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Thursday, February 12, 2004


We were teenagers again, although we never were together, and we drove around in his big red truck. His name is Eric, and he's a mulatto (important in this dream) and one of my best friends. I've known him almost 12 years now. We went to his house, which was somehow the house at the end of my street, and went inside. His mother (whome I have never met except on the phone today briefly) was a little Oriental woman. She cleaned house with bustling energy, vacuuming. I made her 37 or so and her hair was a cute little black bob. I never saw her face. Something was wrong in the family, and Eric sat on the couch. I sat on a chair. Politely, he kept talking to me but it was obvious he wanted me to leave so he could deal with his family. I didn't want to go so I lingered. Visited Eric today (after the dream, after I was awake) and told it to him. Turns out his father had heart surgery yesterday, but he is doing fine.