Shouting the Poetic Truths of High School Journal Keepers

Monday, January 10, 2005

January 10, 1994

I've decided to delight you folks1 with a dream I had last night (and can I ask you a question? Do I or do I not have better handwriting than Dave D0re? Well, I suppose you wouldn't know.) I'm walking down the streets of Seattle2 when a woman with two daughters (like 7 and 4 or something) approaches me and asks me if I know where a certain place is. Sure, I say, I'll take you there. So suddenly we approach a cornfield right then and there, and of course, we can't walk directly through the cornfield because there's quite a few piles of cattle excretion. So we walk around the cornfield, just as a jaguar runs by. It wasn't a real jaguar, mind you, probably more like a cartoon jaguar or the logo for the NFL Jacksonville franchise, but scary nonetheless. But now where is the woman or the cornfield, because I'm standing outside a cabin with all the lights out inside. In my hands is a present for Mr. Wilson3, who is holding a party for all of his former geometry students. The room must be dark because the jaguar is inside and if it were light, it might start attacking people. So just as I hand Mr W his present, which is for some reason abstract (humor), the lights go on, he thanks me, and ... the jaguar doesn't do anything. End. -- JMC 1:20 pm

1 Early in high school (though not so much later) I imagined my journal as a document intended for a public audience, if not at the time then perhaps later in my life. (For the record, I wasn't imagining a serialized blog, haha.)

2 My family took a vacation there the previous summer.

3 My 9th-grade geometry teacher.


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