dreama

debenz, you were a blonde. it really freaked me out. i was in a crowded grocery store, college kids everywhere. alternating dirty tiled floors, cold dry smelling air, high ceilings, high lights... you were sitting in a chair at the end of one of the aisles near the back of the store, on the left hand side. i walked up from behind and you turned around and said hello with that big giggly smile on your face. i was shocked, really. looked like the new that 70's show donna. care said you just got it dyed. shocked, i was.

there was a cash register where the dairy should have been, a big long old wooden buffet that hid the cashier and a line curving around to where the cheeses would be. around to the left down the left wall of the store was a lot of produce which is really quite opposite of where it should be. by the register was an old wooden woven basket full of old dirty sports equipment. i started sorting through it, seeing as how i needed a couple things. came across a couple miniature basketballs of different colors. one purple and white, another orange and white, another green and orange. i ended up putting the green/orange one in my basket and finding a dirty deflated soccer ball and a frisbee too. i looked up at the standing cashier and asked him what all this stuff was for. he said he didn't know, i could have it for a buck a piece. since it was my parents money, i didn't mind at all.

and sethmo was there. what the fuck happened next? argh. walking down an isle? out the front door? once i dreamed of a shootout in a dugout grocery store at night. that was a fun one. i never die.

:earlier:

dusk, a small run-down house in the middle of two acres of dusty, cruddy grass lot in the middle of the woods by dirt road in the middle of nowhere with a single row of tall trees lining the road except where the driveway leaves the lot. there is assorted farm equipment out front. family members all around. i am on the ground with the yolk of a plow around my neck. my father yells and laughs, forces me to crawl around in the dust making circles with the plow. he isn't my real father, but my father in the dream. the family members know this is cruel but they don't do anything about it. i get off the ground and he laughs. some people walk over from farther away. he has a wild look about his eyes and is yelling and having trouble standing so i say 'dad, have you been drinking?' to which he replies 'no i haven't been drinking! but i have been eating sandwiches!' and, truth be told, he was carrying half a sandwich.

i just walked inside while he laughed and staggered around. the inside of the house is small, all wooden, sparsley decorated, and lit by a single dirty lightbulb. my uncle is in there looking sad and tired. my dad walks in after me with other family members. i remember my uncle's new rx-8 parked out front and have a vision {or dream memory} of running out to the car, starting it, and trying to back the goddamned thing around and escape this awful place. problem is, with the tiny little rotary, you have to hit 3,000 rpm not to stall it, which i do every time. but, in the spirit of this memory, i tell my uncle to give me the goddamned keys. he knows what i'm doing and thinks its a bad idea but hands them over anyway. i start walking for the back door of the second room while my father yells 'where the fuck you going?' i sprint out the back door, thinking i could run around front and beat his staggering ass to the car but i slip on the white sandy ground rounding the right rear corner of the house and as i sprint between the pine tree line and the side of the house, i can hear him rampaging through the house to the front door.

i round the corner of the house just as he falls out the front door and, with a miraculous turn, and heads in my direction. i start falling backward as he hurls towards me, eyes crazed, sandwich held like a bottle of whiskey.

and i wake up :)