dream theater

woke up from the queerest dream...

it featured newop, of all people. we were both starting our first day in a new high school. an... urban high school. our first class was math and we were both late, and also happened to be the only non-urban persons in the room. we've missed part of the lesson and i'm trying to figure it out, but i have no idea how to do the work. newop's lost too, but manages to fake it enough to participate a little. at one point, he goes up to the board to solve a problem the teacher's given him. for some reason, i have my DV camera with me and i start shooting his solution to the problem.

it becomes more and more apparent that i'm not going to figure this out, so what do i do? i duck into the next room, where there's some sort of birthday party going on. after a few minutes, newop follows me into the room and advises me: "i suggest you go back in there and do something, because people are starting to talk about the new kid who isn't saying anything." i tell him to mind his own business and he shrugs and walks back into class.

when i reenter, the birthday party has somehow bled into the classroom -- which is a relief since the focus has shifted away from maths. light, unfocused cacophony of people talking to each other. the teacher has picked up my DV camera and is watching all the raw footage i've shot. again, i'm relieved the focus is diverted from my inability with maths. the teacher strangely reminds me of my third grade teacher -- Mrs. Schwartz -- who i had a crush on. she asks me a question. it is maths-related. i wake up.

And then I wash my hands. And then I touch a football and I wash my hands. I try to go to bed and wash my hands. And I wash wash wash wash wash wash wash... but the shame never goes away.