Dream Log 2/15/2009

I'm in my apartment when my high school Spanish teacher, her class of 12-year-old Spanish students, and one of my old math professors show up at my door. They come in and need to use my space for a while.

I've got college Spanish class that day at 11:35. (Even though this is my current apartment, not my college dorm apartment.) It turns out my old math professor (I forgot who she's supposed to represent) led my Spanish teacher here.

Anyway, I call a friend in Spanish and ask for them to take notes for me, since housing a bunch of Spanish students while simultaneously reviewing the notes should exempt me from the absence. In seems like a much more brilliance feat of logic to realize this in dream world.

For some reason, they all stuff into my tiny bathroom to do something. It turns out this thing is making tee-shirts. This is a class project. I admire the shirts, because the decoration they did are much more elaborate that when I did the same project. I used paint markers to write funny statements on a white tee. These kids have dyed the shirts and put on professional plastic so that little fish with float in liquid on the front. (I did no such T-shirt project in Spanish, though we did do some art projects.) They are using my bed to dry their work.

Since both my bathroom and bedroom are in use, I walk into my living room. I start catching glimpses of people in mirrors. (This is strange; I have a mirror in my bathroom, and one in my room that my mom got me for Christmas because I didn't buy one for my dresser.) Anyway, at first I think I'm seeing through the ajar bathroom door by queer coincidence. It's then that I realize, for months, I've failed to notice that there are staircases surrounding my living room, leading to other apartments, and that people can see into my apartment over the railing wall. It seems that this is the first time they're noticing this, too. People start crowding to look at me, and I them, and we have this nice moment saying hi, as if this defective architecture is a good thing. (My apartment, of course, does not have staircases surrounding it where people can look in; I'm on the top floor, as if the ridiculosity of this dream apartment needed to be explained.)

Oh, and then I'm called by a cobbler. He's calling me to let me know that according to his records, I had my dress shoes cleaned and repaired several months ago, and he's had them waiting in the back room all this time, and he noticed this when he was going over his year-end records (Dream Me realizes that it's February already) and if I'll please come get them. The cobbler is a very crotchety, old guy, probably representing some other crotchety old dude I know. I explain to him I'm not in the area (so I'm transplacing my current apartment to my college town, much like I've transplaced myself there), but I'll have my parents pick it up. (In reality, my current apartment is very close to my parents' hometown.)

So, fun dream.