A terrible dream

Just woke from this terrible dream. It went on and on. . . I’m putting on this art gallery show of my work. It’s opening in an hour so I’m rushing around trying to get the artwork collected for the show. I also need to finish a piece of artwork first, so I’m trying to get that done. Danny is there in his wheelchair helping me curate the show .. Then I realize it’s also Christmas Eve day, the last day of the Telegraph Street Fair. Duncan is at our vending table selling the new issue of the Telegraph Street Calendar but he only has a couple of copies left. So I decide to rush back to my old apartment on University Avenue to get more back issues where I store them (everything in the dream is like that — I’m rushing back and forth trying to accomplish something but time is running out and everything is going wrong). Somehow i get lost, i space out while I’m walking and end up miles off course in Oakland by the marina. So I have this long misadventure trying to find my way back to my apartment, people giving me wrong directions, getting farther off course, people are throwing things at me, my jacket gets splattered with paint. One mess up after another. Finally I get back to my apartment. There’s a big group of friends and acquaintances mulling around at my apartment, hanging out, getting in my way. I’m searching through all the boxes of stuff trying to find issues of the Calendar and issues of Twisted Image and other books of my work to sell at our vending table but I can’t find them. I search through box after box tossing the stuff on the ground — everything is turning into a big mess — but nothing is where it’s supposed to be. Finally I manage to compile a bunch of publications I can sell at my vending table, and stuff them all in this bag. Duncan is there too, searching with me. I tell him I’ll meet him back at our vending table. Everything is rush rush, time is running out. I tell everybody they gotta get out, I’ve got to lock up my apartment and go. This crazy street woman is taking a bath in my bathroom, I gotta get her out of there before I can lock up and leave. A reporter for the Chronicle starts trying to interview me to plug the latest Calendar, he’s scribbling down my answers on his notepad as I’m trying to leave. The reporter offers to give me a ride back to our vending table. We’re driving up the street and we pass a large group of gangbangers hanging out at the corner. One of them glares at me as we pass, takes offense with me for some reason, and all the gangbangers start chasing after our car. I try to alert the reporter that we’re in danger, but he’s oblivious, stops the car to talk to somebody on the corner. The gangbangers swarm the car, pull the reporter out of the car and start beating him to death. I’m running as fast as I can. I’ve still got my bag of stuff to sell out our vending table but the handle on the bag rips. I realize I’ve taken the wrong stuff, I have to find my way back to my apartment to get the right stuff. I think I know right where the apartment building is, but when I get there it’s been changed to a different building. All the familiar things from my past have disappeared, replaced by something else. I ask directions and someone tells me my apartment building is up the street. I head off searching for it. Then it starts raining. As if things could go any more wrong. All the stuff in my bag is being ruined. And it’s too late to make it back to my vending table anyways, the street fair is over. I stand there on the sidewalk in the pouring rain, crying. It’s like I’ve finally just given up. What’s the point of going on any further. A woman pedestrian stops and watches me crying with curiosity, it’s embarrassing and humiliating to be crying in public, I’m such a loser and everything has gone wrong. I wake up.

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