Posted by: normanlgreen | October 18, 2011

Dream, October 18, 2011 film, fire, office etiquitte


Dream, home, 5:00 am

Gordon has driven through the night to project a film he has made. I sit high in the cab of a truck while I wait for him to arrive. After midnight, he and his driving partner pull to a stop in front of the nose of my truck – cabs facing windshield to windshield. We climb down, but there is something to prevent us from screening the film. Instead we will start a protest fire beside the nearby elementary school. Once the fire is started, others in the community will understand what we are doing and join in – this will allow us to let others tend the fire, and with enough people, the authorities will be less likely to shut us down. Gordon seeks safe way to build a fire that will not put the school at risk – he notes some ventilation ducts that exit the school. He either wants to use the ducts to redirect the smoke and sparks, or he wants to be sure that none of our smoke enters the system. Meanwhile his adult son lays down a wire screen on the gravel roadside to be able to gather the cinders to haul them away in the truck.

Chiropractor’s office, low ceilings indirect fluorescent lighting. While I wait, a mother brings in her young daughter, who cries, leaning into the corner of an examination table. I cross into what I think is a waiting room, nod to the child’s mother, and bend my knees so I can talk soothingly to the girl. The little girl peers out from the hands she holds to her face. I explain that some times I feel frightened of doctors, but they always try to help me. We face each other, with the open underside length of the table between us, An office attendant enters, quietly angry for my having gone into the room. Understandably, they cannot have all of the patience stepping into each other’s examination room. The attendant does not see why I would even consider such a thing. She stares me down with a look of complete contempt. I think, she must not be a parent.

I go back to the waiting room where I had previously paced. There I replace my shoes which I had removed. Time runs out for my appointment, and a trio of kids passes through the hall that divides my room from that where the little girl had stood. These kids are happy, a little boisterous. They chatter as they pass on their way to the front door. I leave the room and join a flow of many people all headed for the exit. I catch up with the kids and ask them to go back and find their parents. I catch up with them as they are about to leave the building (someone behind me mentions Elvis) and hope that I have spoken to them in a manner in keeping with the strict, but unstated, office policies.

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