lying in bed last nite, after somewhat regaining perspective, locking my door and writing in my real notebook, it occurred to me that maybe what was upsetting me, in addition to the rain and swirling graycold that has been our weather for the past five days, was the general lack of drama in my life. ross's drama probably drew my attention to my own lack thereof. in the past, solutions to this lay in glass, either little bowls or bottles, both of which are found now in philly. also i have the comfort of what ben and becca (the OTHER ben and becca) think of me -- old perspectives, maybe, but warm, complex ones.

i dreamt i lived in the basement of a building full of arabs. i was helping, a relief worker, i guess -- i kept having to explain to people about muslim customs and religious practices. when i left the compound finally, exhausted, police surrounded me and tried to put me under arrest. i kept arguing that i wasn't who they thought i was but they wouldn't be swayed.
the only other salient detail was that i had a crummy little bathroom and the girl across the hall had the a black-and-white marble palace. bathrooms always appear in my dreams. they're my most common motif.
what the hell do they mean?

i have to escort a danish representative around campus. i have to feel better. my mouth still burns from the chai. it helps on all counts.