattress with tons of pillows and comforters with my mom, and we are talking about turntables.
Suddenly my mom lifts up on of the large pillows and shows me her very own Technics 1210 and says "Oh no, that's not the good one!".
So she points at a small shelf on the other side of the closet, and a Technics 1200.
This blows my mind because a friend of mine is about to settle upon buying a box set of Stantons and a shitty mixer, and my own mom has a set of Technics?!
Anyhow, I've been really into wanting to buy a set of turntables lately, so it isn't any suprise that it's showing up in my dreams, but this is still a bit odd.

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