I can’t remember all of last night’s dream. I remember that I was going to art school, that I had some large project due, and mine wasn’t done. I remember I was going to try and pass off some quicky creation made of cotton balls, and call it “art.” I remember seeing Desirae Page sitting on a fainting couch in a courtyard area of the college. We chatted. I complimented her on her chiseled back (she was wearing some backless halter blouse), and said something to the effect of “You probably get that from roller derby.” (Desirae actually did used to skate in roller derby. She’s now retired due to injury and is training the new peeps.) She squeezed my flabby bicep and said “What’s your back like?” I said “White, spongy, and hairy!” She laughed in that “that’s TMI and gross” kinda way. As we were chatting, Lincoln McRae walked by. We asked how he was doing. He mentioned he was trying to earn some extra cash to buy his grandfather a really nice gravestone. “He’s 100 years old,” Linc said, “and I want to make sure he’s got a nice stone to be remembered by.” (Side note: I believe Linc’s grandfather is still alive, but I don’t think he’s near 100 yet.) He showed us some samples, and why there just happened to be three gravestones nearby is beyond me. (Like the rest of this dream makes any sense anyway! Why not have three sample gravestones in a common area of an art school!)
That’s all I remember.