2001-07-22 - 12:28 p.m.

I was at my high school. Had to endure the P.E. nonsense again. Chris Tucker, or some equally hilarious "inner city" comic was giving me shit for my uniform (My P.E. shirt had turned pink - in "reality"). I grew tired of being there, so left, and ended up in Iowa.

I was walking around my old haunting ground. In search of a sign; someone; anything. I stumbled upon Russ, someone I haven't seen since elementary. I followed him to his car. We sat and watched the procession of synthetic (collagen and silicone implants, unnecessary plastic surgery, etc), upper class women go about their business. Russ was snorting something then handed me some pills. I was convinced they were vitamins, or were somehow beneficial, so I took them.

Hours (or was it seconds, minutes?) passed. We walked to a grocery store. I noticed I was wearing a giant yellow glove, one that would dwarf even Mickey Mouse's, with Hebrew characters on the back. Interesting. Of course, we had walked into a law enforcement convention in the grocery store parking lot. Perfect!

Once inside, I was transfixed by the magazine aisle. I couldn't believe the ludicrousness contained within the "informative" periodicals (Newsweek, Time, People) or the others that weren't disguised as anything but trash. I found a comic book; there was neat computer graphics and art rendering but the story was completely lacking. That seemed to mirror recent movies and everything else dominated by the cursed graphic design. Raekwon from Wu-Tang Clan was next to me, and echoed my frustration:

"Things aren't like they used to be."

We left the grocery store. The cops were in full gear, shouting orders through their megaphones. Amazingly, small children were volunteering, all wearing yellow gloves with Hebrew characters. (What the fuck??) Perhaps it was a Hasidic parade?

Russ had since disappeared. I wound up in another car - next to a friend I hadn't seen in a while. She was detailing all the gossip/drama she had recently gotten into. Beautiful. I was thinking how much I wished this car was the Batmobile, so I could hide in seclusion and no one would know I was in the company of such a goddamned wretch.

Bettendorf, IA had transformed into a bustling metropolis. No more quiet rural pleasures.

"Ahh." I sighed. I had awaken from the dream. I was in my sister's apartment; quite in a daze. (Obviously still reeling from those anonymous pills) I stumbled about the apartment. Arne, a Norwegian friend of ours, detailed the plans of the day in his thick Scandinavian accent. He kept repeating, "They'll save something for you."

Wait - how did I end up in Starbucks?

Me: "Iced latte with almond, please."

"You mean a mocha over ice, right?"

"Correct."

Blech. This thing is pure sugar! Perhaps Matt would know what to do. I took out my walkie talkie - (would he still be in range?) - and inquired of him a progress report.

Matt: "Well you were missed in P.E. But things will always work out for the best." (note: I am inferring that second line; it wasn't uttered in any linguistic format, it was simply nonverbally known).

We were transported to the middle of the Arrakin desert. (the periphary of Las Vegas) seeking...??

Back to the apt: Arne had newly dyed hair. How quaint. My sister was cooking falafels - for breakfast?!?!

"Don't worry, we'll save something for you."

Ok fellow psychoanalysts, inform me of my unconscious content.