(9/21/07) mick jagger: ice cream bully

(Entered in paper journal at 7:30 AM at Starbucks on 56th Street and Sixth Avenue in Manhattan.)

Dream #1

I may have been standing out on a lawn with a group of people. We'd finished working on some long project, which had apparently been physical, but which I then remembered as having been something like preparing for a court trial. It was like we were a jury and we had been preparing for the trial by finding the evidence ourselves.

Now either the trial was over or the evidence finding part of the trial was over and the trial was beginning. we were all relieved. This had been one of the longest times it had ever taken to find evidence. But one of us said, "Isn't there a group on the other side of the earth that has taken an even longer time?"

Our leader, a woman, said, "There is." I saw, for a moment, a photo of a group of Latin American people, mostly men, mostly wearing soccer jerseys, like soccer fans, on a sunny day out on a field like ours. The woman continued, "I'm planning on giving the people on the other side of the earth a congratulatory call and see how their trial is going right now."

We were all in a room. In the next room our trial was getting ready. The next room was dark wood, with some kind of a counter like a breakfast bar and then a kitchen area behind that. In front of the bar was the place where the jury sat. It was like a rubber doormat on a heavy, yellow, metal or plastic platform that shifted left to right as if it were on ball bearings. We could lay on the platform and watch the proceedings (in the kitchen area) as if we were watching TV.

The trial was about the murder of a little girl. The murderers might have been the little girl's parents. But at some point the trial became just a discussion of some industry, and we were all waiting around to hear one particular data point about the industry.

At some point I got bored. I walked out. I came back in just a second or two later, but the data point had already been said. My co-worker CJ had gotten it.

I now sat with a group of women right before the bar. A man who looked like Mick Jagger saw in the kitchen area. He kept handing us ice cream, sundaes, and hot fudge. The girls would eat the stuff. I kept thinking about eating it, but I didn't want to eat right now because I was scheduled to eat somewhere else shortly.

I thought, Perhaps when I go out to eat, I can by myself a sundae, maybe even a Peanut Buster Parfait. But I thought I probably wouldn't do that because that would be too many calories.

But now Mick Jagger became a lot more bullying. He insisted that I eat some of the ice cream. He even put a bowl of hot fudge in front of me and told me to eat that. He then sang a song about how I was in deep trouble if I didn't do everything he told me.