(10/26/04) my friend's dad doesn't want me around

(Entered in paper journal at 3:15 AM at my friend R's house in Brooklyn.)

Dream 1

Take plane to Denver, make fun of movie at my friend R's house night time, dad angry, I must leave house.

Next morning waiting for ride away, girl at bus, help with pigtails, Grandma P and cousin AH in car take us. Take girl to bus stop.

Ride somewhere, family house, but family gone. R (?) gets keys -- becomes John Stamos, all we go inside, house full of people.

My Aunt M there, tells me of being existentialist, some existentialist church, were they stopped a record.

Now driving or hovering under tall bridges with trains with fan wheels. Tons of bridges.

Now in locker (?) eating ice cream at a restaurant booth with R. Tells me my estimations of him are correct in a very meaningless or minor way, makes some metaphor he thought I would make.

***

(Daytime paper journal entry.)

I'm writing down the dream remembered from last night only because I want it to be a bit more coherently written.

Dream 1

R and I took a plane from XXXXX to Denver, although it looks now more like we were on a train or in a car. We stayed at R's dad's house. Apparently R's dad lived all by himself, as opposed to being married to my best friend Y's mother, as he is in waking life. it was now nighttime.

We watched some movie in the living room. The television faced a U-shape of three couches. I lay on my right side on the couch facing the television. Somebody in the movie said something for which I had a smart alec comment.

I don't really know where R and his dad had been. But suddenly R's dad peered over the couch and, cheerfully-angrily, said that I had no right to disrespect this movie and that if I thought I was so clever I could find my own place to stay.

I decided just to head back home the next day. At some point I realized that I did, after all, have family here. I could get help from them.

So now it was morning. I had called my grandma P. She was coming for me. But I just went along with washing up, acting like I was just going back home, to XXXXX. I knew that if it were known that I was staying in Denver for this vacation time, things would be ruined for me.

But there was also a little girl here now. She was about eight or ten, blonde, very serious. Her hair had been done up in pigtails but now it was ratty and messy. I knew I had to take her with me when my grandma came for me. So I did her pigtails. She had two on each side of her head. I don't know exactly how I was doing them. It looked like some reverse form of making dreadlocks.

Before I was done, maybe about when I was halfway done, my grandma drove up. I came out of the house. My cousin AH was also in the car. I don't know where I sat in the car. We drove along and at some point dropped the girl off. There were actually two girls now, an older one and a younger one. I walked them onto a bus and sat them in two front seats.

(At some point after this (?) my grandma and AH and I went to a restaurant. At some other point I seem to have donated blood and to have run in terror from the experience.)

Now we were driving through some pretty heavy rain. My grandma couldn't keep me at her house. But she knew my aunt M's (?) house was empty. She had a key. AH had become Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen.

R sat in the back seat with me. We were all kind of chuckling at what a surprise this would be, when I was still here in spite of R's dad kicking me out of the house. But I personally was afraid of the war this would start between me and R's dad, and possibly even between me and R.

Now R had managed to take over the situation completely. He was the one in charge of getting us into the house, as if it were his house. He had also (!) changed into John Stamos.

We pulled up to the house, which seemed to curve or angle around a driveway, patio, and yard in such a way that the front door wasn't readily visible to us. The house was painted a dirty sky blue.

It was still raining. We were in the house now. everybody except my grandma and I were now vague. The house had two stories, but the second story wasn't set directly over the first. It was set behind, at the top of a shortish staircase, with the hallway between a left room, a right room, and a bathroom in the middle, having more of an open, airy balcony.

The house was wide and large, very spacious, but dim, with only natural light from the dreary day outside, and dirty, not cluttered, but littered here and there with piles of clothes or rags, and no furniture but things like buckets or construction materials. There may have been no carpet, only a concrete floor.

I walked to and up the stairs. As I walked up the stairs the house changed a few times. I was now on the second floor. I had received the good news that everybody was home after all. All the lights were on. I stood in the hallway. Everywhere was messy with clothes. People were in every room, like this was some kind of day care center.

My aunt M walked up to me. She was much shorter than I, as if I had grown considerably and become quite mature. I wore the t-shirt with the logo of my college improv comedy team on it.

I worried that my aunt would think I wasn't dignified because I was wearing such a shirt. Instead she told me something like she had become an existentialist, and that she was now going to some existentialist church. At one service the pastor (?) stopped a record in the middle of its playing. It was, I think, some kind of sad record, with a style like from the late 1960s.

I now drove (!) along some highway on a gently blue, dryly breezy, sunny, warm day. I drove under at least three bridges. Trains ran across all the bridges, passing just as I passed under the bridges. The undersides were some kind of whitish beige, slightly meshed, plastic material through which the undersides of the trains could be seen.

The trains didn't have wheels on the sides: they ran by huge, whirling, white-bladed, plastic fans on the undersides. It was almost as if I were flying over the car now, and as I passed under each bridge and the trains passed over each bridge, I could feel the warm, soft gusts blasting down from the undersides of the trains.

Now I was in some locker room, eating ice cream at a table with R. R told me my estimates of him were correct, but only in a minor or useless way. He then made a metaphor he thought I would make. The metaphor didn't apply to me at all, but it showed me what a powerless person R thought I was.