Dreamed I was taking two humanities courses the same semester (must have been next Spring), and going over the material with some girl, probably Indrani.

Then I'm at my Mom's house, and it's her birthday. I am delighted to be home so soon, not just because of the computer-related housekeeping I want to do. We're all getting ready to go out to dinner. Sara is being a little shit about it. Gary and I sit in the back seat and we start down the driveway. Immediately, Mom is talking out the car window to a friend of hers who was visiting. He is a tall, thin man with black hair, in a blue car with his family. (A dopplegänger? A chiropractor? No.) She makes me feel bad about tuition, and I reject the idea of dropping out completely after only two years, and going into business, but I suggest dropping to part time while living in a shack, eating canned food and reading 1966-1976 science fiction.

We pass the derelict tennis courts in time to see the dog escaping from them. It is an anatolian shepherd, male in the dream, but I think we only have a female anymore in real life. I suppose Gary let it out. He and I scramble to lock it back up, which is nearly impossible considering that anatolian shepherds move faster than the speed of light and tennis court doors cannot be moved by mere humans. Working together, we manage to force the dog(s?) inside the fence, but some chickens escape. We don't actually keep chickens in the tennis court (we keep them in the chicken coop), but chickens escaping makes for good visuals.

Returning to the car, I see it is now a one-horse open sleigh with four rows of seats. The driver sits in the front, Sara the second row, Mom and Ron in the back, and Gary scrambles in the back with them while I get in the third row and put my arm over the seat back.
I: I thought Sara wasn't coming.
Mom: She is. She's getting a tattoo for my birthday. How come you never got a tattoo for me?

So we get to the tattoo parlor, turns out it's across from the christmas tree farm just down the bend from our house on Summit Road. Sara is getting a tattoo of a bucky ball, they say, but when the tattoo artist gets out the model, it is clearly two bucky balls connected to each other by a stick (not like C70, but C120+ε. Really it looks more like N2.) I consider mentioning that I've been thinking of getting a tattoo of a heart that says null set, only I'd rather retain the ability to give blood and take drugs immediately afterwards, but I don't think it would go over too well. In the mean time, the artist's buxom blonde daughter has started flirting with me. She is dressed like a cat. I give her a backrub. Over her shoulder, I see my sister screaming as the artist inserts the needle-tipped pegs into the holes in the model which is now stuck to her arm. This scares me awake, and I realize that that is not the way to apply a tattoo.