Good morning, everybody.
It was late afternoon, just after the sun had set. I was standing out in front of the house next door to my family's house. My brother-in-law and/or my nephew stood in the front yard, facing me while I faced the house. I was dressed very nicely, though the color of my clothes was kind of odd: pastel greens and forest greens, like one might see a little boy wearing on Easter Day.
I was having a kind of calm conversation with my brother-in-law. But then the neighbor came out of her house. She was a snoop, always getting into other people's business. She thought she had found a really good way to get my brother-in-law, and possibly me, in trouble. She may even have made a snide comment to that effect, to taunt me and my brother-in-law.
We did get a little afraid, and we headed back into the house. But I suddenly got mad. It didn't make any sense to me at all that this woman should have such power over us. I wanted to turn the tables on her, to show her that I was not afraid of her.
I went back over to the woman's house. I entered the house. I may have brought stuff with me. Suddenly the woman's house was filled with stuffed animals. Other members of my family came into the house as well. It was suddenly like we were all trying to overpower the woman, to get her out of the house.
At some point I may have gotten close to the woman and whispered things in her ear. The woman may then have turned into a stuffed animal.
I had just finished some kind of task successfully. I was now entering to some house that I had been asked to house-sit. It was like the house was part of a brownstone. The interior was long and narrow, almost like the interior of a clothing boutique. There may have been clothing racks along the walls.
There was a mannequin in the center of the shop. It was white and headless, and it wore an orange dress of slightly shimmery material with a blouse that had a wrapped effect with a sharply v-cut chest line. The mannequin really turned me on. I walked up to it and embraced it. I thought I was going to try to have sex with it. But I felt like someone was looking. I suddenly stopped embracing the mannequin.
My mom sat on a couple of stairs at the far end of the room. She began talking to me about something, maybe getting my sister and my brother-in-law to do something. She may have expressed doubt about this, like she thought my sister and brother-in-law were too lazy to do what my mom wanted them to do, or like she thought they were just a couple of cheats who'd try to cheat their way out of doing it.
While my mom spoke, I looked all over the store. All over the place, I saw stacks of my mother's clothing -- mostly panties. My mom is overweight, and her panties were kind of big. Nevertheless, as I saw her panties, I wanted to wear them. Some had nice colors: purple, blue, pink, with flowers and butterflies on them.
My mom had somehow tasked me with taking care of something regarding my sister and brother-in-law, as if she thought I could get them to stop doing whatever it was she thought they were doing.
Now I was suddenly outside, at night, at a big, new gas station that seemed to be alone on some desert highway. My brother-in-law stood out at a pump, filling up a white business van. I knew that my brother-in-law was actually out on some trip to sell drugs. He was about halfway to where he was going. Whenever he sold drugs, he would use this white van.
Suddenly my dad pulled up to the gas station. My brother-in-law obviously hadn't expected to see my dad while he was in the middle of making a drug run. He knew my dad was protective of my sister. Seeing my sister's husband in the middle of a drug run would obviously infuriate my dad.
My brother-in-law tried to hide what he was doing. But, for some reason, he had my family name (not his family name) and some phone number written in yellow paint on one of the back windows of the van. It was obvious, somehow, that this was an advertisement for selling drugs. But, as my brother-in-law saw my dad walking up to him, he tried to hide the advertisement, or obscure it in some way, to make it seem like it was an advertisement for some kind of service, like maintenance or something.
My dad walked up to my brother-in-law and seemed kind of friendly at first. My brother-in-law responded in a kind of friendly way. But then my dad said a couple of quick things to my brother in law, something along the lines of "How are you feeling? Do you feel good? Do you hurt in any way? Well, does this hurt you at all?" My dad kicked my brother-in-law in the stomach. He may also have shot my brother. Somehow, an umbrella (???) was also involved in the situation.
I was in a huge cafe, maybe something more like a big common area in a college that had been transformed for the evening into a makeshift coffee shop. The place was mostly dim, with just a few lights shining off in the distance. The place was full of young men and women, all sitting around with each other in big groups at tables, having a good time.
I may have been sitting off to one side all by myself at first. But a couple people ended up coming over to me. One was a girl. Another was a guy, probably a French guy. The girl eventually went away. The French guy, who had seemed hostile toward me at first, ended up being a lot nicer as time went on.
Now there was some kind of performance going on. The performance was some little song. I didn't realize until the end of the song that the French guy had been performing. I thought he'd just been sitting there beside me. But now the performance was ended. Everybody was clapping. I realized I needed to clap, too: otherwise, the French guy would get hostile toward me and not clap for me after my performance. The French guy smiled and folded up something into a leather satchel.
Now someone started playing the piano. From the opening, I recognized the song: "Stars and Stripes Forever," even though I couldn't name the song. The French guy, hearing the song, began to chuckle a little bit. I may have chuckled as well, thinking, for a talent show -- which apparently this whole thing was, now -- it was a little too obvious or trite to play such a well known song. But as the song continued, I kind of enjoyed the melody on the piano. The piano sound was kind of quick and tinny, very old-timey sounding.
I was standing looking at a wall. The wall was kind of barren. It may have been a cinder block wall. The wall was painted some flat, dark shade of green. There were a couple of old, decaying, wooden shelves high up on the wall, running the full length of the wall.
As I looked at the wall, I could hear my step-grandmother talking about one of her friends. Her friend, a male, was older than she and my grandfather, who passed away about four years ago. My grandma related a story to me about my grandpa and this friend. As she related the story to me, I started taking care of something, maybe taking a jacket off the shelf, shifting myself over to the left, and putting the jacket back on the shelf.
My grandma said that as my grandpa was dying, he told the friend, "You should be the one who's dying. You're older than me." But then something about the story changed. Now my grandma said that my grandpa had said something like, "I'm glad I'm the one who's dying, and not you. You have so many young people in your life. You need to make sure you stay around for them."
As my grandma told this second version of the story, I realized that I was defecating. A long string of pale-tan crap was coming out of my (apparently clothed) rear end. It wasn't breaking. By now it was at least a meter long -- so long, I could bend it around and hold it in front of me. In fact, I'd shifted to the far left end of the wall by now, and I was starting to place the long line of feces up onto the shelf. The feces may even have been topped with mustard!
I'm pretty sure that even as I was coiling up the mustard-topped feces onto the shelf and listening to my grandma's story about my grandpa, that I realized that the feces was a metaphor. I knew I was somehow defecating and putting the crap up onto the shelf to show that I thought the story I was listening to was a load of crap. I didn't, of course, want to admit that I thought the story was a load of crap, because it was about my grandpa. So I may have started trying to justify my defecation in some other way.